The Boomerang Effect

Here's a guest post from Chris Sanville, currently the most responsible rising sophomore on the men's team.

This afternoon it came time for me to go on a bike ride. As I prepared, putting my various energy bars, Hammer Gel bottles, and water packs in order, I cast a wary eye out my kitchen window. The skies looked dark and foreboding. They were covered by clouds colored that navy shade of blue, with heavy, smoke-grey puffs around the edges and lower down in the atmosphere. However, it had already deluged once on me earlier in the day, during my VO2max workout, so applying the same faulty logic that I do with cops (that is, once you see one it is statistically less likely that you'll see another, so speed away), I hopped on my bike and pedaled with confidence toward the long farm roads just past the edge of suburbia.

For the first part of the ride my confidence was well-placed. However, once I reached that point (you know, the you're-far-enough-out-that-it-would-be-stupid-to-turn-around-just-because-of-the-weather point), it started to rain on me hard, painfully hard. Yet, seeing as I had already crossed the aforementioned point, I figured that it would be stupid to turn around just because of the weather, and that eventually it would lighten up.

Half an hour later, my figuring turned out to be right: the weather did lighten up, but not before it became a lot worse. At one point the only way I could tell the difference between the downpour soaking me and being splashed by dump trucks travelling at absurd, not very safe in these conditions speed, was the direction that the water came from. By the time I reached the point in my loop where I begin to head back toward the cities, the rain had lessened to a steady drizzle, and I was actually enjoying the ride, thinking that the storm would have moved on by the time I came back.

Well, I thought wrong. The magic of riding for two hours and ending up at the same spot and the mystery that is Minnesota weather joined forces to drench me on the way back as well. I call this the Boomerang Effect, named for the same emotional highs and lows one feels while throwing a boomerang. Things seem to be great as the boomerang speeds away from you, but then you realize how much trouble you're in as it comes hurtling back, because it is a weapon, and you really can't catch.

The route that I was considering took me through some pretty flat, untreed farmland, which seemed like a good idea until a huge crackle of lightning ripped the sky open directly above my head and reminded me that I was sitting on a pretty good conductor, not to mention already being soaked. I explained all this to a fellow rider and weather refugee while making obscene noises trying the last of my Hammer Gel out of its container, noises that sounded like what I imagine an anteater must make while dealing with a particularly troublesome colony, or perhaps the noise the toilet makes in my family's second floor bathroom right before I sprint for the plunger. We had both camped out in the shelter provided by the restrooms found at the end of the Gateway Trail, an 18.3 mile length of paved bike trail, stretching from the heart of St. Paul to the beginnings of farmland (St. Paul is not a big city). He, as only bikers can, did not bat an eyelash at my attempted consumption of energy and instead commented that the tires on my bike were rubber, suggesting that this would be enough to insulate me from any lightning strike.

The storm showing no sign of ceasing and the other guy starting to smell, I decided to head back on the much more sheltered Gateway. He wished me luck, saying he hoped not to find my charred corpse in a ditch somewhere along the trail. Empathizing heavily, I agreed, and set out once more into the rain.

The ride back was amazing. The rain on the smooth, newly resurfaced blacktop, combined with the light from the storm shaded sun, turned the trail into a ribbon of crystal clear mirror winding its way through the Minnesota woods and swamps. It gave the ethereal feeling of biking on the sky. Toward the end of the ride, it warmed up and, though still raining, the trail started steaming, further contributing toward the feeling of otherworldliness.

As I turned down my street, the rain slowed down, and the instant that my tire crossed onto my driveway, it stopped completely and the sun came out, an interesting side effect of the Boomerang Effect that I have observed before. Damp, and beginning to chill, I went inside, changed out of my clothes, which had achieved the consistency and saturation of drowned rat, and popped into the shower, but not before putting the kettle on for some warm Jasmine tea. Now, as I sit here with the tea pleasantly warming me from the inside out, I'm reminded of something my Dad said when one of his friends asked him, "Why in God's name do you like backpacking so much?" He replied, "Because it feels so good when you're done."

Just Another Day at the Office

Here's word from Spencer, who's working on a trail crew in New Hampshire:

Hey all, just checking in from what might be the best summer job ever. This summer I'm working trail crew in the Northern Presidential Mountain Range in New Hampshire for the Randolph Mountain Club. The rest of the crew and I live right at the base of Mt. Madison and Mt. Adams. An average day of work could include moving giant rocks, chopping down trees, fending off moose and bears, and always lots of dirt and destruction.


We spent the majority of the first few weeks hiking all of the 100+ miles of trail with axes, clearing any trees that had fallen in the trail. One of the highlights was coming across a 15x20 foot boulder that had created a half-mile path of utter destruction down the side of Mt. Jefferson. Its path ended after it bounced 50-60 feet across a gully and obliterated a tree two feet in diameter.

Most of the summer is spent making rock staircases and water bars. As a general rule of thumb, if you can move a rock by yourself without too much effort, it is not big enough. One of the cooler projects I've worked on was a retaining wall, in which we lowered 300-500-pound rocks with a high-strength pulley down an embankment to rebuild an eroded trail. From time to time, a rock will get away from you and go crashing down the mountain, destroying everything in its path. There is quite a sense of accomplishment in working with rocks. At times rocks can be obstinate and infinitely annoying, but good rockwork will last for 50-70 years.

So far the summer training has been going great - a bit unconventional at times, but always lots of fun. The Randolph area is one of the most densely trailed areas in the country, which makes for some amazing trail running. I've been able to do some great uphill interval sessions and have seen all sorts of wildlife: moose, bear, beaver, falcons, foxes, and more. All right out my back door - I haven't needed to drive to go to work out once so far this year. One of the challenges I have had to deal with is figuring out how much trail work to count as training. Some days we will spend most of the time hiking, stopping only to move downed trees. Then there is packboarding, a mildly hellish device made of wood and canvas, which somewhat resembles a backpack used to carry tools, firewood, and anything to big or heavy to fit into a backpack. A full set of tools alone can weight 40-60 pounds - then strap on a full overnight pack with all the gear one would need for a week of camping. At times, trail work and training can be pretty exhausting. The solution I have found is just to eat a lot - pasta by the pound and always second or third lunches and dinners.

Recently I did a one-day traverse of all the eight AMC huts along the Appalachian Trail. I got to see a lot of new and beautiful terrain as well as eat some of the hut crew's amazing food: pumpkin walnut pancakes, pasta bakes, bread, and hundreds of cookies, all homemade. This may be because the hut kids have nothing else to do but sit around and cook, but either way it was delicious. The traverse was probably one of the hardest things I have ever done in my entire life. Imagine an average workout, then multiply it by a factor of 10 or 15. Don't worry, Nathan, my average heart rate was 143. I went far beyond what I thought I was ever physically capable of and redefined my understanding of the words "tired" and "endurance." All in all, it was a good but very long day.

Elissa's Studio

Elissa has an art fellowship this summer - she's painting and taking photos all around Brunswick and the Maine coast. She's started a blog to document her work - check it out.

Courtney Senior Profile

Another student profile of a skier featured on the Bowdoin homepage - this time it's Courtney.

Grace in Kenya

Grace is having a much more interesting summer than you are. She's in Kenya for the next several weeks - check out her stories at her blog. She's off to France for the fall, so sadly we won't be seeing much of her until January.