KeithWikle.com

I’ve had these on a hard drive for ages, and they are a bunch of what I think of as great photos of the family and our honeymoon trip to Ireland.

Enjoy

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There are a lot of choices out there for hand-wear: Gloves, mitts, pogies. I’ve had at least three different types of gloves since I started paddling. My Salamander gloves are pretty great most of the time. But gloves for warmth have never been the best option. The inuit knew this, the Norse knew this too. Your fingers go numb pretty quickly in cold water and you have to paddle hard for sometimes as much as fifteen minutes to force circulation back into your painfully numb fingers. The Inuit used a sealskin mittens also known as: maattaalit or in East Greenland it is known as: aaqqatit .

Obviously one big wrapper for your hands with a good insulating layer and a weatherproofing layer would protect the hand better than a glove. For more information on sealskin mitts, visit the British Museum Exhibit on Greenlandic Clothing .

I decided to give the NRS Toaster Mitts a try yesterday on a nice sea kayak paddle on Lake Michigan. The air was in the thirties, and the water is in the mid forties. My hands were nice and toasty the entire time. The mittens obviously limit your manual dexterity somewhat. I was still able to use my camera and scratch my nose. I also discovered that wearing a watch with gloves is a problem. Seven plus years of paddling and I just figured that out yesterday. I will have to try the toaster mitts out on a textured water day to see how good the grip is under duress. But I performed a few rolls including a palms up handroll flawlessly, I like the additional buoyancy. Maybe the forward-forward handroll will finally become easy!

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Doug Wiche took these pictures from the Pier on the day I broke my paddle. All I have to say is wow, that’s a lot of foam!

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While this is not the excellent short story by Mr. James Aloysius Joyce of Dublin Ireland, it is a great band.

A good friend of mine Tom Potter from East Lansing had a similar lineup in Bantam Rooster. I have a sweet spot for this sort of band.

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Jill Homer plans to ride the Iditarod by Bike! I like the way this woman thinks!
Riding this legendary trail typically run by dog sleds seems like an epic ride. She plans to do 350 miles of the trail. She is training now, but is really going to up her miles now that the race is drawing near.

I would love to Cross Country Ski this trail, or bike it!

Good Luck Jill

Check out Jill’s NPR Audio Story

You can also check out Jill’s Blog Arctic Glass

Also on a usability note, NPR finally went to a flash player for their stories. No more crappy real audio. Next is the embed object copy and paste option for NPR content, then their official web 2.0 status can be invoked.

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I was reading an interview on Pitchfork (sorry Alex I can’t help myself, some folks read People Magazine, I read Pitchfork)- where in an interview with PJ Harvey the interviewer said that music didn’t mean as much to him now as it did when he was 17. I actually paused on that one. I felt worried for a moment that this might be true for me. Then I realized, naaa, my tastes might have changed subtly, but I probably depend on music more now than I did when I was 17. Like a lot of 17 year old disaffected youth, I might have used music as part of my identity. I am this sort of person because I listen to this type of music. Or was I that sort of person because I liked that sort of music? It’s really a semantic or theologic question. Was there light and then god, or was there light because of god?

Back then the question was how punk rock could you be? How many obscure 7” singles could you own from bands that were together for less than a year. In some cases those bands are still really cool, and the music is really good. But I have to say I’ve gotten out my Beatles Revolver, my Johnny Cash, my U2 albums a lot more often than Slint’s Spiderland LP. This is not a knock against Slint, but more to say that obscurity for the sake of obscurity is for me becoming more and more irrelevant. I listen to music almost all day now at work, (headphones are on as we speak) and music serves so many purposes I couldn’t even list all of them.

Having been through the dark times when getting a babysitter was hard, money was tight, and life generally prevented us from going out very often, we’ve only now started to squeak back out a bit. This week was unusual in that we saw two concerts in one week. I haven’t done that since college. I used to go see some punk band in somebody’s basement twice a week in college. But now it’s unheard of to be entertained so much in one week. Broken Social Scene and Band of Horses in one week made me feel 20 again. Unfortunately there were some 20 year olds next to me to keep it real. I am balder, crankier, and smarter than most twenty year olds.

Tyler Ramsey the guitarist for Band of Horses opened the show. He had a delicate finger picking style of guitar playing, and some nice songs. His voice was delicate and sort of hovered between singing full out and speaking which was pretty complimentary to what he was playing. He has an album coming out in January of 2008, A Long Dream About Swimming Across the Sea.

The Drones from Australia played next. This four piece walked out, turned everything up to eleven and started wailing. Their songs had that type of quiet loud quiet loud dynamic, with a bit of the swamp rock, death loving, I’ll screw your sister when you’re not looking type of mojo going on. Some of the songs were over the eight minute mark, and their singer really gave it his all. It was fun to watch. Gabriel would have enjoyed it I think.

Band of Horses came last. Their first song, Monsters from Everything all the Time minus the banjos was belted out with style. I love the following lines from Monsters,

a tree for all these problems
they can find us for the moment
then for all past efforts
there buried deep beneath
our hearts and somewhere in our stomachs
and hey, transform all others
when awful people they surround you
well hey, they just like monsters
they come to feed on us
giant little animals for us

The next couple of songs were also from the debut album, but were plagued by feedback from the vocal microphone. Everything seemed sorted out by the time the band played Is There a Ghost . The full band sound behind this short, but full on driving number had the crowd on its feet. The drumming was solid and forceful backed by a three guitars bass and organ lineup.

The General Specific an upbeat southern church stomper of a tune was dead on, if not better than the albun backed by the crowd clapping, and good piano. I’ve unfortunately been seen all over town clapping along to the downbeat of this song, and keening along in my poor falsetto while running. While this is my new favorite tune, if you see me in Kalamazoo singing along to this in running tights at night, do not film me.

If your trials end, are really getting you down
We had a close call, I didn’t even see it, then another one, I hardly believed it at all.
What the writers say, it means shit to me now.
Plants and animals, we’re on a bender when it’s 80 degrees, the end of December was coming on,
Only for you and me.
When the showing up ends, going back to the south, where hungry necks that I know, and runnin’
A blender in a lightning storm, disguised as a blessing I’m sure.
Knowing up here, there comes a fork in the road, pants have gotta go, we’re on an island on
The fourth of July, looks like the tide is going home.
In time I’d find a little way to your heart, down to the general store for nothing specific,
Gonna wash my bones in the Atlantic shore – only for you and me

My dead center front row spot in the crowd began to be challenged by a group of twenty-somethings who talked through all the songs, used blackberry’s and whoo-hooed at bizarre moments. I was ready to throttle them by the end of the next few songs. One of them tried to cut in between me and the stage with drinks in her hand in the middle of a song and I politely stepped in front of her so she had to go behind me. She promptly started talking again, and then whipped out her blackberry to text someone. She paid her ticket price too. I suppose she had the right to e-mail, talk, and whoo hoo her way through the show, but lord how I wanted to tell her to shut the f#$k up, snatch her blackberry out of her hand, crush it under my heel. I think it’s official, I’ve gotten to be that cranky old-fart at the concert that wants to parent the twenty-somethings rather than date them.

By the time the band got to Funeral, the twenty-somethings had thankfully either left or gotten with the program. Funeral is probably the signature tune from Band of Horses, and they nailed it, the sound was full, with the whole band digging in, making it bigger and more dramatic than the record.

Having listened to this song for over a year on long runs, I was waiting with eager anticipation to see if they would play this tune. I had my rough period in 2005 with four funerals of people I knew well, my cousin Scott Lussier, Grandma Field, Jason Wagner, and my Grandma Reimer, the song for whatever it means about death, gave me something. I don’t think it needs to be said, much like the white dog in the snow post This is what music does best. Perhaps art in general does this too. The expression of something we know inherently, but is never spoken.

For what little material reward there is in making art the spiritual rewards seem tangible to me. Americans I think sometimes are too focused on practical matters. We appreciate the things that sustain life, but give very little value to things that enhance life. We take little time for good food, poetry, music, thoughtful films, novels, or any sort of visual art because these things unfortunately take some thought to process. And we, as a society can’t be bothered to think about our entertainment. As sure as the day is long without these things, music, novels, poetry, painting, I would never have made it out of the eleventh grade, and I certainly would never have made it to 2007. Each day is brighter because of things like music. There is always plenty to mope about, and I am sure darker times might be ahead. But this week because of these two shows was an upswing back towards happier times.

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If there is one band whose music has carried me through miles and miles of running, car trips, highs and lows since 2004 it’s been Broken Social Scene. Bad fortune has caught me before when it comes to live shows. Cough Andrew Bird. But I missed the huge heyday of BSS when they had 14 people on stage plus a string and horn section. Despite that mental setback. I was giddily excited to see Broken Social Scene presents: Kevin Drew’s Spirit if. The album is more focused on front man Drew’s songs. Most are excellent and apart from subtle collaborative elements being missing the music seems purely in the vein of You Forgot it in People and the Eponymous release that captured my imagination.

Prior to starting the set Kevin Drew asked the crowd if we ever felt the awkwardness of not knowing if you should sit or stand. He offered to be the middle man for the audience and tell us when it was appropriate to sit or stand. He adjusted his microphone and then two seconds later says, “Stand up motherfuckers”. The show started with a zing from Kevin Drew’s Spirit If, “The Lucky Ones” The following three songs kicked ass as well including cause = time and Stars and Sons (bad ass bass line).

Kevin Drew chatted amiably with the audience prior to starting most songs. The band seemed really tight most of the time even though three guitars is a lot to process for a listener through a noisy PA. Kevin forgot the lyrics to a couple of newer songs. During one song he actually let the band jam for a minute or so while he checked a lyric sheet. We even saw him confer with Brendan his major collaborator on most of the albums about the lyrics. Afterwards Kevin admitted to the audience he asked the guys in the band if they knew the words, and they told him flat out, “We have no idea what you’re singing man.” “I’m a mumbler, I admit it.” Once the rocky part of the show with the forgotten lyrics was over.

The band played almost all of Spirit If, and a good number of the fast rockers from their eponymous album. They closed out the set with a crowd pleasing rendition of “Major Label Debut”.

I really really enjoyed the show, but still want to see the full BSS chaos of 14 people on stage with two drum kits, 4 guitars, keyboards, horn sections, Feist and Emily Haines on vocals, plus Jason Collett and Kevin Drew. The energy for the show was quite high, but I sort of felt I was seeing the decaffeinated version. This might have been due to Kevin continually saying he thought he had food poisoning. But I was happy to have been in the crowd. For a married father of two it was a wild Tuesday night.

Tne lyrics I walked away with from It’s all Gonna Break , Kevin remembered perfectly.

i don’t love i just fight with the violence in ourselves
its all gonna break
and you all want the lovely music to save your lives
and you all want the lovely music to save your lives
keep it coming
their is no lie to save your life
keep it coming
this is the lie to save your life
why are you always fucking ghosts
why are you always fucking ghosts
why…......
it’s been such a long
life that we trust
your heart is a whore
and love is just lust.
you want what you can’t
and you can’t cause of fear
we’ve got to get
out of here
why are you always…......
its been and it settles down and fights to love.
its all gonna break.

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In 2004 Hollywood actor and uber boy toy Ewan (pronounced you-an) MacGregor otherwise known to the general public as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his fellow actor and best mate Charlie Boorman set upon riding around the world by Motorcycle. While I generally think motorized transport is for pansies, the idea of a cross continental journey on the back of bike struck me as an evocative idea. My father recommended this movie to me ages ago and I just never got around to it.

Ewan and Charlie share a lifelong passion with motorcycles something I at least understand a little. They decided they would ride all the way from the UK through western Europe, (France, Belgium Germany, Czech Republic, Slovakia,) to the Ukraine, through a little bit of Russia almost all the way through Kazahkstan, through another little part of Russia again, and then into Mongolia, and then back into Russia again along the Road of Bones, and then over to North America by plane, down through Alaska, into Canada and then down through Montana, the Dakotas to New York, in total some 20,000 miles.

The beginning of the journey is the most difficult to watch. Ewan and Charlie attempt to get sponsored by an Austrian Motorbike company called KTM. KTM sends out a consultant who informs them that the Road of Bones section in Siberia may defeat them. KTM renegs on their offer of sponsorship and the pair are pretty despondent. Ewan thankfully confesses a little sheepishly that maybe they are behaving like petulant asses. He admits that expecting to receive free motorbikes for a trip they want to do is a little silly. Who else would expect this kind of treatment. In fact though it wasn’t mentioned, the KTM consultant did part of the trip on a bike he paid for himself.

I thought about this in terms of the sea kayaking world. I think sponsorship is a great thing. But if you wouldn’t be willing to do the trip on your own without a free kayak or free gear, did you really want to do it anyway? Granted if you could get a free kayak/motorcycle that would help with your trip why wouldn’t you? But should you expect anything? That’s another story.

I found it amusing, but not surprising that the high spirits and the exuberance lasted as long as the tarmac did. Ewan and Charlie became quite despondent when the road turned to trail. The struggle to remain on two wheels was pretty epic. Everytime one of the BMW bikes went over, everybody had to pitch in and help the rider get up again. Due to the extreme weight of the bike lifting it solo appeared to be impossible.

Once Charlie and Ewan made it to Mongolia the real pain began. But so did the beauty. It seemed they were surrounded by endless plains, prairie, mountains, and river valleys. The Mongolians they encountered seemed genuinely curious and interested in the pair. I kept wondering if a bike tour would be crazy in that area of the world. Jon Turk and his daughter passed through part of Mongolia on their Altai tour. On their blog, I read a lot about pushing bikes and running out of water. Our erstwhile hollywood stars had a support vehicle that the hardy Jon Turk could not afford. I know it’s not apples to apples here, but it just furthers a deep, deeeeep respect for Jon Turk.

The ups and downs of long trips can be like drug addiction, the ups are so up you become giddy, and the downs are so low you become almost suicidal. Separated from home and family for months on end, hardship and suffering are not passing moments, but a daily reality. The only thing that keeps you going is the tunnel vision of the finish line, and your friends. Certainly many people will never understand this. When I saw Charlie and Ewan hit tarmac after 600 miles of hard off-road riding in Mongolia and they actually laid down and kissed it, I completely got it. Having paddled into 20 knot headwinds for three days while towing a paddler between islands has left me with an appreciation for the sudden twist of fate that puts the wind at your back. When you coast for 20 miles with a twenty knot tailwind you know what it is to see God after feeling forsaken.

Ultimatley Charlie and Ewan toughened up quite a bit and when the riding became ludicrously hard, they just focused on minigoals, and began to laugh at how silly they were for imagining they could fly through the miles and miles of offroad riding.

I am not a celebrity worshiper by a long shot, but I do respect folks who achieve something tangible. For the riding through Asia and Russia’s Road of Bones I salute the Long Way Round. It seems I am also on the cusp of something monumental too. When I can say more I will. You only live once, you may as well chase the dream right.

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Snotty frozen rain and forty mile an hour winds buffeted me on my morning commute to work. The full winter commuting regalia made it’s first appearance. I think I still need some neoprene booties for my bike shoes. But the fenders and the Bianchi San Jose seem to be holding tight. Except the bloody seat post. I think the shop lubed the frame to preserve it during assembly. But unfortunately this means that the seat post will not stay put. It slides side to side and then eventually slides down about two inches. It’s driving me mad!

I made the mistake of looking out at the lake.

Today is a day where the gulls tuck close to the water’s edge. When the surge of the water climbs the beach, they take silly little steps back in near human surprise. If caught unaware when the storm rushes up the sand, the birds take flight with motionless wings. Their rigid wings tilt back and forth catching gusts. When you look out over the water, there is a jagged line of breakers that stretches as far as the eye can see, like an unending row of spilling sharks teeth. The wind whistles madly through the paddle shaft. Anything you put down blows down the beach. Launching and then breaking out is a herculean if not impossible task. Once out maybe you catch a ride, or maybe a ride catches you.

Having seen these waves first hand, I can now say this is nigh on surf-able.

Thursday is supposed to be a clean 4-7 foot day.

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