End of Summer Approaches.

Our trip to the Czech Republic is over. I had great ambitions to write/blog each day, but that fell by the wayside when the beer and liquor started flowing. The two weeks that Jamie, Tyler, and me were there play back in my mind like a sped-up CD recording. I know that we conversed, that we took trips, that we indulged in $1 pilsners in countless pubs throughout the Czech Highlands. But I just can't visualize that happening. When co-workers and friends ask me how my trip was, I usually answer with an affirmative "amazing" and that's it. I don't elaborate. There is nothing to elaborate on. I relished the time spent with friends in Policka and I'm emboldened now more than ever to claim the Czech Republic as the second home of my heart. I know its language, its people, its history, its prices, its beer, its wine, its Slivovice, and its habits as well as I know my own. Our last two days were spent walking around and taking in the sites of Prague. Jamie and I chuckled at the fact that we know that city better than even Erie, Milwaukee, or Pittsburgh. And, I must admit, it's pretty true. Because you see, nothing in the Czech Republic changes quickly. It's a county with a stubbornness and pride that inhibits it from jumping at the next fad. Hell, even the mullet is still worn by an unsettling amount of men. And for me, it's reassuring. I know that in two, five, even ten years, Policka will still look the same. The wall will still enclose the square. The church will maintain the same decor. And Czechs will continue to wear socks with their sandals. It's just the way it is. And it's the way my relationship with that country will be: stable, slowly becoming deeper as immediate experience turns into memory and memory into the fabric of me.

One thing that I did miss greatly while being away was my 1994 TREK 1200 road bike. After about one week, I yearned for him/her (whatever it is). I wanted nothing more than to ride over the Czech hills and careen down into the valleys while my hair (well, what's left of it) bristled (a balding man's hair can't flow) in the breeze. It was not meant to be. So, naturally, the first activity I wanted to do upon arriving back in the United States was get on my bike and take a nice long ride around Milwaukee. Which is exactly what I did. The trip on my bike served as my reacquaintance with my adopted city  and a reassurance to my TREK that I had not forgotten about him/her. Yet, being quite an old bike now, I noticed a few new sounds and cracks. The shifting was a little rougher than I remembered and the chain felt chunky when I cranked. I don't know what happened, but I guess the two weeks in Policka made me more aware of its flaws. Needless to say, I can't stand riding a noisy bike, so I'm going to redo the entire drive train. I just purchased a replacement chain and tomorrow I'll have a new cassette. I'm also going to replace the shifting cables. I justify these purchases by claiming that "this is the bike I will train on" while working my way up to our cross-country bike trip next summer. That makes a lot of sense to me, but in reality, I'm doing it out of care and compassion for my bike. The silver color, the lightness of the aluminum, the stiffness of the frame when taking on pot holes, and the feeling of flying when I wind through city streets and around embanked curbs has me head over heals for it. The more I ride my bike and rely on it as my main form of transportation (which is now going on 4 years), the more I begin to see its simplistic beauty. I used to get mad at my father for always turning his head and stopping to look at an antique automobile as if it were a gorgeous woman. Unfortunately, I'm afflicted with the same disease. They're slim, colorful, full of character, and oh so much fun to ride.


Jamie and I have been members of a community garden for about three months now. It's only natural that I've started this project with Jamie, as for the past few years I've been drawn to the idea of living a more environmentally-conscience lifestyle. The idea of growing our own food and feeding our friends is quite addicting. This interest only became stronger when my brother Jonathan moved  to Maine to apprentice as an organic farmer. The more I see the happiness and peace that he has attained by working the land, the more I've yearned to bring a little part of that lifestyle to my city existence. I've been learning a lot about soil health, harvesting, and plant types. Due to the fact that the United States has essentially abandoned the small family farm, we Americans grow up with a dearth of practical knowledge about vegetable types, seasonal eating, and cooking. This week I harvested three green peppers, numerous green beans, and checked the progress of our carrots. And when I'm hungry at lunch, I often walk over the garden bed and pillage what is just about ripe. I've been reading a lot more about how to make this type of "urban homesteading" more of a reality for Jamie and me, which has naturally led me to envision our future home. I envision orchards, a vegetable garden, a herb garden, and native flowering plants all around our house. We will effectively utilize our energy, ride bikes nearly everywhere, heat our home with wood, and cook our meals from the food we harvest. A bit ideal? maybe. Unrealistic? Absolutely not.

Three days from now my friend Nate Hastings will be driving from Pittsburgh to meet me in Milwaukee. From Milwaukee, we will travel nearly 6 hours north to the very tip of Wisconsin, where we will ride a ferry to Oak Island in Lake Superior. There we will camp two nights. Upon which, we will take a ferry back to the mainland and backpack our way (on the North Country Trail) through Wisconsin's northern-most national forest, The Nicolet. This will most likely be my first and only backpacking trip of the season. Throughout this past week of work, I've been struggling to stay seated at my desk, as the outdoors clamor for my attention. I keep telling myself that all next week I will be enraptured in beauty and isolation. I yearn for awe-inspiring outcroppings, Sand Hill Cranes, a lack of mosquitoes, and a few (just a few) Black Bears. My back is a little weaker than last season when I was backpacking a lot, so we'll see how the seven days affect my strength and health. Hopefully I'll be in good enough shape to clamber up a few kame hills and lay amidst the bleached drift wood of a Lake Superior beach.