Gray day
22/05/16 05:08
When I was 12 or 13 years old my family took a vacation. There were seven of us in our Chevy Caryall. The passenger version of the panel van had three rows of seats, but only two doors. The right third of the front seat folded toward the dash to provide entry to the back rows of seats. Seat belts weren’t a standard feature in those days, but our father had installed airplane seat belts for all of the seats of the car. The belt for the third row was a single long belt that strapped all of the occupants together. It wasn’t comfortable if your seat mate was a squirming brother. We left on this particular trip shortly after school got out for summer vacation, which in our neck of the woods was a time when there were a few rainy days. The wipers on the truck were like the wipers on all of the vehicles in our town at the time: seldom used and cracked from the sun. They left streaks on the windshield and squeaked when employed. There were no intermittent wipers in those days and the switch was on the dashboard - a healthy reach for the driver. I can remember the squeaking wipers and wishing that our father would turn them off more often.
We headed to the Black Hills of South Dakota to see the sights. Driving across southwest Montana, there weren’t many sights to see and it was late in the day by the time we got the family fed and checked into our motel. Some of us slept in sleeping bags on the floor. The next morning dawned gray and misty and after breakfast we headed out to see Mount Rushmore. We spent a couple of hours at the monument, mostly inside peering through the big glass windows and occasionally making out a bit of the shape of a nose or eye through the misty fog. It was simply too foggy to see anything. Our parents spent part of the time going through the tourist brochures making up an alternate plan for the rest of the day.
We ended up at Evans Plunge in Hot Springs, which was a wonderful treat for the whole family. The gravel bottomed indoor pool was clean and warm and the steep slide was a thrill for us kids. We stayed until our skin was wrinkled from the time in the pool.
I don’t remember seeing anything else in the hills on that trip. The next day we headed for our uncle’s home in Colorado. He raised pigs and the visit to the farm was interesting and fun for us kids.
It has been nearly a half century since that trip, but it took place around this time of the year and yesterday was one of those days when the weather matched my memories of the Black Hills.
I launched my little row boat early in the morning. I couldn’t see across the lake as I took the oars in hand. Rowing in a straight line is not a problem, but you do need to have some good points of reference because you face the rear of the boat when rowing and it takes a few glances over your shoulder to get the boat to go where you want. The gray fog didn’t help with navigation that much. However, the lake is very familiar to me and I headed straight across, rowing from the north ramp to the south and back. There was one fisherman on the lake. Other than that I had the lake to myself.
Rowing in the fog is a pleasant experience. The day wasn’t cold, but I didn’t have to worry about getting too warm, either. Rowing is a gentle exercise. I don’t have a sliding seat in this boat, so it mostly involves my arms and shoulders. Going straight means pulling equally on both oars and I have a good foot brace and seat. The boat feels very stable as it pulls easily across the water, leaving a small wake as evidence of my progress. In the fog there isn’t much sight seeing to be done, so my mind is free to wander. There were many pleasant memories from the week past and a long list of tasks that lie ahead in a very busy week to come. An hour or so of rowing was just right to prepare me for the day ahead.
Rowing and paddling are my preferred forms of exercise these days. I have a relatively active lifestyle with plenty of walking in an average day, but the discipline of regular exercise is always a bit of a challenge for me. I can always think of other things that I want to do. In the winter I try to spend at least a half hour on the rowing machine three times a week, but don’t always keep that discipline. When the weather permits, however, I prefer to get outside and do my exercise in a more natural environment and I’m better at making time for the adventure. I’m not sure what the difference is, really. It isn’t as if I had anything to see yesterday. Still even when it is gray and foggy, I prefer to be outside. Rain does little to deter me from outside activities. I have pretty good rain gear and I’ve discovered over the years that I’m pretty much waterproof anyway. Immerse me and I’m not much worse for the wear.
Yesterday there was a little breeze, stirring a bit of texture on the surface of the lake. The breeze also caused the fog to shift and move around, leaving moments when the visibility was better interspersed with times of barely being able to see the shore. With so little contrast, there weren’t many fish rising to the surface. The high humidity probably was keeping the insects out of the feeding zone as well. It might not have been the best morning for the fishermen, but there was only one on the lake anyway. For me, the fog was a gift of solitude.
I’ve got really pleasant memories of our trip to the Black Hills when we couldn’t see the faces at Mount Rushmore. In the years since I’ve added more pleasant memories of gray days. Yesterday was one more in a long line of good memories.