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Monday, September 04, 2006
Simon & Garfunkel Weren't Kidding....
Shame on me, Gentle Reader, for promising so much and yet delivering so little.
I do indeed still have a few more entries up my sleeve, and I shouldn't let so many days go by between them. In this way, keeping up a blog is like calling your mom now and then; you know you should do it more often, you want to do it, you may even look forward to doing it...but shamefully, the action lags the intention.
"Yo, Mr. Frei. What's with the catchy blog title tonight?"
Ah, Gentle Reader, your impetuosity is admirable, and even reassuring. So let's have at it.
As you flower children will recall, S&G sang the definitive version of Bridge Over Troubled Waters . They used the title line as a simile...."like a bridge over troubled waters"...and since it's safe to assume that neither Paul nor Art have rowed an Adirondack guideboat under the Tappan Zee bridge, I'm here to testify that the waters under a bridge can indeed be troubled, ironically because of the brige itself.
"Woah, Mr. Frei, hold on a minute. You mean that S&G's heartwarming simile masks the hydrodynamic reality of the way flowing water interacts with the displacement of the bridge abuttments themselves, and that the symbolic turbulence they refer to is simply a manifestation of incompressable water seeking an alternative path downstream?"
You've got it, Gentle Reader! That's exactly what I'm saying, and frankly, I couldn't have said it better myself. And while they may have been referring to the "troubled waters" of life and relationships, there is a lot actually going on under those bridges that doesn't meet the eye.
But let me start at the beginning of Day 4, which will:
1. Further develop the above phenomenon, at the risk of forever tainting your future pure appreciation for Simon & Garfunkle's beautiful ballad,
2. Briefly describe the three hours during which I maintained the fastest speed during the my 13 day trip, and
3. Lead to a ham-handed description of what it is like to travel New York's harbor (and Manhattan's shore) in an Adirondack guideboat.
Whew.
Tuesday, 8/8, started at the Stoney Point Yacht Club, about 35 miles north of NYC. They had graciously allowed me to sleep under an awning in front of their clubhouse, which was a blessing; the night presented a parade of spectacular thunderstorms typical of the Hudson Valley in summer. I was able enjoy a three-hour fireworks display that was not fabricated in Italy or New Jersey while (cowering) under the relative comfort and safety of an awning instead of my boat - which would have been the only alternative.
I was off at 7 the next day, rowing against the last of an incoming tide. This was a good thing, because I knew that as it went to slack and then turned downstream later that morning, I'd have both the tide and current with me, along with the blessed breeze rising from the northeast. My log shows that during hours 5,6, and 7 of that day, my sustained speeds "over the ground" were 5.3, 6.7, and a ludicrous 7.1 mph. During this period I passed under the Tappan Zee (more on this in a moment), ghosted along the magnificent rock walls and flora of the Pallisades, and slid into the upper reaches of New York harbor itself.
Picture, Gentle Reader, all of this liquid energy sliding down the narrow trough known as the Hudson River, only to confront the pilings of the Tappan Zee Bridge. I've driven over the Tappan Zee Bridge hundreds of times...enough so that I always mutter to myself, "Tappan Zee Bridge? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" (I mutter it to myself quietly, under my breath, so as not to alarm passengers. It's really stupid.).
I've always been impressed with the bridge's length and it's graceful curvature as it traverses one of the widest parts of the river but, frankly, I've never given much thought to the engineering or structure that makes this dramatic entry to New York City possible. Underneath the Tappan Zee are dozens of enormous concrete pilings. They have to be enormous, I suppose, to withstand the crushing pressure of the ice that flows down the river each spring, as well as to bear the incalcuable weight of the Twinkies and chocolate chip cookies I, for one, ask them to suatain upon each crossing. The largest of these pilings are at least thirty feet across, and I suspect these dimensions increase below the waterline.
When the combined force of the current and an ebb tide, aided by a following wind, hits these pilings, all hell breaks loose. The water above simply can't gently "meet up" with the water downstream, and the 200 or so yards above the bridge are, as mariners like to understate, "confused." Confused?? No, pissed off is more like it. I mean, this water wants to get through. (Gentle Reader, picture 65 eighth graders trying to file through a single door to a cafeteria for lunch and you get the idea. Mayhem outside...even on their best behavior...and placid order, even calm, inside.) I actually turned the boat around above the bridge, outside of the zone of "confusion," trying to jockey for a space or an angle that might avoid waters that even my maximum effort might not surmount. Sure enough, right-of-center, one of the pilings seemed to be offering marginally less aquatic chaos than the rest; I traversed across the face of the roil to pick my slot and committed myself to the necessary passage. It was thrilling and, yes, for some few minutes I was completely at the mercy of the flow - not unlike being in the vortex of an irresistible stream of 8th graders on our way to lunch - and, as at lunch, I was soon ejected into the calm of downstream, a bit wet and adrenalized, but ready to press on.
Lesson learned: When there is no other choice, go with the flow.
From here I enjoyed a virtual e-ticket ride to NYC. I passed under the George Washington bridge at almost 7mph...noticably faster than the traffic above...and waved giddily at the investment bankers stalled in the gridlock. Did they think I was some sort of Richard Branson nee'r-do-well, out for a morning row while my minions monitored my empire? Perhaps they thought I was a true adventurer, having cast off his worldly cares and possessions to see the world. More likely I appeared to be the dilletante that I am, a wanna-be adventurer who must necessarily cling to the mothership of contemporary culture, sleeping under an awning instead of his boat, cell phone at his side in a sea-bag, writing a blog for his own amusement. A few people cheerily returned my wave...one gave me the finger. Only because it was New York, I returned his salutation...but later regretted the impulse because many of the Happy Wavers might have mistakenly thought it was meant for them. I hope some of them are reading the blog and will accept this heartfelt apology. It was for thjat guy in the grey Lexus. To him, no apology. What was with that, anyway?
Anyway, the GW is a suspension bridge that relies on only two major pilings, affording me the chance to pick placid waters for the dash under. The mach meter still showed almost 7mph all the way to the harbor, Staten Island, and Liberty Marina, my destination for the night.
Gentle Reader, I soon regretted the confluence of natural energy that was making this part of the row so effortlessly rapid. I wanted more time to soak up the sensory overload of my environment, so for about 30 minutes, as I entered the upper waters of New York harbor, I simply stopped rowing.
From the vantage point of a small boat, this space is breathtaking. I have never felt so small, but the sense that is most stimulated from this perspective is that of hearing. From the water in an unpowered boat, one feels, rather than hears, the enormous wave of white noise that cascades from both shores. Every truck, every subway train, and I suspect every dropped dish and butterfly flapping its wings melds into a monotonastic harmonic thrum that one actually senses with the body rather than hears with the ears. It's the aggregated vibration of living...of industry, of life and, sadly, maybe of Intel being off a few points that day...that thickens the air, pulses on the skin, penetrates the body and makes your own presence an afterthought.
It was way cool.
The end of this day brought me to Staten Island..and to Kathy and Peg's care, and to the bliss of shared onion rings that evening. "Adventurer"? I guess not.
Anyway, it was a very good day.
More?
xxoo
Mr. Frei
I do indeed still have a few more entries up my sleeve, and I shouldn't let so many days go by between them. In this way, keeping up a blog is like calling your mom now and then; you know you should do it more often, you want to do it, you may even look forward to doing it...but shamefully, the action lags the intention.
"Yo, Mr. Frei. What's with the catchy blog title tonight?"
Ah, Gentle Reader, your impetuosity is admirable, and even reassuring. So let's have at it.
As you flower children will recall, S&G sang the definitive version of Bridge Over Troubled Waters . They used the title line as a simile...."like a bridge over troubled waters"...and since it's safe to assume that neither Paul nor Art have rowed an Adirondack guideboat under the Tappan Zee bridge, I'm here to testify that the waters under a bridge can indeed be troubled, ironically because of the brige itself.
"Woah, Mr. Frei, hold on a minute. You mean that S&G's heartwarming simile masks the hydrodynamic reality of the way flowing water interacts with the displacement of the bridge abuttments themselves, and that the symbolic turbulence they refer to is simply a manifestation of incompressable water seeking an alternative path downstream?"
You've got it, Gentle Reader! That's exactly what I'm saying, and frankly, I couldn't have said it better myself. And while they may have been referring to the "troubled waters" of life and relationships, there is a lot actually going on under those bridges that doesn't meet the eye.
But let me start at the beginning of Day 4, which will:
1. Further develop the above phenomenon, at the risk of forever tainting your future pure appreciation for Simon & Garfunkle's beautiful ballad,
2. Briefly describe the three hours during which I maintained the fastest speed during the my 13 day trip, and
3. Lead to a ham-handed description of what it is like to travel New York's harbor (and Manhattan's shore) in an Adirondack guideboat.
Whew.
Tuesday, 8/8, started at the Stoney Point Yacht Club, about 35 miles north of NYC. They had graciously allowed me to sleep under an awning in front of their clubhouse, which was a blessing; the night presented a parade of spectacular thunderstorms typical of the Hudson Valley in summer. I was able enjoy a three-hour fireworks display that was not fabricated in Italy or New Jersey while (cowering) under the relative comfort and safety of an awning instead of my boat - which would have been the only alternative.
I was off at 7 the next day, rowing against the last of an incoming tide. This was a good thing, because I knew that as it went to slack and then turned downstream later that morning, I'd have both the tide and current with me, along with the blessed breeze rising from the northeast. My log shows that during hours 5,6, and 7 of that day, my sustained speeds "over the ground" were 5.3, 6.7, and a ludicrous 7.1 mph. During this period I passed under the Tappan Zee (more on this in a moment), ghosted along the magnificent rock walls and flora of the Pallisades, and slid into the upper reaches of New York harbor itself.
Picture, Gentle Reader, all of this liquid energy sliding down the narrow trough known as the Hudson River, only to confront the pilings of the Tappan Zee Bridge. I've driven over the Tappan Zee Bridge hundreds of times...enough so that I always mutter to myself, "Tappan Zee Bridge? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" (I mutter it to myself quietly, under my breath, so as not to alarm passengers. It's really stupid.).
I've always been impressed with the bridge's length and it's graceful curvature as it traverses one of the widest parts of the river but, frankly, I've never given much thought to the engineering or structure that makes this dramatic entry to New York City possible. Underneath the Tappan Zee are dozens of enormous concrete pilings. They have to be enormous, I suppose, to withstand the crushing pressure of the ice that flows down the river each spring, as well as to bear the incalcuable weight of the Twinkies and chocolate chip cookies I, for one, ask them to suatain upon each crossing. The largest of these pilings are at least thirty feet across, and I suspect these dimensions increase below the waterline.
When the combined force of the current and an ebb tide, aided by a following wind, hits these pilings, all hell breaks loose. The water above simply can't gently "meet up" with the water downstream, and the 200 or so yards above the bridge are, as mariners like to understate, "confused." Confused?? No, pissed off is more like it. I mean, this water wants to get through. (Gentle Reader, picture 65 eighth graders trying to file through a single door to a cafeteria for lunch and you get the idea. Mayhem outside...even on their best behavior...and placid order, even calm, inside.) I actually turned the boat around above the bridge, outside of the zone of "confusion," trying to jockey for a space or an angle that might avoid waters that even my maximum effort might not surmount. Sure enough, right-of-center, one of the pilings seemed to be offering marginally less aquatic chaos than the rest; I traversed across the face of the roil to pick my slot and committed myself to the necessary passage. It was thrilling and, yes, for some few minutes I was completely at the mercy of the flow - not unlike being in the vortex of an irresistible stream of 8th graders on our way to lunch - and, as at lunch, I was soon ejected into the calm of downstream, a bit wet and adrenalized, but ready to press on.
Lesson learned: When there is no other choice, go with the flow.
From here I enjoyed a virtual e-ticket ride to NYC. I passed under the George Washington bridge at almost 7mph...noticably faster than the traffic above...and waved giddily at the investment bankers stalled in the gridlock. Did they think I was some sort of Richard Branson nee'r-do-well, out for a morning row while my minions monitored my empire? Perhaps they thought I was a true adventurer, having cast off his worldly cares and possessions to see the world. More likely I appeared to be the dilletante that I am, a wanna-be adventurer who must necessarily cling to the mothership of contemporary culture, sleeping under an awning instead of his boat, cell phone at his side in a sea-bag, writing a blog for his own amusement. A few people cheerily returned my wave...one gave me the finger. Only because it was New York, I returned his salutation...but later regretted the impulse because many of the Happy Wavers might have mistakenly thought it was meant for them. I hope some of them are reading the blog and will accept this heartfelt apology. It was for thjat guy in the grey Lexus. To him, no apology. What was with that, anyway?
Anyway, the GW is a suspension bridge that relies on only two major pilings, affording me the chance to pick placid waters for the dash under. The mach meter still showed almost 7mph all the way to the harbor, Staten Island, and Liberty Marina, my destination for the night.
Gentle Reader, I soon regretted the confluence of natural energy that was making this part of the row so effortlessly rapid. I wanted more time to soak up the sensory overload of my environment, so for about 30 minutes, as I entered the upper waters of New York harbor, I simply stopped rowing.
From the vantage point of a small boat, this space is breathtaking. I have never felt so small, but the sense that is most stimulated from this perspective is that of hearing. From the water in an unpowered boat, one feels, rather than hears, the enormous wave of white noise that cascades from both shores. Every truck, every subway train, and I suspect every dropped dish and butterfly flapping its wings melds into a monotonastic harmonic thrum that one actually senses with the body rather than hears with the ears. It's the aggregated vibration of living...of industry, of life and, sadly, maybe of Intel being off a few points that day...that thickens the air, pulses on the skin, penetrates the body and makes your own presence an afterthought.
It was way cool.
The end of this day brought me to Staten Island..and to Kathy and Peg's care, and to the bliss of shared onion rings that evening. "Adventurer"? I guess not.
Anyway, it was a very good day.
More?
xxoo
Mr. Frei
