The Machinery is Turning...

Greetings, Gentle Reader.

I'm just back from the gym, trying to square away the back problem and reawaken muscles that have been dormant since August 17. The back is coming together nicely; the muscles, such as they are, are sound sleepers. This will take some doing.

Say what you will about last year's Big Row...it was done on a shoestring. Peg ran logistics (onion rings in Jersey City, and some TLC in The Garden State), Kathy ran Communications (and shared the onion rings)...and I rowed. Oh...and you pledged.

Gentle Reader, last Wednesday night I learned what happens when The Creature Rescue Community mobilizes to make something happen. In an informal gathering intended to plan the day (Jue 16) by the water, ideas flowed as freely as the Merlot and within an hour, "A Happening"...one destined to be viewed from space...materialized. These Creature People, as I shall call them today, are folks of boundless enthusiasm and enormous creativity. Indeed, as I listened to the ideas flow, I pictured a delightful day at the Inner Harbor where my rowing may well be an afterthought. That's OK, I assured them; if I row past the Pavillion and am met by hundreds of people with their backs to me, I'll know that the day is a success and that at least someone is having a great time. Among the events planned....

We'll experience Flyball , otherwise known as "drag racing for dogs." More on this later - I think Kathy will create a link - but the brochure I saw promises dogs careening through a closed course at breakneck speeds in friendly competition, tongues flapping in the breeze, smiles from ear-to-ear...not unlike the 7th and 8th graders I coach in lacrosse.

We'll have a pet psychic - a "pet communicator," I think it is called (again, more details to come)- able, I suspect, to divine your pet's past and contemplative thoughts. Peg and I are anticipating learning more about our recently-adopted Luke's checkered past. As Ricky used to say to Lucy, he's "got some 'splainin' to do."

There will be pet-oriented displays, consessions, victuals and costumes for the creatures, free coffee (for those of you sporting your natty "Row for Rescue" mugs), as well as information on Recycled Love and the good work they do.

All-in-all, the day promises to be a veritable love-fest for (and of) man and beast, taking place at Rash Field and the Hoffman Pavillion, right along the Inner Harbor. It sounds like fun, even though I'll be seeing it only every 45 minutes or so as I row past.

As I listened to the creative, dedicated Creature People bring together a plan for June 16, I quiety contemplated (between my own Merlots and Sally's cheesy-poofy hors-d'ouvre thing-ies) my own role in the day's events. 75 miles in a day is 13 miles further than my "personal best" in my guideboat. THAT day last August was a killer...up half of the Delaware River (mosty crosswind) and through most of the C&D Canal to a blissful collapse on a dock at midnight. Whatever bullishness I feel about 75 miles on 6/16 assumes that the Inner Harbor route will most likely be calmer, Yoo Hoo will be readily at hand, the pups and Creature People (and maybe you?) will be cheering me on, and (hopefully) I can anticipate better lodgings than a dock at the end of the day's trial.

To that end, I'll be on the water for the first time next weekend. As coaches extraordinaire Bob and Bean Tarrant have told me, "The only way to really get ready for a challenge such as this is to row," and row I will. The big worry is the hands. I had 13 days to administer Secret Sauce and illicit balms to my hands during The Big Row; 6/16 is a one-shot outing, and I'd not like to be rowing with my forearms by Hour 8. In the coming weeks if you see a guy walking the streets of Federal Hill massaging a stick, don't be alarmed: it's just me. Gentle Reader, as I re-read that line, its not a pretty picture.

That's it for now. Just know that The Creature People are on the case, it promises to be a delightful day, and I'll be out there on the water, Rowing for Rescue. In the meantime, check out the Recycled Love site (and other supporting entities as they arrive), pet a pup, and pledge, won't you?

Woof! (And a winsome "meow" for you cat lovers.)

Mr. Frei

When Worlds Collide...

It seems that The Big Row has barely faded into memory - along with the attendant magic that Kathy created in maintaing the community blog - when it's all coming around again. I've been drawn into the vortex of another Mega-Communications Effort all in the interest of getting into my beloved boat again for a good cause...and, perhaps, for my own well-being.

Yes, here we go again, Gentle Reader!

The prior posting gave you some background - a ludicrous 75-mile attempt on June 16, pre-dawn to post-sunset, a kind of geriatric They Shoot Horses, Don't They? re-do, all in the Inner Harbor, this time on behalf of the creatures who can't speak for themselves - with much of the attendant training and preparation that characterized The Big Row (TBR). Sheesh.

Those of you who were faithful TBR readers recall that the blog (soon to go to a book...but more on that later!) morphed through these stages: the Conception, the Planning, the Training, the Doing of It, and a series of Reflections. I have no such plan for this documentation except to say that as I sit here tonight, I'm in week #2 of the worst back problem I have ever experienced...an announcement that will no doubt make Recycled Love a bit nervous. See, over Easter break I drove a truck, trailering a boat, from Annapolis to Florida, caught a good nap, and pulled another boat home for a total of 34 hours, bumping over the concrete, ka-thump, ka-thump. A day later, I couldn't get off the potty ("TMI, TMI!!" you might rightly say, and I agree), and I've been painfully slouching around ever since. Truth be told, at this moment I cannot even bend over to pet the very creatures I hope to benefit from this endeavour. They think I'm aloof. I'm merely (temporarily) misaligned.

So, needless to say, the training for this outing has yet to begin, but it will, and in time to make a go of it. More on that later, too.

Gentle Reader, Kathy has suggested that we shoot an invitation to this new blog (and notifications of new entries) out to the list she has maintained of those of you who contributed to The Big Row. I suppose it makes sense, in that any of you who enjoyed the reading - I think there were three of you - are again heartily welcomed aboard. My own reticence stems from not wanting you to think that I'm after you for more money. I'm not anxious to double-dip those of you who are justifiably thinking, "Oh, no, not again!" so, relax. If you enjoy the read and keeping up with this next madness, it's free.

Gentle Reader, this effort will be offered to folks - through Recycled Love and other links - who love creatures great and small. I'll be riffing about my own connection to creatures, to the great work of Recycled Love in particular, and I hope that the blog will make available to you opportunities to contribute your own stories. See, since moving to Baltimore in '02, I've come to know Corey, Shadow, Moby, Jimmy, and Luke...all of whom were rescued from death's Door by Peg. Prior to '02, other than our Beloved Gibson, the 60's Lab I grew up with, dogs and domestic pets have not been a part of my mix. Now, a few years later, I already have the (next)book title ready to go: The Leash Goes Both Ways. Oh, yeah. Now, I'm gonna test my back - and head - on their furry little behalfs.

Can't wait.

Stay tuned, won't cha?

April 1, 2007 - The Idea

“Huh? Another row? Is he kidding?”

“Woof? Bark bark bark. Meow? Purrrr.”

Alas, it’s true, Gentle Reader, and here’s how it started.

Last August, literally a day after I had completed a 13-day, 452-mile row from Troy, New York, to the Inner Harbor here in Baltimore, I was walking the dogs in Federal Hill Park. Corey, Peg’s cute ‘lil Bichon, was doing his thing, turning on the charm and shaking down hapless walkers for hidden treats. Moby, who had taken up residence from Recycled Love during my brief absence, was still just getting his bearings and was on the leash.

The walk was not going so well for me. After 13 days in a 15’ Adirondack Guideboat, the simple act of walking upright was still a bit of an effort. I had the gait of the kinds of people you try to avoid on just such a walk. How the Vikings were able to plunder as soon as they came ashore will always mystify and amaze.

Anyway, here comes Sally Jennings with her brace of lovable dogs. Sally and her brood are a fixture in the Park; her effervescent spirit and care for creatures big and small brighten up the cloudiest of days. She overtakes me (easy!), we talk, she enquires about the row while Mobey waddles among her cohort, and before you know it we’re both speculating how we might raise some biscuits for Recycled Love.

The Harbor glimmers below us.

The hands are still oozing.

The derriere is screaming, “No mas!”

And, in my 13-day absence, I’ve already been supplanted by a dog.

Yet I find myself saying, “Sally, how about a row? I could do laps here in the Harbor, a kind of marathon in a millpond, and people might pledge pennies, nickels, dimes, or dollars per mile. It could take place right here in the Harbor. Easy!” (Many of my Gentle Readers know that my boyish enthusiasm about this as a fundraiser stems from their overwhelming generosity during my “Big Row” from Troy; we raised just shy of $18,000 for Financial Aid at Boys’ Latin).


Gentle Reader, when you’re surrounded by lovable creatures whose common denominator is that they owe their very lives to Sally’s commitment to those who cannot advocate for themselves…and when said creatures are at that moment clustered at your feet, looking at you adoringly and doting on your every word (as silly as each word may be), it’s hard not to offer one’s services on their behalf.

So Sally and I blue-skied it for a while, agreed to talk more about the notion later, and the summer flew by before we could get it in gear (and, truth be told, I was not at that moment ready to leap back in the boat for another extended maximum effort!). But, Gentle Reader, “later” is soon to be upon us.

In fact, it will arrive on Saturday, June 16.

Here’s The Plan: Starting at an Inner Harbor site to-be-determined (The Rusty Scupper, or perhaps the Science Center promenade) one hour before sunrise, I’ll try to row 75 miles before one hour after sunset. It’s a pace significantly faster than my 13-day average last summer (4.41 mph vs. 3.98); while this doesn’t sound like a lot, it is…yet going in my favor are the more protected waters of the Inner Harbor, a more lightly-loaded boat, and the fact that Peg can toss me a Twinkie or a Yoo Hoo on every lap.

The 75-mile goal is a distance materially more ambitious than my longest day last summer. In August I covered 62 miles in a desperate effort to get off of the Delaware River and into the C&D Canal, but winds and weather conspired to make it a heavy slog of over 18 hours.

I’ve yet to determine my course, but I suspect it will comprise laps between the Science Center and Canton so that folks who have nothing better to do can follow my progress, attempt an intervention, or toss me Twinkies and Yoo Hoo should Peg need a break.

So, Sally, we’re on. I need to dust off the oars and get to the gym, and we’ll need to get the word out in the coming weeks. But the fact is that your work at Recycled Love (web address is www.RecycledLove.org) is inspirational and has brightened the lives of many people. If, as I believe, one can take the measure of a society by the way it treats its old, young, dependents, and creatures, then gathering awareness and financial support for the work of Recycled Love is well worth the effort.

Stay tuned for more on Recycled Love, pithy ruminations on man and beast, my preparations for this lunacy, and commentary on issues of the moment. But above all, be kind to a creature today. That scratch behind the ear will feel good to you, too.