How it's going, how it's gone and where it's headed

If you’re reading this and you’ve read Iron Sharpens Iron – thank you. If you’re reading this, have read Iron Sharpens Iron and left an online review on Goodreads– thank you even more.

Several people have asked how book sales are going so far and we’re pretty happy with our start. We’ve been selling Iron Sharpens Iron directly through our website (this one) and at awesome local bookstores like:

• The Open Door in Schenectady

• The Bookhouse in Albany

• Market Block Books in Troy

• Bookstore Plus in Lake Placid

• I Love Books! in Delmar

Those local bookstores have been terrific in their support. In March, I enjoyed a great virtual conversation with Kathleen Kemp of the Open Door Bookstore.

With the distribution of Covid vaccines, and restrictions being lifted, we’re working with these bookstores to put together some actual physical book signings. I am really looking forward to this. Really, really, really looking forward to meeting readers. Dates and places are coming so watch this space.

Our plan has been to sell Iron Sharpens Iron exclusively through local bookstores from our late January launch to Independent Bookstore Day on April 24th.

We’re now entering phase two of our launch, which includes listing Iron Sharpens Iron on Amazon. I’ve been reluctant to take this step but we’re hoping to reach more readers outside our area. If you haven’t left a review and would like to, Amazon would be a great place to do that (that was pretty subtle, wasn’t it?)

By May, we’re hoping to be in several more regional bookstores and to have dates for events at some of those stores. Amazon is great and convenient, but I’ll always encourage you to buy ISI at your local shop whenever possible.

When the map speaks

Originally published in the Albany Times Union

Sometimes the map speaks to me.

For years, my map spoke about a thru-ski of the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness in the eastern Adirondacks. Every winter it snowed, every winter I heard what the map said, but every winter I did something else.

Every winter until this one.

The Pharaoh Lake Wilderness is a big, beautiful hunk of peaks and ponds north of Brant Lake and east of Schroon Lake. There are two classic skis in the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness. One, near the northern wilderness border into Crane Pond, my wife, Gillian, wrote about two winters ago. The other, on the southern border of the wilderness, is into the southern outlet of Pharaoh Lake.

My plan was to super-size those two trips. Ski into Crane Pond, then head south through the interior of the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness to Pharaoh Lake and then out to the southern wilderness border near Mill Brook.

The trip would be perfect to spot a car if I went with other people. Sadly though, sometimes I’m the only one who hears what the map has to say (I know, I know, psychologists have a word for that.)

So with no skiing partner, I decided to bike the 16 miles from the southern trailhead to the Crane Pond trailhead and then ski back to my car (I know, I know, psychologists might have a word for that also.)

Just past dawn, I used bungees to combine two things I love – my skis and my bike - and began. A few minutes later, the sun greeted me as I journeyed through the small town of Adirondac. I snagged a muffin at the General Store on the way.

I found beauty in a silent ride through winter woods. Flocks of red crossbills sat undisturbed while I admired their fancy paint jobs and trademark hooked bills.

Leaving the shore of Schroon Lake, the road climbed and the skis and pack were heavy but there is a time to earn the journey. I signed in at the trail register, locked my bike to a tree and switched to skis.

There were tracks but no people as I reached the sun-kissed expanse of Crane Pond. I crossed the bubbling outlet and then went deeper into the wilderness.

Coyote tracks on Glidden Marsh linked small pockets of open water. Past the scenic marsh, I knew the trail would be unbroken until Pharaoh Lake, as skiers rarely ventured on these trails. The solo miles worried Gillian and were why I carried a bivy sack.

A few minutes into my trail-breaking there was movement behind me - the coyote!

Not the coyote, but another skier. Not just another skier, but a skiing ranger!

“Are you the guy with the bike?” Ranger Marie asked.

I copped to the charge and wondered if I’d violated an ordinance about being a lunkhead.

Ranger Marie was on patrol to Pharaoh Lake and I had someone to share trail-breaking. You never know how your day will go.

To the east, Treadway Mountain was visible from small ponds that lined the trail. The route, which isn’t a designated ski route, did a passable impression of one until a quarter mile north of Pharaoh Lake, where the trail dropped steeply.

“Skiable” could mean “ski the whole thing” or “ski most of it and walk a little.” I walked a little, I’ll admit . I said my farewell to Ranger Marie, skied to a rocky point and ate lunch with the sun and the lake and the mountains.

As at Glidden Marsh, coyote tracks lined the surface of Pharaoh Lake. Like the coyote, I would have headed out across the lake. Unlike the coyote, I’d promised my wife I wouldn’t ski across the lake unless there were other people around.

So I skied the western shore of Pharaoh Lake through fresh powder. I took off my skis and climbed over some fallen trees but also made sweet downhill runs.

Near Kings Point, the sun and trees became art. Behind me, the sun found some magical angle to spread a soft, dappled light on a family of pine trees and I had to stop and pay homage. You can go out seeking tranquility but you won’t find it, because it finds you.

There were finally set ski tracks at the outlet to Pharaoh Lake and I followed them in a fast, fun ride to Mill Brook toward my waiting car. The trip was hard and goofy but also my own. I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t do trips like this, if I didn’t listen to the map.

Bring The Whole Family

When it comes to family trips, I tend to think in terms of subtraction. As in, here’s the trip I envision but to make it a “family trip” I’ll need to shave off some days and some miles.

This happened earlier this summer on a family bikepacking trip in central Vermont. Leading up to our departure, I’d repeatedly poured over maps to whittle it down to a seemingly doable 60 miles of riding over five days.

Most of our riding would be on the gravel and dirt roads of the Green Mountain National Forest. The GMNF starts just east of Bennington and stretches north of Rutland, Vermont. It is chock full of peaks and rivers and miles of improved gravel roads and miles of unimproved dirt roads. Of our 60-mile route, less than five miles would be on pavement and many of those miles were so we could resupply at the general store in Ripton, Vermont.

My wife, Gillian, our nine-year-old daughter, who we call “Little Wren” and I began pedaling just north of Lincoln, Vermont on the slopes of Mount Abraham. Admittedly, our start point was bit of manipulation - we started high in elevation so we’d have several miles of smiling downhill to begin our trip.

Our route was more or less planned but we also left room for chance. There are campgrounds in the GMNF but also a variety of unmarked, unofficial sites we hoped to sample. We scored one our first night by a small waterfall on the New Haven River.

On any multi-day trip, there are going to be days when the gods of cycling and camping smile down on you. Then, there are going to be hard days. The crux of our trip came when we entered the Moosamaloo National Recreation Area below Ripton. It was late, it was hot and the hills were against us. The extra weight of our camping gear (Little Wren gamely carried her own pack) made us resort to “hike-a-bike” up the climbs (this was not the only time we pushed the bikes.)

As I pushed my bike up the hill with Gillian and Little Wren, I wondered if I hadn’t subtracted enough. If I’d confused what I’d hoped we could do with what we could actually do. I am perfectly comfortable making myself uncomfortable and seek it out sometimes, but I don’t want to inflict it on the people I care about.

With some struggle, after 16 miles we finally made it to a campground. We had a snack, pitched our tent and within a few minutes, the little girl I was afraid I’d broken was back on her bike. She discovered a pump track, a sort of mountain bike obstacle course, in the campground and repeatedly shredded that thing.

The trip started new for me then. Subtraction was no longer part of the equation. I thought different about the people around me. How much tougher our little tribe was than I’d given them credit for. How proud I was that we made it through the day.  I understood how lucky I was to have a wife and daughter willing to do nutty things like go on a multi-day bikepacking trip. I understood (again) how lucky we are to have so many wild options around this place we live.

The gods of cycling smiled on us the next day. The climbs were mild, the miles short and we rode with distant Adirondack views and close views of bluebirds, wildflower meadows and the Green Mountains.

There are roads to Silver Lake but no vehicle access – bikes, horses and human feet are the only way to get there. We cruised a car-less dirt road to a sunny campsite perched above the lake. We switched from bike clothes to swimsuits and tested the waters.

Two miles from Silver Lake is the large, crowded campground at Branbury State Park. We had only one interest in Branbury – the snack bar. We launched a raid for greasy, fried food before returning to our quiet lake-side paradise.

Our plan was to ride north to finish our loop with another night out but plans change. It wasn’t addition or subtraction, just tailoring our plans in light of new information – we really wanted a second night at Silver Lake.

The next day, Gillian and Little Wren did a hike while I biked back to our car, moving it near Lake Dunmore, a few short, downhill miles from our Silver Lake campsite.

After leaving the car, I rode back to Silver Lake with sugary treasures and cold drinks from the camp store for our final night. At our campsite, Little Wren had written “I love the woods” on a flat rock with a blackened stick.  We ate dinner and watched the setting sun turn both the sky and water pink and orange and red. We drifted off to sleep to the sounds of owls and loons. The trip became more than I could have planned or hoped.