Monthly Archives: March 2013

The Beast of the East

killington front

They use the term loosely.

…to Vermonters means Killington ~ and that means spring skiing, baby. Some Nor’Beaster events remain, including the Pond Skim and Sunrise Easter Service, so pack your gear, Bible and bikini, and head north. I don’t know what ollies, rails or grabs are, but the Beast has them in spades for shredding.

For those who detest swinging in a chair lift at 10 below in 30 mph winds, now’s the time. White carpeting! Blue ceiling! No death cookies or Pocono Pavement! The hum of the lift!

Then…silence. Silence sometimes when you’re still on the lift because they stop it for casualties. An impatient friend jumped off once, but I prefer to sit and think up new trail names with my nieces. Like:  Hell in a Handbasket, Mother-in-law, Casket, Highway to Hell, Pay the Piper, Upper Anthrax, Lower Anthrax, Undertaker, You’re Going To Hell, Ice Cream, Cupcake, and Sooperbunny.

killington back

The Fine Print

kton 3

You Are Here.

When someone wipes out so bad their gear goes flying in a 10-foot radius it’s called a Yard Sale, often held by a Kickin’ Chicken. Live the lexicon.

Catch you on Sooperbunny.

Riding the Rails with a Taste for Danger

amtrak randolphy

Your ride’s here.

When you travel alone, weird things happen. Once, I wished to take a photo from the caboose of a moving train and the last car was closed, so the (service-oriented? crazed?) conductor took me back there solo. It became a possibility, at least in my mind, that this was a disgruntled government worker gonna throw me off. When you travel alone, problem is: no witnesses. You take your chances. I whistled a tune, looked him in the eye, and said thank you. Criminologists say this can work. Worth a shot.

amtrak her name is sal

Her name is Sal.

Good news about Amtrak: the feds have bankrolled track upgrades, shortening The Vermonter by 30 minutes with plans to add The Montrealer back in. Second, they are dumping the old engines and beater cars from the late 60s and 70s, which have amortized nicely (RIP, doors that won’t stay closed in the can!) Third, that weird, time-consuming three-point turn in Massachusetts is going away. As a friend reflected, “I have to remind myself every time that I’m not in Thailand…or Haiti.”

Because I hadn’t ridden the rails in years, I planned a big, fat, round-trip voyage from VT to NC. What a gas: the train pulling into the station! Uniformed conductors!  Union Station in DC! Quaint town of Southern Pines! Dining en train with (paper) table cloths! Looking for spies in the Café Car! Bringing that nuclear cheeseburger back to you seat!  Great good fun.

Climate control in the old cars was, not surprisingly, an issue. On one leg the sleeper car was positively brisk (Nutter One: “It’s miserable.”) On another, the coach car was boiling (Nutter Two: “We could do Hot Yoga in the aisle.”) But the service was consistently lovely, and despite some [wicked] late starts, we always arrived…on time. In the Sleeper Car, you can sit on one seat and put your legs up on the other—it even has its own toilet and microsink—or climb onto the upper bunk, prop yourself up on (multiple!) pillows, and watch the world unfold. Fabulous.

amtrak river reflection in VTYes, to the lulling chug of the train, you can watch America go by, with all her rivers, forests, factories, farms, graffiti, skylines, and sunsets as you amble around chatting up your co-travelers, read, knit, sleep—try that from behind the wheel. The Quiet Car is strictly enforced, so you can escape rowdy pinochle players and cell phone jawbaggers (not true in Business Class, but there you get free newspapers and all the soda and coffee you can guzzle, which in my case is a lot so I actually made money; you might curb intake for now because the can is definitely the old trains’ Achilles’ heel.) Unlike on a plane, if you get into trouble, you could probably hurl yourself off with some chance of survival. And with Amtrak, you can break up your trip, scheduling overnight stops at no extra ticket cost if you plan it right. On one such “layover” I had a grand time in Baltimore; on another I laughed so hard with a friend and a bottle of premium tequila in Manhattan that our pants broke.amtrak graffiti

While it wasn’t exactly balmy in North Carolina, I was glad for one last stroll down memory lane aboard the old, roomy, soon-to-be 86’d—yet nicely amortized—iron horse. Old or new, you can’t predict what will happen astride her. You could end up fingering spies or sipping beezers with a Swede with a hollow leg…you just never know. May you make such a journey yourself, complete with the lure of nutters and unknown dangers whetting your dormant taste for adventure.  All Aboard! Good day.

amtrak menus

Bon appetit!

amtrak the old engine

The 1968 engine was part of the first car.

amtrak trenton

What Trenton Makes…

Amtrak thrown

There’s more than 1 way to get thrown off Amtrak.

amtrak single sleeper

Your single sleeper.

amtrak Union Station

Union Station in DC

amtrak farewell dc

Farewell, DC!

amtrak - snow in SoPi

“Snow” in Southern Pines.

amtrak pines


Come To Vermont

If Jesus were alive today, he’d operate a snowplow.

We have arranged a nice dumping for you. They’re pumpin’ out the white stuff as we speak. But this is just a primer.

You behind the wheel, baby.

It will go on for 2 days, then the sun will come out.  Catch you on the slopes, the trails, and in the sugar shack. BYO hooch.

“God made the LIFT to get me UP.”
(hover cursor over fotos)

Vitamin String Quartet

VSQScanning rural radio channels, you think you’ve found a classical station. Your heard turns allll the way around as your brain figures out what the HECK these cats are playing.

Try a few bars and feel your head twirling. Sadly, RHCP are credited with this song — they only covered it, FFS:

VSQ even makes this piece of genius postable (no lyrics!):

DEET Plus…at Renys* of Maine


Pinky is loaded with fresh DEET for spring fishin’.

You always find something at Renys. Today’s mouthwatering score: a Little Playmate. It’s no longer called that ~ prolly some trademark dispute with Playboy.  I got my first from bigmama12 on eBay.

Next, at a church sale, I bought a weird knockoff that seemed more suited to organ transport. Could be…they hold blood drives at that church; maybe they removed parts from donors high on blood loss — and my Little Fauxmate got left behind. I named it Pentagram.**

I hope Pinky Tuscadero holds up like the true Playmate from the 80s. Shaped suspiciously like a six-pack, this vintage workingman’s lunchbox can withstand being driven over by a pickup. But you can’t run it through a dishwasher and don’t ask me how I know that.

Charles named his The Real McCoy.

*No apostrophe. That’s rural punctuation for you!

**Always name your Little Playmate.

Obey the Sign

i'd tap that shoe oddity biggerMy own weird example of asking for (and receiving) a sign is how I landed in L.A.  I had abandoned NYC after 1 too many psychotic boss & boyfriend let-downs and was living in VT. The ponies! The lakes! But I was fraternizing/knitting with people twice my age. Knowing I could relocate back to VT, a retirement/casket state, I asked the Forces one day while driving: “Forces, where should I move?”

Exactly then, the Killington radio station WEBK (The Peak) played Randy Newman’s I Love L.A.  [Who would spin that song at a New England ski resort — DJ Jungle Jane?]  I laffed. I left.  “I got it; I’m gone.”

While snowshoeing today, a cloud formation looked suspiciously like the I’d Tap That t-shirt maple tree. Clearly it means I should tap that.

Obey the sign, even if you didn’t ask for it.

I’d Tap That

i'd tap that - redIf you love innuendo ~ and I know you do ~ behold my favorite t-shirt on Earth.  A male friend says this in public to rankle me, so I dig that their ads show chicks wearing it.

I kick myself daily for not buying one at the Tunbridge World’s Fair. Happily, Independent Vermont Clothing has restocked so I can order online…just in time for spring skiing, the only kind of skiing I do. Why else I need this shirt*: the colors, gr8 cotton, price, made by actual Vermonters weary of the same old krep you see at every tourist stop…plus, it’s sugaring season!

Stuff: hand printed in VT.  Motto: “Spreading Vermont Pride, Worldwide.” Ethic: when Hurricane Irene hit, they designed a shirt and sent all the proceeds ($26K+) to the VT Red Cross. I don’t know them. But I lerv them.

*or hooded sweatsi'd tap that long-sleeve blondehirt made of heavy sweatshirt fabric I personally wouldn’t call a “hoodie”, one of my favorite words to hate, ever.


If This Doesn’t Blow Your Mind Wide Open ~

sarah kay~ whether you like photography, metaphysics, New York City in the snow, non-combative spoken-word poetry, young people with insane talent, or Ted Talks ~ if this piece by Sarah Kay doesn’t blow your mind wide open, you are already dead.

And I say that with utmost respect, from the sticks, well on my own way to Kepler 22-b.

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