One day on Martha's Vineyard

Woods Hole, as seen from the MV ferry

Originally I hadn't planned to write another post covering my trip to Cape Cod, but yesterday's excursion to Martha's Vineyard—playground of the wealthy—deserves a few words and a few pics. Oh man, I couldn't have written the script any better: After Tuesday's and Wednesday's so-so to crappy weather Thursday was forecast to be perfect, and it all turned out to be true with nothing but sun (even though it was a bit on the chilly side).

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... leaving ...

... and heading for Martha's Vineyard on the Nantucket.

I had checked out the timetable of the SSA's sailings from Woods Hole to Vineyard Haven, on the island. The 9:30 a.m. departure sounded just right, allowing me to leave the cottage at the civil (and no longer sub-zero, centigrade) time of 9 a.m., without having to ride my heart out. Why take the car and pay for parking, eh? Isn't that why I brought the bike?

The sister-ship is heading for Woods Hole

Now, the passage to Martha's Vineyard ain't cheap. The one-way fare for an adult will set you back by $8, and being accompanied by a bike will cost another $4. So, round-trip that's $24 for two 45-minute crossings. Idle chatter with the hands taught me that the Steam Ship Association is a state-governed non-profit organization, unlike the ferries in Washington state, for example, that are state-run (and -subsidized). OK. I still thought that there were way too many folks standing around running the show, but this is not the high-season, and who wants to lay off employees just because it is winter?

The source of the foghorn!

Harbor of Vineyard Haven

I saw the crossing as the equivalent of a charter boat cruise. I got to see Woods Hole from a different perspective; Nobska lighthouse greeted me from a new angle; and I finally figured out where that foghorn that I had been hearing intermittently (as it turned out, depending on wind direction) originated from on the Vineyard's coast.

One happy Ritchey!!!!

Now, you need to understand that the Ritchey, by pedigree, is a bike that could be raced in any amateur road race or crit. With its fairly aggressive geometry it is not a commuter or what one would call touring bike. But for this excursion (and Tuesday's ride, too) I had outfitted it with platform pedals and had softly talked to it to stay tame, and look what we did: We spent 43 miles together, with my using my Gore-Tex "tennis" shoes to match the aforementioned flat pedals (with me, all the while, wearing underwear!!! and Castelli commuter tights) to ride from Vineyard Heaven to Oak Bluffs and then to Edgartown, all along the amazingly beautiful north coast of the Vineyard. Did you know that MV is the third-largest island in the US? Now you do.

As is so customary, a few of Judy's ashes joined the sea right here

In Edgartown, you get to a spot where the road disappears and the water appears in the form of a small channel, maybe 100 meters across. That's where you take the Chappy ferry, short for the impossible-to-spell-correctly Chappaquiddick, to the eponymous and more importantly infamous Chappaquiddick island. If you don't know, use your friend Google with the C. word and "Kennedy." You'll love it.

You gotta love the name: The Chappy ferry

Wanna retrace Ted's escapades? Shell out the dough!

Oh man, I just love this pic!

I spent another $6 for a 2-minute trip to the other side (at least that was round-trip) and then rode to the end of the paved road. I saw a few mansions, but that was it. I had really expected a bit more. Don't waste your $6, unless you want to see lots of oak and no shoreline. Probably you have to spend more since you most likely will go by car.

These lighthouses have a metal outside and are lined with brick on the inside.

Back in Edgartown, I went off in search of the fire-engine museum. It had been mentioned in one of those ubiquitous "Your Guide to Martha's Vineyard" booklets that are heavy on coupons and maps and that one can find in a rack when leaving the local supermarket, right next to the Real Estate Guide for the region that you happen to visit. Don't underestimate the power of the printed word! After various inquiries (not so easy, since a) only a third of Edgartown's population is in E. in December, b) of that population everybody seems to be inside, and c) both of the construction dudes I asked were definitely not native to Edgartown, Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts, or the USA, for that matter) I managed to find the Edgartown Fire Station and its adjacent museum. The place was open—yet deserted—and obviously in the midst of preparations for the upcoming Holiday Season, judging from the litter of faux wreaths, strings of holiday lights, and the like. I suppose, I could have hot-wired one of the two antique engines, but then, where the hell do you go on an island in a borrowed fire engine?

Merry Christmas to you ...

... dear Edgartown Fire Department

From here I headed south to Katama and South Beach, and that's where I finally saw the true Atlantic. It was strange: I leaned the Ritchey against the deserted "Lifeguards Only" parking sign and walked the final 50 meters through the dunes. And there it was, the Atlantic, opening up all the way to Europe on the other side. It was strange: The waves were so different, the vista went forever, the air carried that je ne sais quoi that indicated that something had suddenly changed from what the bay and sound were like. Get into a boat here, row really hard, and five or seven weeks later you may end up in Ireland, or France, or whatever the waves intended. Or dead. It was magnificently powerful and at the same time so beautiful. I could have stayed for a very long time.

There were numerous other worthy pics, but why bother?

Well, it was a good thing that I lingered for only ten minutes or so, because otherwise I would have missed the ferry. Don't get this wrong: I was fully, ahem, resigned to slowly riding back to Vineyard Haven and spend about an hour or so in some tavern over a hard-earned beer and wait for the 3:45 p.m. ferry. But once I got back to Oak Bluffs I realized that I might catch the 2:30 p.m. ferry, which would get me back to Woods Hole at 3:15 p.m. instead of 4:30 p.m. Mind you, at this latitude and longitude it is dark at 4:30 p.m.

About 3 p.m., and I'm ready to fall asleep on the Island Home

All that for $24 round-trip. I'm not complaining....

So to hell with platform pedals and underwear, I put the hammer down for the final six miles or so and made the ferry with four minutes to spare. The spoils? A gorgeous semi-sunset from the open deck and two IPAs and another stuffed quahog at Landfall in Woods Hole, with the very last rays of our beautiful sun kissing me. I rode home in the falling dark and almost-paralyzing cold, so content and happy that I decided I had to share. I hope you enjoyed reading.

So long, my friends. No quahog pics this time.

Jürgen

Cape Cod—in the off-season

My cottage on the right, the beach on the left

Quite frankly, I'm not sure what inspired me to book this trip. I suppose it was mostly my frugality: I had RCI timeshare points that were about to expire—a thought anathema to me— and I sit on those 3,000,000+ frequent flier miles. So I cashed in a few thousand miles plus pitched in a $10 co-pay for a First Class ticket to Boston, and I used the remaining 2014 RCI balance to book this perfect domicile here in Falmouth. For the past four nights I have been holed up in a charming two-bedroom cottage just across the street from the beach, with view of Martha's Vineyard.

The beach in front of my cottage, with view of Martha's Vineyard

Seaweed at low tide

Cold enough to freeze

A beachcomber's paradise

Falmouth harbor—mostly deader-than-a-doornail for the winter

I go for long bike rides, drink wine, read good books, and chat up the occasional beachcomber or barmaid. What do you think I'd be doing here? Oh, I could work on some high-highfalutin cerebral stuff that I might put to future use as a consultant or send e-mails to former girlfriends, but I am quite content in my little cottage, which, BTW, comes with a full kitchenette, Adirondack rocking chairs out front, and a gas fireplace. Oh, the comfort.... Remember, I am retired.

On the CCRT (Cape Cod Rail Trail) on Monday afternoon

This is my off-season. I worked a race 10 days ago and will work another in a little less than two weeks' time. In between was Thanksgiving. I was at home, and I was goaded into preparing one of my signature turkeys on the Kamado by my young friend Eric, whose parents, Bruce and Anne, were in town for the holiday. Together with my almost-next-door neighborette Janet  we prepared a helluva meal on Monday night. Seems like months ago....

Thanksgiving came early last week

Friday I flew out. Eric is the best taxi driver in the Delta Quadrant. Of course, I am the best bike mechanic—tit-for-tat. Three flights later, I was in Boston, and all my luggage was there, too—most importantly the Ritchey. For less than $200 I had reserved a rental car through a German website, and by 9 p.m. I was here in Falmouth.

Sunset in front of my cottage, the Ritchey happily blinking after 56 miles

Last week, the East Coast was slammed by a rough nor'easter, but the weather cleared out in just the nick of time. In my first three days here I rode about 110 miles, on quaint roads leading along the seashore or through wooded sections that smell of fall. The houses all reflect that this is a sandy place: No rocks are used in their construction, with wooden shingles or boards used to protect the sides. The yards are tidy, even with leaves blowing around. There don't seem to be any farms here, but occasionally I come upon a harvested cranberry bog that has been drained but still betrays its former crop through its reddish color. Dogs are a non-issue. Drivers are courteous. Heaven.

Post-Thanksgiving cranberry bog, drained and cropped

The bogs are all over, adding an unusual color to the already polychrome landscape

Some of the roads lead along the shore, with views toward Martha's Vineyard (where I hope to go on Thursday) or the far-away mainland across Buzzards Bay. The sea water brings the other defining smell of Cape Cod as I will remember it. There are lighthouses and wharves and lots of packed-up boats in dry docks. Falmouth's harbor—as well as that of Woods Hole—is quiet and essentially dead for the season. Summertime must be beautiful out here, but to imagine the hordes of tourists makes my head spin. Things now are quiet, and I like that, a lot!

Typical West Texas scenery around almost every corner

What will happen to these wetlands and marshes once global warming
is acknowledged by the Right Wingers?

It's doesn't become much more Cape Codish than this, does it?

The weather has been varying between really cold (high of 34 degrees Fahrenheit on Saturday) to balmy (about 60 yesterday), with mostly sunny skies but also some cloudiness and outright winter today. So far it has rained just a tiny bit, late last night. Today is cloudy, and in a little while I will take the bike path to Woods Hole to go to the country's oldest aquarium and visit the oceanographic facilities. Afterward I may hole up again at Landfall, a quaint pub in the harbor where one can sip a good IPA and eat a quahog, or stuffed clam. I may have to take a book along, just for good measure.

Nobska Lighthouse and the attendant's house

Interesting reading

The only drawback so far has been the fact that it gets dark so dang early. One o'clock in the afternoon feels like 4 p.m., and when the clock strikes 4:30 p.m., it's basically night out there and the chupacabras come out. The only thing is, nobody has even heard of them! Oh well, time to pull the cork out of the wine bottle and curl up in front of my cozy gas fireplace.

A quahog, two fish bites, and a half-empty IPA at Landfall in Woods Hole

It'd be 9:30 p.m., if it were summer

Tomorrow is supposed to be a really nasty day, weather-wise. I'm already planning a beach-walking excursion—easy to do as the beach starts on the other side of the small road in front of Beachside Village, Unit #1. When I came here, I was fully prepared to face stiff winds, low temperatures, and sleet the whole time, and so far I have lucked out. Today's forecast didn't disappoint, and it was gray, blustery, and very cold. Just the perfect day to ride the few miles over to Woods Hole and check out the aquarium and the "educational displays" chronicling the deep sea explorer Alvin and some of the other very, very cool stuff that has originated here.

It may be very small, but this aquarium is one of the finest I have seen

This is a scale model of Alvin, which in the late '80s paid a visit to the Titanic

Where have all the Atlantic salmon gone?

The top floor of the aquarium: You get to see the displays from a different perspective

You may have guessed that I am having a truly exceptional vacation. The small sampling of pics does not do justice to the abundance of sights, let alone smells and sounds, of course. My accommodations couldn't be any better. I'd love to say I will be back, but unless I could be put up in this two-bedroom cottage, things couldn't be as nice. I sit here, right now while putting the finishing touches on this post, listening to Bob Dylan on one of the many NPR stations that litter the dial the way country stations do in West Texas. It has started to rain, and tomorrow I will take my anticipated walk on the beach and later into town. I have two more days here on the Cape, and really, I can't think of a much better place to be. I'll be back, I am sure—just not in the summer!

The light at the end of the tunnel

Happy Holidays to all of you!


Jürgen

24 Hours in the Alps

The cradle of beerdom, Weihenstephan, poses just to my left

For almost two weeks I was back in Freising during a break between races. After having requalified for Executive Platinum status with American Airlines for 2015 it was time to burn a few miles and go for a freebie flight to Europe. Well, nowadays things are only "almost" free since taxes and fees are still being tacked on to tickets bought with miles. Still, it's not too bad of a deal to fly to Munich and back for less than $250 (in Business going, in Economy coming back b/c of availability, not for a lack of miles).

This—pretty much—was the extent of Halloween scariness in Freising

This trip was planned on fairly short notice, and it coincided with Sabine's move from her old apartment to newer, much more modern digs. So, I knew ahead of time that we'd be spending the majority of our time moving almost 20 years of belongings and mementos from Mittlerer Graben 47 to Frühlingsstrasse 67. There was some time for a few bike rides, and on those Indian Summer days we took advantage of the nice weather. Unfortunately, November fog and drizzle were a major part of the mix, so this was not a succession of warm afternoons in biergartens. But I knew that ahead of time.

Paternoster: The endless elevator that you step into ...

... or out of. Just don't get caught!

Good advice: Don't transport LADDERS!!!

The highlight of the trip came this past weekend when we left Freising on Saturday afternoon and drove a little more than two hours to Innsbruck, just across the border between Germany and Austria. For a few Hilton points and a measly $40 co-pay we stayed on the top floor of what must be the highest building in this quaint city. The views are simply spectacular, and the breakfast is quite Hiltonesque in the European way. After checking in on Saturday night we walked the 300 meters to the historic old town and found ourselves a small restaurant right next door to what must be Innsbruck's best known attraction, the Goldenes Dacherl, a small roof tiled with gold leaves. We chose the restaurant because of the interesting menu of local dishes that featured goat, venison, and rabbit. We drew the line at the filly steak—some things are just off-limits, I think. But Sabine's goat kidneys (really!) were amazing, and my cold platter of assorted meats and cheeses of various origins was equally delicious. A fine evening indeed.

Goat kidneys—honestly, they are delicious!

Goat-based specialties that look less, ahem, culinary.

Panoramic view from our room in the Hilton Innsbruck

After a lazy and late Sunday breakfast we were off back across the border, taking the scenic route via a major 4-mile 16% climb (no bikes allowed!) out of the Inn valley and toward Garmish Partenkirchen on the other side of the Karwendel.A few weeks back, Sabine had spent a full day hiking in these parts, and she wanted to show me the beauty of the Voralpen, the area where the gentle hills start turning skyward to become the glacier-encrusted giants just a few miles south. Next to the serene and inviting Walchensee, the Herzogstandbahn gives a quick lift to the top of the mountains, a place that King Ludwig II had chosen for a hunting retreat. I like the guy: Good choice of location, and manly 'stache!

Flying the gondola from the Walchensee

King Ludwig II

The resemblance is uncanny—if I didn't know better, I'd say direct lineage.

I love trams and skilifts. Like an elevator (oh no, not like the photographically captured Paternoster earlier in this post!), they take you safely and effortlessly from down below to up on top, quietly, almost serenely. The ride lasted only about 7 minutes, but the vistas from the enclosed gondola were magnificent, and what came afterward was even better. Once past the restaurant/hut/panoramic eatery/former Ludwigian hunting cabin we started to walk up gentle serpentines to the top of the Herzogstand, at something like 1,700 meters or so (barely 5,600 feet) high enough to give you a fabulous panoramic view of the landscape stretching north toward Munich as well as the bad-ass mountains in the south. Make sure to click on the panoramic shots to get the full effect.

Three panoramic shots from the top of the Herzogstand—we couldn't have asked for a better day

Hanging out for a while on this wind-swept peaklet it became clear to me why Germans are such tough cookies—I mean, look at how they ride crappy bikes at insane speeds or how they double Alpine-pole up the hillsides. I tell you, they drag their barely hatched brood up these mountains without mercy! There were all those little munchkins, packed into mud-proof pink or furry outfits, and they trudged along, with nary a wail! Let's be glad that we're not at war with Germany, because if they made jihadists out of these kids we'd better pack up and run! Despite their obvious buffness, they seem to be normal kids, after all: Just look at the first snowmen of the year.

Maybe the gay colors motivate the kids to trudge along?

It's winter (almost)!

After "conquering" the summit we still had enough time to have a cup or two of Glühwein and a pea soup on the spectacular viewing deck of the guest-house (38 euro per person a night, including breakfast, in a double room or together with 15 others—all the same price). The wind was chilly, but we cuddled into a protected corner, hands cupping the mulled wine and enjoying the setting sun before heading for the down-hill flight and the drive home.

Not a bad view, eh? Just damn cold and windy!

"Haferl" (two cups) worth of Glühwein. We had several.

The weekend getaway was just what we needed, and on Monday we continued the move. Tuesday (yes, just yesterday), Sabine had to start work again, and today I am putting the finishing touches on this entry while sitting in Heathrow, waiting for my flight to the US. Another stay in Europe has come to its close, and the cyclocross race in Ft. Worth this weekend is approaching quickly. After that, I'll be home for a good 10 days before heading off for Massachusetts on what can only be called a post-Thanksgiving whim. Well, I might as well enjoy the free flights as long as I can, right?

Good night, Alps!

Jürgen