In the Catskills with Mr. Map-man

Some of my regular readers will remember my post "Catskill Ramblings," from June 2011,when Bill and I attempted to hike the paths of the Hudson River School painters, places we had been to decades before.  That day the fog had been so thick that we could barely see the edge of the rock.  A couple of weeks ago, we decided to make a return trip.

Parking at the trailhead on Schutt Road, near North Lake in Haines Falls, we had a perfect, clear, mid-Spring day. As we signed in at the kiosk, we were confronted by a nice couple who were vacationing in the Catskills for a few days.  They were confused about where they were and where they wanted to be, pulling out directions that they had printed off their computer before they left their Pennsylvania home. Map in hand, Bill did the best he could to point them in the right direction for the hike they hoped to do.

(Bill checks the map in front of the Layman monument)

Even though we had been to this area before, and Bill grew up very near here, he had researched every road and trail before we came and had his map collection with him.  Studying the maps is part of the fun.

We were headed for the famous Escarpment Trail and some of its most picturesque locations.  Our first stop was the Layman monument, built to honor Frank Layman who died in 1900 fighting a forest fire here. Frank could have been one of Bill's family members, Layman was his grandmother's maiden name. When I first met Bill, it seemed like everyone, alive or dead, was related to us in some way.

(one of many views along the Escarpment above Palenville Pass)

Rock cliffs abound along the Escarpment and offer 180 degree views.  No wonder many wealthy resorts were built here such as the Laurel House, Kaaterskill House, and the huge Catskill Mountain House.  Most of them succumbed to fire long ago, but evidence that people enjoyed this area at that time is still here.

We could still read some of the names etched into the rock.  C.W. Morris did a good job of giving his name a permanent place when he came in 1916, and then again in 1917 and 1923.  Was C.W. a young man, who, between 1917 and 1923, went off to France during World War I?  Perhaps, in 1923,  he returned to this overlook with his sweetheart.

(C.W. Morris, 1916-17-23)

As we hiked along the narrow path, passing wild blueberry bushes in bloom, I suddenly smelled spices, and heard a sizzling sound.  In minutes, we arrived at the point where the narrow path opened to the wide ledge of Inspiration Point.  So close to the path that we literally had to step around them, about a dozen Chinese people were crouched on the rock cooking a full course meal!

One man stirred a wok over a flame, quickly tossing meat, the source of the sizzling sound and the smell.  A woman took noodles out of a large container.  Each participant sat on a short collapsible stool with containers of food, plates, glasses, and utensils laid out on a large blanket.  This was one luxurious, albeit highly illegal, picnic. We continued walking along the rock as they delved into their feast.

(A multi-generational family having a feast on the ridge)

Farther along, Bill and I found a spot to sit and eat our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and apples.  Inspiration Point is large enough for all of us.

(Bill on Inspiration Point)

As we continued on, I couldn't help but compare this area to the Adirondacks. Whereas northern trails consist of black dirt from decayed hemlock and balsam needles, and the rocky paths seem not much different from stream beds, the Catskills have red earth with flat shale rock. Walking on this trail of naturally crushed stone between hardwood trees just coming into leaf, I could imagine Thomas Cole, the founder of the Hudson River School of painting, hiking here with his flute and his sketch pad.

(parts of the Escarpment trail are very inviting)

I got ahead of Bill for a while, as we became mixed in with two couples and three dogs.  One man stepped back to ask Bill, "Do you have a map? We're hoping we can find a trail to the parking area without having to walk all the way to North Lake."  Bill pulled out his map and they discussed options. I heard one of the women ahead of me, say, "Oh yeah, Pete doesn't know where we are, Mr. I-know-everything-about-the-Catskills!  It's good he found that man with the map."  Apparently, Pete's guidance had worn a little thin.

(Eventually, we reached views to the Hudson Valley in the East)

I kept hiking, dodging the dogs, ages 15, 11, and 5.  The 15-year-old kept his head down but trudged on.  At the intersection, posted with a nice array of DEC trail signs, we stopped to wait for Bill and Pete.  "I hope Pete is learning something from Mr. Map-man," the woman said.

When Pete and "Mr. Map-man" arrived, the signs gave them new fodder for map study.  Bill told the others which trail they should take, and then he and I continued on our way.  This group was from New Jersey, and they did not even have internet directions like the Pennsylvania couple we had met earlier in the day.  I was surprised that so many people would hike without maps.

(Mr. Map-man saves the day)

Our final destination before heading back was Boulder Rock, left by long ago glaciers.  Once again the ridge offered views across the valley.  We returned on a different trail making a nice loop of about 6.5 miles total.

(Boulder Rock)

As we neared the parking lot, we saw the Chinese family just ahead, jovial and chatty after their feast. The men carried full-sized backpacks with their kitchen gear and whatever food was left, as well as all of the individual stools they had sat on.  The women carried nothing.  Both men and women appeared to be experienced hikers, equipped with proper clothes, boots, and trekking poles.  At the parking lot, they climbed into a 15-person van and drove off.

Before completely leaving the area, we decided to walk to the top of Kaaterskill Falls.  Kaaterskill Falls is generally seen from its base, a half-mile walk in from Route 23A in Palenville Pass. Here at the top, a short trail leads to its rocky ledge where water drops 260 feet. This is not for the faint of heart; in the course of a summer, it is not unusual to read about someone falling to their death on one of the trail-less areas alongside this cataract.

( Water tumbles over Kaaterskill Falls, with tiny people on the path below)

A group of Asian students offered me a spot on the rock where they were sitting. Bill, a bit leery of heights, stayed back. Not only was it fascinating to watch the water cascade over the rocks, but I loved seeing people far below who were hiking into the base from the road. After I took a couple of pictures, Bill and I walked upstream along the creek and past the foundation of the Laurel House, within sight of the top of the falls.

We ended our afternoon, with a stop at the nearby camp store for a Perry's ice cream cone. At home, Bill perused his maps, comparing them to the book description.  Then Mr. Map-man put the book and maps away.  We probably wouldn't hike in the Catskills again until later in the year, when the tourists left and chilly weather returned.

Spring Comes to Dyken Pond

(a kiosk has trail maps and information on the area)

In the early days of Spring when the temperature rises to 60 degrees with a brilliant blue sky, Bill and I like to head for one of our nearby parks.  "I want to go near water," I say one Sunday morning.  We choose to visit Dyken Pond Environmental Education Center in Rensselaer County.

Dyken Pond has six miles of comfortable trails through a variety of habitats and reforested farmland--the perfect place to walk when other hiking locations are muddy. With no leaves yet on the trees, the woods are filled with warmth from a strong sun as we begin the short distance to the pond.                                                                                                                                                              

            

Although today only a few geese swim on the pond, this is not undeveloped state land.  Much of the shoreline is privately owned with visible camps and houses. In a couple of months, small power boats will bring fishermen onto the water in the mornings and waterskiers in the afternoons.  Today, though, not even a kayak has emerged from winter storage to skim this pond.

It's refreshing to see a stretch of open water after winter's ice, but we won't stay here long now.  We'll be back after we check out some of the trails, and when we're ready for the snack we've brought with us.

After a quick walk along the water's edge, we head into the woods, walking on the appropriately named Witchhobble Wander, where blooming witchhobble is abundant and just a hint of green appears. After about a quarter of a mile, we branch off to the Long Trail, up a short hill and into a beech forest.

One of the first points of interest listed on the trail map is the Grandfather Rock.  It stands alone as if dropped from a glacier just yesterday.  Bill peaks from one side, offering perspective on the rock's size.

While he takes a closer look, I discover a few trout lilies reaching for the sun next to a decaying log.  In a few weeks, a canopy of foliage will shade this forest floor, but, for now, these flowers open their petals wide as the day warms.  In the distance I hear a woodpecker tapping.  Despite the absence of leaves, I still don't see him.

Continuing on, we notice a foundation from a long ago homestead, reminding us that at one time this land was cleared and farmed.  Two old trees once sheltered a home here where families raised children and worked hard.  The trails that we walk on were once lanes traveled by horses and wagons to nearby fields and distant villages.

Educational opportunities abound in places like this that show the passage of time, and Dyken Pond offers many programs and field trips for schoolchildren.  Below, a stonewall now fences in trees, but, at one time, sheep may have grazed here.  The log displays cuts to signify how a tree becomes boards.  From this log, we can see cuts for two 4x4's and two 2x8's, along with slab wood on four sides that would not have gone to waste.

Below is a tree finder.  Although the dial is worn, we can discern how it points by color to trees marked  correspondingly to identify hemlock, maple, oak, and more. Visitors learn about both human and natural history here.

Returning deeper into the woods, we wind between the Sentinel Rocks.  These large rocks are reminiscent of the Druid gardens we saw in Ireland that offer mystery and enchantment.  A hemlock forest dims the strong sun making a cool shade that could harbor wood nymphs and other friendly spirits. Here, we feel a sense of timelessness that seems in opposition to the overgrown farmstead we just passed through.

From the Sentinels, we descend into The Bog.  With nearly 600 acres, Dyken Pond offers a large variety of ecosystems.  Thanks to this weathered boardwalk, we don't step on the spongy damp ground and damage sensitive plants. The same glaciers, that deposited the rocks, left this damp mossy depression.  I smell the rich aroma of muddy plant life.  Our walk has been a sensory journey.

We've been outdoors in the woods for a while and our thoughts turn to the rustic bread, locally made cheddar cheese, and crispy apples that I have in a backpack.  We meander back to the pond in search of a good place to sit with our picnic and enjoy the view.

I am distracted by this shed filled with canoes. Even though the warm sun makes me think of paddling, the water is freezing cold and unappealing for water sports.  Still, it won't be long before people want to be on the water.  The public is welcome to use these boats for 90 minutes at $10, or 3 hours for $20. Or you may launch your own kayak or canoe from here.

A few cabins line this side of the pond and are used by the Environmental Center for programs and summer camps.  We find a grassy spot in front of one and bask in the sunshine, the perfect place for a drink and a snack.

In our afternoon at Dyken Pond, we have only seen a couple of people and a few birds.  We think about the different seasons and when we might come again.  In the end, we decide that early Spring is best, before many other people venture out.

(Virginia enjoys the Spring outing)

What's in the Case?

"What's in the Case?" is the title of a monthly column in Strings Magazine, in which a writer interviews a violin player about his or her violin.  I have enjoyed reading the articles over the years and thought it might be fun to write one of my own.  Of course, I am both the interviewer and the interviewee! I hope you, my readers, enjoy it, even though this post has a narrower focus than many of my previous posts.
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What's in the Case?

Player: Virginia Boyle Traver has been playing the violin for 48 years, since she was 8 years old.  "I play more now than at any time except when I was in college," she says, "and I have lots more fun playing than I ever have."  She performs with the Schenectady Symphony Orchestra, the Union College Orchestra, and plays chamber music with friends.

What is your primary go-to instrument?  I still own the factory-made Strad that my parents bought me when I was in 6th grade, which has a surprisingly nice tone. It's a back-up in case of disaster.  My current instrument is a 2004 Andre Hoffer violin from Budapest. I am its first owner.

What made you purchase a new instrument?  From college until 2002 I played a 150-year old German Pfretzschner violin that I loved.  Then it developed a buzz.  I took it to quite a few technicians and no one could fix it.  Finally, one of them told me, "When a violin ages, we always think it will get better, but sometimes it can age in a negative way."  I was fortunate to be able to sell it.  For a year and a half I grieved for it while I played my student violin.  Finally, after much searching, I bought a brand new violin from Nick Frirsz in Greenfield, outside of Saratoga Springs.

How does the new Hoffer compare to your old Pfretzschner?  It took about two years for us to get used to each other.  Now, I really think that if I could play the two instruments side-by-side, I would prefer my Hoffer violin.  There is something romantic about having a richly colored and softly shaped historic instrument, but, in fact, I think my new instrument's tone suits me better.  It has a stronger sound and makes me a more confident player.

What are your violin's likes and dislikes?  It doesn't like winter when the house is dry.  The pegs slip and it sometimes develops a buzz which really freaks me out.  I am paranoid about buzzes.  I use a "damp-it," a rubber snake that helps moisturize the wood, but, really, unless you keep a wooden instrument in a humidified room, nothing else is very effective. Usually, by late winter, I buy new strings. Violin strings are very expensive (I just paid a sale price of $70 for a set), so you don't replace them as often as you would guitar strings. This violin responds more to new strings than my previous instrument.  The warmth of tone is palpable as we head into Spring.

Have you ever done anything that might have robbed your instrument of its "mojo" such as a repair? (mojo is that special magic that lies within the soul of an instrument)  In the seven years I've had this violin, I haven't hurt it in any way, but I do have a wonderful 1975 German Herbert Wanka bow that I beat up a bit. I have no idea how I chipped the ivory tip.  I just noticed that it was chipped all around.  I don't remember dropping it, but apparently I gave it a rough time.  I have since had the ivory replaced.  Technicians now use a small piece of bone from a cow for this.

If given the ability, what would your violin say to you if the two of you sat down for tea?  Whenever I practice at home by myself, I always love playing, taking care with how I shape the music, and listening to how my violin really sounds.  Yet, most of my time is spent playing with other people when there are so many other things to focus on.  I think my violin would say to me over a cup of Turkish Ode to Joy Almond Tea, "You say you love to play just with me, alone at home, but you don't make that a priority.  Why can't we spend more time together, just you, me and the music?  Must we socialize so much?"

Climate Rally in Washington, DC

(The U.S. Capitol in early morning)

 I had received emails from numerous environmental organizations about the upcoming February 17 Climate Rally in Washington D.C.  Billed as the biggest event of its kind, the rally was co-sponsored by the Sierra Club and 350.org, along with 160 smaller participating entities.  I bought my ticket and boarded one of three buses leaving from Albany at 12:30 a.m. on Sunday, the 17th.

( the Washington Memorial is still fenced off due to earthquake damage from 2011)

The bus let us off near the Mall at 8:20 a.m. to frigid temperatures and a strong wind.  Many people found the nearest Starbucks on their iPhones and headed in that direction.  My friend, Laura, and her co-worker Kevin, and I decided to do a little sightseeing.

(magestic sycamore trees make a canopy as we head towards The Basin)

Facing into the wind, wrapped to our eyeballs in scarves, we headed to the newest memorials.

The Martin Luther King Memorial overlooks the Basin and is dramatic in carved stone with quotes from his speeches along the wall that forms a semi-circle around the statue.

We returned to the Mall via the World War II Memorial, a dramatic series of columns with bronze wreaths.

Over 4000 stars, each representing 100 soldiers who died in World War II, glitter in the early morning sun.

Other environmentalists began arriving from states all across the country.  We were intrigued by this King Coal bus.  It would be tough to be against climate change and ride on a bus touting the coal industry.

For a brief escape from the cold, now registering about 15 degrees with the wind chill, we made a stop in the Museum of Natural History.

At 11:00, I left Laura and Kevin to return to the World War II Memorial where Sierra Club members and other New Yorkers were gathering for an anti-hydrofracking protest.  About 1000 people posed for a photo to be delivered to Governor Cuomo.

By noon, nearly 50,000 people came together near the Washington Monument to hear speeches.

I remember seeing Bill McKibben back when he was at Adirondack booksignings as a nearly unknown writer.  Now, he has been able to bring together hundreds of thousands of people of all ages through his organization, 350.org, in attempt to change the destructive path of global warming.

Michael Brune, Executive Director of the Sierra Club, spoke about the future of today's children and how Obama has the opportunity to make a difference.  Also impressive were three Canadian women who urged Americans to keep fighting the Keystone XL Pipeline and the development of the Tar Sands Oil Fields in Alberta, Canada.  The pipeline, proposed to go from Alberta through the American mid-west to the Gulf of Mexico, is considered the single most destructive proposal by the oil industry today, and was a major focus of the rally.

National Park Rangers, government helicopters, fire and ambulance crews, and police, kept watch on what was a very peaceable protest.

Here I am, nearly frozen, with Atlantic Chapter Sierra Club Executive Committee members Bob Ciesielski and Carl Arnold, holding up an anti-fracking sign.  Many people came by and took pictures of the sign which we held during the entire rally.

We folded up the sign once the march began along Constitution Avenue.  It was impossible to see the beginning or the end of the line.

So many young people were part of the event...as it should be since their future is longer than ours and they have a powerful voice.  I stopped to take a picture of these folks drumming on homemade instruments. Within seconds, I had lost Bob and Carl in the crowd.

It didn't matter that I was on my own. Everyone was friendly, even as we stepped on or bumped into one another. And with all the people and the bright sunshine, the temperature seemed just a tad warmer.

 This young man at left actually led the makeshift band as he walked backwards.

Destination White House!  I met Jessica Helm, a Sierra Club delegate from Long Island who is on the National Board, and walked with her for a little while.  

We were encouraged not to linger in front of the White House and continued on Pennsylvania Avenue back towards the Washington Monument.  I watched people playing rhythms on this drum as they walked. The drum says, "One Earth, One People, One Heartbeat."  A young man handed me a mallet and I joined in.

When the march came to an end back at the stage near the Monument, I thought I would watch for a few minutes.  Music and dancing were promised, to warm everyone up.  I only lasted through the singer, Eve, before I decided I had had enough of the cold and wind.

Walking back towards the Air and Space Museum, I passed these hardy daffodils braving the frigid weather!  By 5 p.m., I met up with Laura and Kevin and was back on the bus heading for Albany.  We arrived home just after 1 a.m. Monday morning.

While the rally was fascinating and it certainly energized my environmental sensibilities, it is hard to know how effective we were.  Regardless, I was glad to join those who want to be able to tell their children that we are trying to leave a stable and beautiful world for them.

Mount Marcy Revisited

(Mount Marcy, the highest peak in New York State)

As my daughter, Meredith, and I get closer to reaching the goal of having hiked the 46 Adirondack High Peaks (we're at 41), it occurred to me that I might want to make a journal of my experiences in the mountains.  I chose this winter to look back and see what I had written over the years. This blog post is an account of the time my husband, Bill, and I hiked Mount Marcy.  I had hiked a number of the peaks with my father when I was a teenager, so it was only fitting that I should take Bill to one of my favorite places.  

Readers who have been in the mountains recently will notice quite a few differences, such as being able to camp up to 5000 feet, having Colden camps all to ourselves on an August trip, dipping our drinking cups directly into the streams and, of course, visiting Marcy Dam before Hurricane Irene came and let all the water out.  May all of you enjoy this adventure.

Mount Marcy, August 1981
            There must be an alternative to the hot dog and chocolate chip cookie meals my father and I had consumed when we hiked, I thought, as I contemplated what Bill and I should take on our backpacking trip to the Adirondacks.  We had been married two years and had developed a satisfactory diet of natural foods including whole grains, vegetables, raw sugar, herbal teas, homemade breads and granola...along with occasional food runs for ice cream and white-crusted restaurant pizza.  Our first wilderness outing together would be an escape from the pressures of daily life, a time to cleanse the spirit, all enhanced by a wholesome organic diet.  

            For two and a half days we would eat a nut mixture, a dried fruit mix, rice, bulghur wheat, and peanut butter balls loaded with nutrition and calories.  Bill looked at my portioned-out menu with approval.  It would be a test that we had been eager to take.  For years we had been outward natural food enthusiasts, yet a pan of brownies had always been just a recipe away.

(the iconic view of the high peaks from Marcy Dam)

            I was excited to introduce Bill to the fabled high peaks and had mapped out a route that included lakes, forests, babbling brooks, and the highest mountain in the state.  The August sun was brilliant as we donned our packs and started along the easy jaunt to Marcy Dam, the point at which many of the more popular trails connect.  


            Marcy Dam is a great introduction to the Adirondacks' drama.  A small pond, surrounded by mountains that seem to rise straight up from the shore, makes one feel far from civilization. When we arrived at the Dam, we sat on a picnic table, the last we would see for a couple of days, and helped ourselves to our first taste of nut mix.

            My boots felt solid underfoot as we chatted about everyday events on the way to Avalanche Lake, but a few feet from our first view of the lake, I stumbled on a root.  Once off balance, the weight of my pack swayed and I fell headlong into black mud.  So much for being the fearless leader!  Together we tried to clean me up.  My face and hair were smeared with black.  I walked to the edge of the lake and made a feeble attempt at washing. I could imagine what I looked like now.

(one of the Hitch-Up Matildas at Avalanche Lake)

            Although Avalanche Lake is beautiful, it is also treacherous. We hiked over roots and rocks, up and down ladders, and across precarious wood bridges, called Hitch-Up Matildas, that hugged rugged cliffs  above a drop into twenty feet of water. By late afternoon we arrived at the Opalescent River and set up camp near Lake Colden.  We dipped our cups in the brook and took a long drink.  The cold clear water made a perfect accompaniment to a fruit and nut snack. 


            Bill decided to have a cup of tea.  Casual pawing through our packs for the sterno for our little stove became frantic. I remembered that the last time I had seen the sterno, it was on the kitchen counter of our apartment. "I thought you packed it," I said.  "No, I thought you packed it," Bill said. Without a way to heat water, we not only had no tea, but could not cook rice or bulghur wheat.  Our nutritional plan had hit a major snag.

            After Bill flung our food over a high branch to keep it away from bears, we strolled to the lake shore, deflated and concerned about our reduced food capabilities. Red squirrels ran back and forth on the branch above us, tantalized by our bag of nutty provisions. We reasoned that we had plenty of dried fruit, nuts, and peanut butter balls to last us for a couple of days.  We'd managed with a lot less in college sometimes.  A ranger stopped by; otherwise we saw no one.  Quiet and still, the surface of Lake Colden reflected the last rays of evening sun.

(Lake Colden in the evening)

            In the morning, after a peanut butter ball breakfast, we packed a day pack with a lunch of dried fruit and nuts. When I had hiked with my father, we carried our big packs over the peaks so that we would never camp two nights in the same place. Bill and I chose to leave our backpacks at the campsite.  What a treat to carry only our lunches and a cup to dip in the brook. We headed toward Mount Marcy, climbing steeply along the Opalescent and Feldspar Brooks.  The woods felt cool and the sound of rushing water drowned out conversation.  Despite the dried mud caked inside and outside of my boots from yesterday's fall, I felt strong and solid on the trail.

            At Lake Tear of the Clouds, the fabled source of the Hudson River, we read a sign that said, “No camping above 5000 feet,” but just beyond, five people had set up a tent and were out in the sun cooking up a pan of eggs.  Their breakfast smelled delicious. Moments later, the woods opened above treeline to hazy views under the hot sun.  People sat all over the summit rocks eating sandwiches.  Bill and I weren't very hungry despite our strenuous workout. We ate some dried fruit and nuts and lay down in the sun.  After a little while, we began the descent back to our camp.  Clouds rolled in.  Supper back at our tent was quick and boring as the first raindrops fell.

(a hazy summit view from Mount Marcy)

            Heading to bed early, Bill fell asleep like a rock.  I was restless.  My stomach began to churn. Rain pounded on the tent as I tried to remember where the flashlight was.  I rushed outside, cursing our food planning.  I hoped there weren't any bears.  Three times during the night I made that trip.  Why wasn't Bill suffering?  By morning, I was sure I had lost everything I had eaten.

            I gave Bill a ghastly look when he quipped, “So what do you want for breakfast?”

            “I won't ever make peanut butter balls again in my life,” I moaned.

            Our itinerary included a retracing of our steps around Lake Colden and Avalanche Lake.  We had considered taking a couple of side hikes before packing up camp, but the rain still came down in sheets. Only two of our five food containers were empty--all those uncooked grains would go back with us, along with a quantity of uneaten peanut butter balls. With the rain on our backs, we skipped breakfast and rolled up the tent, randomly stuffing all the gear into our packs. Then we stepped onto the trail, and put one foot in front of the other.

            Slogging out through black mud, we laughed about our great dietary experiment. It received a failing grade.  All morning we ate nothing and weren't hungry.  My stomach rumbled words of warning, but, after the initial couple of miles on the trail, I felt good.  The damp woods smelled of hemlock, and tree trunks stood black in the heavy atmosphere.  Avalanche Lake was pocked with pelting rain and only gray shadows of the cliffs rose out of the water. Rivulets drizzled down my face and mixed with dirt.  I sloshed through puddles and got dirtier.  It felt okay to be wet and dirty.  Still, whenever we poked our heads out of hoods of our plastic ponchos, our conversation turned to what we would eat when we hit civilization. We were hungry for white over-processed carbohydrates. 

            When we reached the car, we got a glimpse of ourselves in the rear view mirror.  After toweling off my face, I made a stab at dragging a comb through my hair.  Fresh dry clothes that we had left in the back seat felt like heaven, and we changed from our hiking shorts to long pants.  At least no one in Lake Placid would be able to see our mud-caked legs. We also hoped they wouldn't mind our three-day hiking aroma—there wasn't much we could do about that.  Finally we were ready for our debut.  Turning the heat on in the car, we drove the short distance into town, parked in the Main Street lot, threw jackets on, and ran across the street to Lums diner.

(Bill and Virginia on a cleaner day, 1979)