Cheese Run

One of the worst things about back country travel is small road signs. It’s easy to miss good places and interesting things. For example, take the arrow pointing left off Vermont Route 103 that marks the turn to the Crowley Cheese factory. Hard to spot… worth the effort.

Now where does cheese get its start? Cows!

And what is more Vermont than cows? Nothing!

And where did cheese making start in Vermont? At the Crowley Cheese factory in Healdville, just a couple of twisty turny miles off Route 103, five miles north of Ludlow. The sign is easy to miss.

The oldest continuously operating cheese factory in the United States dates back to 1824. All the cheeses are hand-made; cut, dipped, and packaged in the same barn building which is now designated a National Historic Place.

Not all cheese is the same. There is mild, medium sharp, sharp, and extra sharp which are either a Colby, if you buy the government classification, or a Cheddar according to Crowley. Cheese politics, it seems! There is also smoked cheese, a hot pepper, a garlic chive and a Muffaletta along with a sage cheese prepared just for Christmas. You can visit the factory weekdays from 8 am to 4 pm and choose your favorite. We didn’t walk away empty handed.

If you go, there won’t be a lot between you and the cheese makers. There are only three. ( although Crowley staffs up to five people around the holidays to handle all the mail orders.) Crowley cheese maintains a mailing list of some 35,000 names ands ships as many as 4000 packages a year. It will soon be available again in specialty shops too.

The e-mail contact is http://www.crowleycheese.com

A lot of good things can happen when you pay attention to road signs, even small ones.

Phil Johnson

Fish and Chips at the Hungry Trout

Spring can be a tough time. I’ll want to head out and play some golf. But I know the fishing reports will be too good to pass up at that time. Like the Lovin Spoonful once sang: “… you have say yes to one and let the other one ride.”

Well, maybe not! I’ve found a plan that should help me and the rest of you decision-impaired souls when it comes time to choose. It is called “Fish and Chips” and it’s offered by the well regarded Hungry Trout Resort in Wilmington NY, near Lake Placid

While the scheduling is flexible, most who sign up head out to one of the nearby golf courses in the morning then come back to the Resort where its off to spend the late afternoon, early evening flogging the nearby AuSable River or one of the other productive waters in the area.

And the Hungry Trout has a pretty fine restaurant too where you can wrap up the day with good food and your choice of stories; golf, or fishing. Or both.

The Hungry Trout will rent you a room, schedule a tee time, fix you up with a fishing guide and cook you dinner. Check out Fish and Chips at http://www.hungrytrout.com. A gift certificate is looking like a pretty good stocking stuffer to me right now.

–Phil Johnson

Burton’s Olympic Snowboard Uniforms

Burton has just released photos of the US Snowboarding Team uniform for the 2010 Winter Olympics.

And I like it; sorta!

The jacket is a red, white and blue plaid ( yes, Beach Boys/ Preppy Guide plaid! ) affair. Now if you go out on the hill these days, the average snowboard outerwear you see looks more like your mom’s old table cloth… only bigger and baggier… much bigger and much baggier. But no fire hydrant look this time. The uniform jacket that US team members will be wearing in Vancouver, at least the picture of it released by Burton, looks fashion fitted.

The pants on the other hand seem to be asking “Why?” Now we all know pants can’t talk so I guess we’ll never know why design graffiti had to be added to a neat denim look Gore-Tek fabric. The crisp weather beating fabric has been mucked up by faux rips and tears that make it look just a little too trashy for my taste.

Now I am a long time admirer of Jake Burton Carpenter for the innovation and business acumen he has brought to snowsports over the past quarter century. We’ll know if his designers scored a hit with this one when we see what’s being worn on the slopes next season. Kids and grandkids? … maybe. Grays? No!

Early on-line comments were mixed. Here’s a sample:

… “… the US is poor now… we may as well look the part.”

“…sweet, going to look really different from all the other jock dork conventional uniforms”

And finally from someone who’ll never be pleased:

“…uniforms defeat the purpose of snowboarding. What has the world become? Are you kidding me…?”

Phil Johnson

Driving to New Hampshire

Here’s the thing. No matter how many times I’ve driven to New Hampshire—summer or winter, it makes no matter—I have no sense of where I am.

Why is that?

I don’t have that problem anywhere else in New England. Not in Vermont, Connecticut, Rhode Island or ever Maine, which is vast and, in some places, virtually unexplored.

And, I drive to New England a lot. Including New Hampshire. To ski mostly. But, in summer, I find myself up here to hike, play golf, or do the myriad other activities offered by the mountains the coast, and the resorts.

So, how come I never have a sense of knowing where I am?

Take yesterday, for instance. I drove to Waterville Valley. No traffic to speak of, excellent driving weather. I chose a route through Hartford, then north on I-91 through Springfield, Mass., and up to White River Junction, Vt.

Fine to that point.

Then it was east on a series of numbered roads til I was supposed to reach I-93, on which I was to travel two exits north.

I did all that. But, by the time I reached I-93, I had no confidence that I was in the right place or driving in the correct direction. I was traveling on faith.

Sure, I got here in the end. Still, what is it about New Hampshire that engenders this state of confusion? Forget “Live Free & Die”; for me, it’s “Live Free & Feel Lost.”

— Mitch Kaplan

Olympic Dreams

I won’t be in Vancouver this February for the Winter Olympics. Too bad, because I’ve been a great fan of the games since I worked at Lake Placid in 1980. Like every games since, I’m sure I’ll be glued to the TV for the full two weeks of competition (even though, I confess, Ice Dancing is snack time for me).

A major reason I like the games so much is the chance to see athletes in sports that get little attention most of the time get their day in the sun. Take Steve Holcomb for instance.

Steve looks to me like the perfect guy to have over for a backyard barbeque. At 5’10”, 235 pounds, he looks like he’d be right at home, flipping brats and burgers and turning the chicken while watching the games on the big screen. You just know he’ll be back for seconds when the cooking’s done.

But unfortunately Steve won’t be available to watch the tube at my house. He’ll be on the tube instead.

This 29 year old from Park City UT is the reigning world champion in the four man bobsled and one of the favorites to medal at the games. He is certainly a fan favorite in Lake Placid where last year, after becoming the first American to win a bobsled world championship since 1949, he went back up on the hill with no fanfare and gave rides to some of the spectators.

Think there are many other world class athletes who would do that?

Holcomb was his usual good spirited self recently when he won the World Cup four man bobsled race at Lake Placid and took the silver medal in the two man event. I don’t know about you, but I am more impressed with a successful athlete who remains friendly with the fans than someone who looks great in spandex but indifferent to the public.

He is he kind of guy I want to see do well in the Olympics. And the grill at my house will always be open if Steve wants to stop by.

 

–Phil Johnson

On Oxford, England & Walking Tours

On Wednesday, we joined London Walks for a day-trip walking tour of Oxford and The Cotswolds. An excellent day, it was. Which leads me to ruminate on . . .

A good guide is essential to a good walking tour.

5 Reasons to Enroll in an Organized, Guide-led Walking Tour

1. A huge amount of information is imparted, from statistics and history to arcana and entertaining stories. For example: we learned the history of Cecil Rhodes and the Rhodes Scholarships; and, the difference between a grotesque and a griffin.
2. You’re exploring a place up-close and personal. In how many situations can you stand outside a private house and stare at the thatch roof for 10 minutes without becoming ominously conspicuous?
3. Walkers tend to be hearty people with good curiosity who make good company.
4. You don’t have to think. The guide intelligently directs you where to go and why.
5. It’s efficient. No time is wasted trying to determine where to go or what you’re looking at.

But . . .

3 Elements to Keep in Mind about Organized, Guide-led Walking Tours

1. The guide must be good. Over this you have no control, but a dull, poorly informed guide who injects no humor yields a dull tour.
2. The topic must be relevant. Don’t join a tour just because it’s a tour. Go because you’re interested in the tour’s topic.
3. You must keep up. Avoid a tour that requires more walking than you’re comfortable with or capable of. Only you know your own limits.

Walk on.

London Busses: One More Thought

Another London bus curiosity.

Look at the photo at right. It’s the back of a London double-decker bus taken from the top floor of another London double-decker bus.

In an emergency - what? Jump from two stories up?

Notice the sticker. It says “Emergency Exit.” this sticker is two floors off the ground.

The question is this: in an emergency, you turn the handle, pull open the window/door/exit hatch and—then what? Jump?

I hope I never have to find out.

Grays in London: On Weather & Busses

The first thing we’ve learned visiting London is this: don’t listen to the weather forecast.

Some rain’s been predicted each of our first four days—from showers to 90

A rainy day in London Town?

percent chance. None has appeared. Indeed, Day Four was downright sunny.

The forecast for day five? Rain—80 percent chance. Ah, there’s nothing like consistency.

Our next lesson was about the busses.

We waited for the 15 bus on Day Two for at least 20 minutes. Nothing. Oh well, onto the 23, or some such number, we went. It purportedly traveled to the general neighborhood we sought. And, it stayed right on track. For a while. Until it reached a stop on Oxford Street, and a recorded female voice announced sweetly that “this bus has been diverted.”

Diverted? Why? To where?

Who knows. Just diverted.

We abandoned the bus, and descended into the Underground.

At day’s end, we found we’d wandered along the Thames as far as the Tower of London Bridge. Aha—the 15 bus, the bus map told us, traveled right past the Tower. It could return us almost to our door.

The 15 did travel past the Tower. Indeed, three of them passed us as we walked to the bus stop, and another arrived at the stop just after we did. We hopped on board.

It was rush hour. The bus had almost reached Piccadilly Circus when it came to a halt. We waited. And waited. And waited. When we resumed forward motion, there was no indication as to why we’d been stopped.

A wall of London busses.

But, we were lucky. Back on Oxford Street, the opposite-bound traffic was stopped for several blocks. And that was 90 percent busses. A literal wall of busses loomed on our right. Going nowhere.

It was only when we reached Marble Arch that we understood something about the mysterious 15 bus. It comes in several manifestations. This one went only as far as Marble Arch. Others went elsewhere. Why, one wonders, would busses with the same route number not go to the same places?

We disembarked and walked the last half-mile.

The trip across town would have taken perhaps 20-30 minutes on the Tube. It took us close to an hour and a half. But, at least we had some idea why we’d had that original, in-vain wait for the 15.

On Flying All Night

I’ve survived another overnight flight to Europe. This time to London. Don’t as me how. More importantly, don’t ask me why.

Why must the vast majority of these Europe-bound flights be scheduled overnight? You arrive early in the morning, sleep-deprived, your body pretzeled into aches and cramps, your digestive system totally tossed out of whack.

I always pass on the dinner served on these flights in hopes of getting a little more shut eye. But, do I?

No.

Why bother serving dinner at 10 p.m. anyway? You’re supposed to sacrifice a third of your precious sleeping minutes to eat airplane food? Particularly domestic carrier’s airplane food?

(We flew American Airlines. Coach. On frequent flyer miles. Top-rank international service this is not. It equates, actually, to air travel of about five years ago, before most U.S. carriers cut out food and incurred fees for everything.)

Yet, in truth it doesn’t much matter. Because I can’t sleep sitting up. Not even armed with a neck pillow and prescription sleeping pill.

On this trip I even tried my long thought-out pillow experiment: wear the neck pillow backwards to keep my head from lolling forward.

No go.

Although I did better by pulling out the seat tray and propping the pillow up under my chin. Combined with the pill, I think I actually slept for an hour or two.

Still, in a six-hour flight to London, you could only sleep four hours max, what with take-off and landing procedures, etc. And, then, there’s the pretzel factor.

Let’s face it, the aging body doesn’t bend the way it once did. Not that it ever bent all that well, anyway.

But, arrive we did, all in one piece. Made our way to our hotel on the Underground and, of course, couldn’t check in. Rooms aren’t ready at 9:30 or 10 in the morning.

We killed the required two hours til check-in by wandering the neighborhood and eating what was either a late lunch or early breakfast. Then, it was nap time.

I know, I know—you’re not supposed to nap after overnight flying. You’re supposed to bust through til bedtime and, voila!, your body will have adjusted.

I don’t think so. Hey, I nap every day. Why should this be different? Two hours in the Land of Nod, and it was time to face the day.

Welcome back to London, son. It’s been a while.

Mitch: London, England, Here We Come

After much debate and an undue amount of consideration, Penny and I finally decided on an autumn destination: London. We leave tomorrow (10/19) for a week.

The planning includes

• theatre nights
• symphony concert nights
• symphony concert days
• an Oxford side trip
• a Brighton side trip
• the War Rooms
• the Tate Moder
• more museums
• and the London Ski Show.

That latter adventure is cool. The London Show is the world’s largest sk-snowboard expo. I’ve been hearing about it for years. Will be fun to actually get there.

Carry on.