Bronx, NY-Spring Lake Heights, NJ 9/26 90 car miles; 5.4 walking miles

After a scrumptious breakfast of Huevos Rancheros, we left the Bronx at the crack of 10:30. Ryan said it was easy to cross the George Washington Bridge and head down the Jersey Parkway. It may have been if we hadn't had a little mid town turn around. No worries, we righted the ship and headed South on the Jersey Turnpike. Traffic was light and we rolled into Toms River in just under two hours. We checked on the progress of the food truck my cousin is having refurbished by a seriously sketchy dude named Joel whose phone is disconnected and who by chance stopped by his shop while we were there. Another gentleman who has been waiting for his Citroen to be refurbished was also there, but unlike me, he has an expensive dog in the fight. Joel assured us the truck (I don't know what he told the other guy)  would  be finished in two months: doubtful. But these are not my concerns. We then proceeded to Dennis and Susie Pearsall's house where we let ourselves in (They were cheering wildly for their granddaughter, Molly, at her soccer game. While we waited, we walked to the   shore to look for Snooki. Actually, she's a bit further South, and according to Susie, she doesn't really represent Jersey. Oh well, so much for pop reality. We had a lovely rib sticking comfort food dinner and jibber jabbered none stop late into the evening. Dennis and Susie are part of Ed's Jesuit volunteer group from his time at the mission in Omak in the early 70s. The group has remained close over the years, and each one I've met classifies as an example of "best" human. Today, though, was really about a sea change. We've left the noise and vibration of the city to begin meandering along quieter pathways. I must say that the thin gruel is no less nourishing. It just seems that marvelous humans are everywhere, which once again proves that life is good, especially today.

Ready for business in just two months.

Selfie of the day: "Hey, Snooki".

The shore, just an hour from the city by train, is like a sunblock sardine can in the summer.

Susie and Dennis.

The thin gruel continues.

Full disclosure: just my first plate. Gasbutt? Flattbutt, Fatbutt? Like John Boener says, "It probably won't be the last time."

Bronx-Lower Manhattan-Brooklyn 9/25 30 subway miles; 19 walking miles

Whew! What a day. My guide, Edwardo schlepped us all over the city, and he still had to cross several things off his list. We rode the subway from the Bronx all the way to lower Manhattan just so Ed could have his daily cup of coffee while gazing across the Hudson into Jersey from Battery Park City. Manhattan, a cop and barricade convention, was a mad house because of Pope Francis' visit. This evening he said Mass in Madison Square Garden. The upside of his visit is that ordinary schmoes like us couldn't get near the reflection pools at Ground Zero. No matter, we just headed right across the Brooklyn Bridge, the most iconic artery that links Brooklyn to Manhattan. Nothing speaks "The City" like that Bridge. We wandered around some of Brooklyn's neighborhoods: Park Slope, Downtown Brooklyn, Cobble Hill, Prospect Park, Crown Heights, Dumbo, Brooklyn Heights, and just on the edge of Bed-Stuy. We saw the Brooklyn Library, the museum, and best of all we strolled the promenade before we walked back across the Manhattan bridge into China Town. We chatted up quite a few folks (Who says New Yorkers are standoffish?), but "best" human of the day goes to Suhyun Pak, a young Korean man who came to our aid unsolicited. We had flagged down a security guard and asked where we could catch the train uptown to K-Town so I could buy the ingredients for Kimchee (Actually, I call it Timchee) soup. The guard knew from nothing, and overhearing, Suhyun set us in the right direction. Once again, I'm bouyed by the goodness of the human spirit. Two other best human highlights today included a beautiful young performing artist, Carla Kasumi (carlakasumi.com) who was doing a chalk art piece on the promenade. What struck me is that she prefaced her art with a blurb about how

many days she'd been alive (12,410). I noticed it because I used to use that concept to teach my seventh graders about perspective (And because the silly Bozonians think they're immortal). At 64, I'm 23,360 days on the planet, and while I believe I'm not promised tomorrow, I do hope to be graced with a few more. I have an affinity for bright eyed, hopeful humans. Suhyun and Carla added to the treasures I'm gathering like jewels along my way, each in their own way polishing my spirit. The cutest set of humans I experienced today was an African American family (I only differentiate because in the lily white community where I live, the experience wouldn't exist). I didn't speak to them because the culture of the subway inhibits talking. They were four: dad, mom, third grade sister, five year old brother. I noticed them because their love for one another oozed from their space like the radiant awe the faithful demonstrated as they waited for the Pope's cavelcade to roll by. Little brother had a sticker of a third eye on his forehead. (Quite enlightened for a five year old). Sister gently chided him until mom reached in the sticker bag to place a bird shape on her forehead. She quiped, "I guess I'm just a bird brain." Everyone laughed, including Dad, the stoic. Mom and little brother got off at one stop, and a stop or two later Dad and sister got off. The last I saw of them, sister had her arm linked with Dad's. Stoic or not, I know that melted him because I've experienced the same with my own daughter To me, they were a clear picture of a loving family. I know we Americans don't hold a monopoly on familial love, but it was heart warming nonetheless. We crushed our "steps" record with 49,811, just shy of twenty miles because we added a few after we got back to the Bronx (Erica and I walked over to get pedi-manis; old school thinking may consider it girlymanush, but for me it's the sign of good grooming). We enjoyed Timchee soup, warming our stomachs and our hearts , thankfully and gracefully realizing that life is good, especially today.

All aboard.

The first of the new World Trade buildings.

Selfie of the day: Lower Manhattan from the Brooklyn Bridge.

Ed's private audience with the pope.

My Great Gatsby sandwhich from the Shelsky's Deli in Brooklyn (Cream cheese, locks, red onion, and hot mustard on pumperknickel...I should have had two).

Carla at work.

Chalk fingers and all.

The city skyline from Brooklyn Heights.

Suhyun, the most generous human I met today.

Thin gruel of the night: Timchee Soup.

May her ideal ever guide us.

Kamp Keberle-Bronx, NY 9/24 30 car miles; 12.7 walking miles

After a not so white knuckle ride last night from the Catskills to the Bronx due to the able navigating of the ever multi-tasking Major Jacks, we spread the futons and slept peacefully despite the bright white glare of the street light. We awoke to another blue sky postcard day (New York at it's best). Then we started hoofing it around the Bronx. Ed schlepped us around the rich mitch neighborhood of Fieldston where the homes rest like royalty on the hillside along the river. We trespassed onto a private club where we were politely asked to leave. Unabashed, we made our way up and over the hill by the prestigious Horace Mann high school to broadway where the great unwashed (That be us-sort of) idled along the paths of their daily lives. Ed had on his list a stop at Lloyd's Carrot Cake store, a swelteringly hot and very tiny store front manned by a Jamacian lady who's built a business and a "must go" reputation on her carrot cake and pumpkin tarts. From there we strolled through the magnificent Van Courtlandt park, which was designed by the same guys who designed Central Park and our own Manito Park in Spokane. We were attempting to walk through the park to an Irish neighborhood on the East side. Little did we know that no such trail existed. After another frustrating bout with Google maps and a few circuitous instructions from Siri, we finally asked for directions, which is when we met our first two "best" humans of the day (Margaret Perron and Dennis Burton) who explained (In a nice way) that we'd been walking in circles since every path in the park is a loop. Once reoriented, we met Ryan and Erica for lunch at a quite good Mexican restaurant. The highlight of the day (By far) was our dinner at the Prune where we met a friend of the Keberle's, a delightful high energy, quite brilliant, especially vibrant human named Manca. Under her guidance (She's a regular), we ordered every appetizer and small plate on the menu, a round of cocktails before dinner, two select bottles of Italian wine, and one each of every dessert (Excessive orgasmic photos to follow). It was my treat because it was my "bucket item". Two and a half years ago I read a book written by the owner (Gabrielle Hamilton) called Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertant Education of a Reluctant Chef. I was so moved, I wrote her a letter, which for those of you who know me, realize is quite far out of character. Sadly, (And fortunately) she wasn't at the restaurant. Sadly, because it would have been fun to put a face to the words that moved me to tears, and fortunate because I would have regretted mightily falling all over my fawning self. So as it is most days and times: things work out as they should, but I can tell you this: even though I'm suffering from the effects of Metformin and alcohol (Bad combo), I jumped off the wagon most willingly. The bottom line (Yes, that's the impression of my fat butt) is: Life is good, especially today.

The view from the private club they kicked us out of.

They weren't accepting resumes.

A snack: Thin gruel of sorts.

Margaret Perron, park administrator, giving "human" directions.

Dennis Burton, park employee, willingly deferred to Margaret.

Our "city slicker" hosts.

Love in the city (As it should be).

Welcome to the Lower East Side.

The bar, half the space, which is thirty seats.

Manca, as she is.

Round 1.

Round 2.

Round 3.

Round 4.

Bottle 1.

Round 5.

Round 6.

Round 7.

Dessert. Just Google Prune for the menu, but hurry, it's seasonal and things change according to availability.

Good night for us. As for Manca, she was off on her British built Brompton bike (Named Modesty Bkaze). I so love another who names their inanimate objects although Manca took umbrage, "There's nothing inanimate about this bike."

Quite a kettle of tea we brewed today.

Kamp Keberle: Day 5 9/23 100 car miles; 6 walking miles

If it gets any slower here at the deliriously delicious Kamp Keberle, they'll be scraping moss off of ever flattening butts. We didn't get our marching orders until well after noon. Major Jacks had a full morning on the computer drafting sales prospectus sheets, setting up meetings, consultations, and otherwise readying herself for yet another "helluvadeal" as her Grandpa Cookies used to say. Ryan, not one to let the moss grow also worked much of the day in what seems to be his regular routine of composing, lining up gigs, answering emails, practicing his trombone (Several times actually-quite a treat to hear), working out with weghts and yoga, and probably a few things I didn't catch. Edwardo managed a few siestas, quite a bit of reading, and took the day off from walking. He's saving himself for tomorrow when he's my Guide Boy in the city. We did manage to eat some thin gruel as a late lunch, a quite spectacular bacon chicken ranch pizza on thin crust created by a dangerously close eatery just three miles away (And they deliver). We've quite literally jumped off the fitness wagon, which could turn out OK since we'll likely land on the cushion of our fat butts. While Ed read and snoozed, I walked up, over, and around enjoying another simply stunning fall day. There's a horse farm that "ain't no ways from here" called Three Friends Farm whose outlandish sign caption reads, "Where too much isn't enough". Their property is opulent, rimmed with tall white fence along the front of the property and protected from intrusion by a deep wooded grotto at the rear. I couldn't see the houses, barns, or out buildings from the road (The No Tresspassing Signs and Security Cameras didn't seem all that welcoming), but I could see the large sculpture garden which borders the front of the property and the tennis courts just inside the main gate. I did risk a short encroachment onto their property to get better angles for my photos. The bottom line: It's fabulous. Best humans of the day are a Jewish couple married 58 eight years (According to Irwin) and 57 (According to Fran). They live just down the road and Major Jacks was doing a consultation in advance of their home sale. They are a hoot. Imagine every Jewish Idiom and every New York slang phrase you can, mush them into the New York twang of two very glib eighty somethings, wrap it in a matza ball of neighborhood gossip and their you have it. What can I tell you. Fran and I talked knee replacement sugery (By her own admission, she's a tough old Bitch). Irwin talked fishing, kids, and whateva. I didn't ask them for a photo because they were observing Yom Kippur today, but that didn't stop them from being gracious hosts. I think I'd still be kibitzing with them if Erica hadn't had a horse riding lesson. ("Please. Do you see what I'm dealing with here? I'm married 57 years to this man. I don't know how. It will get betta.") What a joy and what a treat for me, a language guy to hear of a world I can't imagine. Irwin was amazed my wife woukd let me go away for over two minths. He says, "I couldn't leave Franny for that long because I couldn't stand to kiss her goodbye".  Makes me want to hop a plane. Right now, Ryan is fixing a lean and mean steak salad to off set our lavish lunch. He and I just sat in the sauna and then dove into the quite clean and ever so refreshing Swinging Bridge Resevoir. God willing we should roll into the Bronx sometime before midnight. I must say, life is probably pretty good up here at Kamp Keberle most days, but it's been especially good today.

Our last morning at Kamp. What a glorious day.

Bacon, Chicken, Ranch on thin crust. Today's thin gruel.

One of a line of about eight large sculptures at the Three Friends Farm.

I think this one is an Akexander Calder.

This is one of two full sized horses standing astride the front gate.

This is the other.

Ryan doesn't spend every waking moment working.

Ed in one of his favorite angles of repose.

Late afternoon view from the deck.

Dive in. The water is fine.

Forget about it....

Kamp Keberle: Day 4 9/22 20 car miles; 8 walking miles

The day started slowly at Kamp Keberle. Ryan and Erica, who had driven back to the city yesterday morning made it back to Kamp by eleven. Breakfast (And lunch) was on our own. Major Jacks (Erica's business moniker) finally gave us the true fifteen minute warning sometime after noon. Using us as potential customers, Major Jacks took us on a walking tour of Smallwood, a potential site for her next deal. Her grandfather on her morher's side was a major in the army and obviously his name was Jack. Not so obvious was his hobby as a wheeler and dealer. He is quoted as saying, "The only thing I don't buy used is toilet paper." It was regular business for him to buy ten or twelve lawn mowers, tinker with them until they worked, and turn a tidy profit selling them from his front lawn as they lined the sidewalk like cash on wheels. And it seems he would wheel and deal on just about anything. Erica, who sat at his side like an eager apprentice, learned much from him. Just yesterday she took a trunk of junk she salvaged from her "flipper" house and traded it for what she calls, "Two hunks of treasure". From now on, I'll just refer to our young tycoon as Major Jacks. The walk through Smallwood, a laking community complete with a community center, private lake access, and a kid friendly neighborhood, could be very appealing to the right buyer. Major Jacks was doing her leg work and Ed and I got our steps in for the day. Along the way I met another "best" human of the day: Ulysses Oestrich, a seventeen year old senior who has lived in Smallwood his whole life with a great smile and an even better attitude, happily stopped to chat with me. I asked him what the best thing about living in Smallwood was and he instantly replied, "The fishing." He says he and his Dad roam the area's lakes together (Kind of a Norman Rockwell scene). Full of hope, he says he plans to attend Suny College next year to major in Environmental Science. Later, I went along with Erica so she could practice riding her horse. I sat by an outdoor fire, blissful in the crispness of the late afternoon, just mildly bothered by  the flies buzzing my legs (A small price to pay for such a pleasant place to enjoy life). After the Major brushed and washed her horse, Zahara, we arrived back at Kamp Keberle, floating on the aroma of roasted duck served on a bed of potatoes, carrots and beets beside a salad of fresh greens. What a life! It's no tongue in my cheek to say that life is good, especially today.

One nice space in the edge of Smallwood Lake.

Another, and perhaps the art shot of rhe day.

Hoop Heaven.

Dad and the Major in front of potentially her next project.

Ever busy, Major Jacks, e-mailing a client back in the city.

Ulysses Oestrich. He didn't know if his parents were Homer fans (Or James Joyce), but I told him in thirty-one years of teaching I'd never had a student named Ulysses. Great kid.

The private community beach on Smallwood Lake.

The view from the fire pit at Major Jacks riding stable. Seriously, I'm the embodiment of the "flat butt" tour. Someone has to do it.

The view behind ain't bad either.

The Major putting her pony (And herself) through its paces.

Major Jacks and Zahara.

Selfie of the day: Me and Major Jacks.

I even had to suspend my no drinking rule as a toast to the good life.

Thin gruel of the night: farm raised roasted duck.

Our host, chef Keberle.

My portion, fat butt assured.