Row, row, row your boat (Row Portland will teach you how)

I've always fancied myself a swell rower.

All the folks at the gym comment on my rowing machine mastery - my perfect oaring form.

But until this weekend, my rowing experience has lacked in two significant areas: the inclusion of water and/or a boat of any kind. But that rowing machine and I - we went places. Imaginarily speaking.

But if you and I are going to be honest with each other, I should admit I've never actually rowed in a shell...and no one has ever commented on my rowing machine form. (But I'm sure they thought about it.)

As far as I've been concerned, "shells" were the candy part of a Skittle, "outriggers" were nonverbal - though highly intelligent - rustic trail guides and "coxswain" was a word I wouldn't use in polite company.

Leave it to the Portland Community Rowing Association to put an end to my inappropriately defined terminology.

The organization recently launched in town, aiming to give seasoned rowers a chance to exercise their penchant for the sport and also providing newcomers the opportunity to learn it. Its programs are open to kids and adults in the area, and Sunday was the first Adult Rowing Day.

While a determined spray of rain worked to prevent any type of outdoor entertainment, a dozen or so water-resistant folks met near the East End Beach boat launch for a rowing introduction.

Local Ned Flint is heading up the endeavor. And after we completed our participation waivers, Ned got busy 'splaining things. He brought out a couple of oars, showing us the difference between a sweep oar and a scull.

We took a gander at one of the boats - the yellow eight-seater - that rested comfortably on a recently built rack.

Ned lined us up alongside the shell and taught us how to lift the boat to our waists, then lift it again over our heads to move it to a couple slings nearby. Once placed upright, we took an up-close gander at what we were dealing with.

The boat was nothing new to some more-experienced rowers among us, but I was surprised to discover eight pairs of built-in shoes inside.

How handy.

Of course, before we could get in the thing, we needed to work on our form. So we broke off into groups and sharpened our rowing skills on my old friend the rowing machine. The key, I learned, is straightening your legs before pulling back on the "oars," then letting the arms and upper body to go forward before allowing the legs to bend again.

Finally, after lifting the boat to our shoulders and making our careful way down to the beach, we put that puppy into the water.



Oars were gotten and placed into the oarlocks.

And while it was the first time some of us had ever attempted to climb into a shell, everyone made it safely in without falling out, tipping over or putting a foot through the bottom.

And let's face it, we looked good. Like competitive level good.

Unfortunately our skills were still rudimentary level good. And with the choppy waves and the lack of a dingy (the better to coach us on the water with) our group wasn't able to get more than 10 feet from shore. Ned couldn't let us row out into the bay all willy-nilly.

We'll save that for lesson No. 2.

To the rowing machine, my apologies. We won't be seeing much of each other this summer.

I'll be on the water.

For all the details on the Portland Community Rowing Association, check www.rowportland.org

To get on the mailing list for upcoming lessons and excursions, email Ned Flint at row@rowportland.org

And hey, if rowing on the water simlpy doesn't appeal to you, you can always beef up your rowing machine prowess and compete in the world championships for indoor rowing

Go ahead, make my clay: Sporting clays at LL Bean

It's not that I have a penchant for killing things.

Sure, there was that village of unfortunate spiders I de-legged during that curiosity-driven summer before fifth grade, but I've lived an otherwise pacifistic adult life.

And while I won't scoff at any area hunters (they have guns...I make it a point never to scoff at anyone with guns), hunting just ain't my shtick. Besides, two hamsters and a dwarf rabbit died under my care - I'm in no position to judge.

Even still, I've always wanted to try my trigger finger at target shooting. Non-living target shooting.

And to the chagrin of clay pigeons across Southern Maine, LL Bean offers just such an opportunity.

LL Bean's Walk-On Adventures are an ideal way to test your skills at an array of outdoorsy activities. $15 includes all equipment, instruction and an hour or two doing your thing.

I've been fixated on the Sporting Clays walk-on for weeks.

They actually let people like me use a shotgun. No background checks er nuthin'.

The adventure begins at the Walk-On registration counter within the new hunting & fishing wing on the LL Bean campus in Freeport. Sign-ups are first come, first served. Gratefully, there was still room for myself and a couple of cohorts when we arrived last-minute on Saturday morning.

The shotgunning does not, as I speculated, take place in the airy, kahki-growing fields of the menswear department. Instead, we boarded a bus and headed out to pastures clear of clearance racks and innocent bystanders.

We were met by LL Bean instructors Keith and Troy, who led us through the safety measures and rules of the range. And all but two of us students admitted to never having touched a shotgun. Ever. Like neva-eva.

Keith walked us out to the stations and gave some pre-clay-killing advice: "Don't look at the bead."

He never specifically said, "Don't kill anyone," but I think it was implied.

And sooner than I expected, we found ourselves, shotgun in hand, ready to scatter some clay. As teachers go, Keith was a comfortable blend of respectability, experience and old school "I'll blow your ear off from 30 paces" grit.

He directed us into the proper posture: hip into the rail, butt of the gun into the shoulder, cheek pressed firmly, neck long. And don't look at the bead.

First goal: hit a clay disk on the ground. One friend nailed it first try. Another was so shocked by the kickback, it was questionable whether she'd continue.

She did, and for an hour the three of us wowed Keith with our masterful skeet-splintering skills. The first trap chucked a target high and slow - and we were instructed to shoot during that pause between going up, up, up and now down.

The second trap was positioned close to our station, sending a target sailing away from the shooter. The result: the longer you waited, the farther away it got.

We felt like pros in pretty short order. And I discovered an affinity and talent with shotguns. Keith even launched both clays at once (from the two stations we'd already shot from) and I hit them both. It's like I was born to do it.

"Any interest in being a teacher here at LL Bean?" Keith asked in jest. We all laughed. And then I thought seriously about it.

Employment being as tentative as it is these days, I might need to take him up on the offer.

Me, teaching people to use guns. Nothing about that screams "bad idea."

For more info the the Sporting Clays Walk-On Adventure (or fly casting, kayaking, archery and more) check out the LL Bean Walk-On Adventures info.

Seriously a brilliant idea - and a cheap and easy way to try a new sport on for size.

Consider Sporting Clays highly recommended. For $20 I'll teach you myself.

Bike every mountain, avoid any tree: Back Country Excursions

Thrill seeker.

Not a phrase I'd expect to hear at my eulogy (assuming I could, in fact, hear anything at that point).

It's not that I'm anti-thrill - or that I even "accidentally" avoid thrills by, say, lying about pre-existing plans I have elsewhere (that, uh, I just can't get out of).

I simply have a lower thrill threshold. You launch yourself from an airplane - I'll chase wild turkeys on Mackworth Island. Everyone's happy.

But every now and then I find myself on some thrill precipice. Usually I'm in a helmet and always I'm acutely aware of the long list of "Ways This Could Go Wrong." I can get very creative with those lists - disasters most folks could barely fathom.

This past weekend, for example, as the front tire of my borrowed mountain bike dipped down toward the base of a steep, rocky, tree-crowded trail, I had a vision. Let it suffice it to say it involved said bike's handlebars and the severing of important upper-body limbs.

Alas, no limbs were lost on Saturday when a friend and I headed out to Back Country Excursions in Parsonsfield. It's a mountain biker's delight out there - trails 'til the thrill seeker's heart is content. Founder Cliff Krolick happened to have a handful of newly trained mountain biking teachers in need of some practice students. So I volunteered.

I have a shockless hand-me-down bike that I ride regularly enough - in the woods on wide trails with slow inclines. This mountain biking thing is an entirely different animal.

So first things first - I was matched with a bike. Both being scorpios with liberal politics and a love of used books, cheap coffee and NOVA, this red and white bike and I made a complementary pair.

The lessons started slowly, with each of us students spinning pedals and learning how to change gears on the bike. "Change gears?" I thought. "This really is a beginner's class." Then we moved out to the practice circle, where the teacher shouted "harder gear," "easier gear," and "stand up" as we rode 'round and 'round and 'round the circle.

Eventually, we were directed up a small hill, changing gears in quick succession and motoring to the top. Then coming down in the proper downhill stance: feet at 3:00 and 9:00 and butt back.

The speedy gear changing took some getting used to, but I seemed to have this whole hill thing under control.

So out to the trails we went, a handful of teachers and a handful of students all eager to get into the woods. The down shifting came in handy along the gravel road, with its rolling hill after hill after hill.

And suddenly, we were in the woods chasing each other along thin and winding trails. Tree branches slapped our faces as we rode past. We cut around rocks and stumps - and sometimes went over the rocks and stumps. The hills dipped low and then high again and I couldn't help but brake a little going down and then pedal, pedal, pedal going up.

Thirty minutes in and I was getting it. Sure I was breathless, sweating and distracted by nerves. But my bike confidence was at a record high.

I momentarily considered quitting my job to pursue a mountain biking career.

I fancied myself an eventual record setter - a cover of Mountain Bike magazine - a role model for children in woodsy, mountainous regions of the country.

And then I wrecked.

Straight into some shrubbery and the dirt. As falls go it wasn't a bad one. No injuries to speak of. But my confidence was shaken. I could barely get my foot back in the cage pedal.

But on we continued. A few others fell to the dirt - or into a tree.

I dueled a pine myself and it drew blood (bleeding on the trail is, in my opinion, a testament to my impressive toughness).

After a few more spills I hit the wall. Metaphorically speaking. Cliff asked who was "feeling more adventurous" and wanted to go higher up the mountain to steeper terrain.

I wasn't. I figured I'd quit while I was ahead (and by "ahead" I mean "alive"). Most of the group continued on, and by my count they all came back.

And we were all exhausted.

Nothing a quick nap on the lawn can't fix.

Check out the Back Country Excursions website for details on the trails, upcoming rides and weekend tours.

There's great online video of some of the trails as well.

Cliff also noted that beginners can call any time and get set up with some skills training - and I can attest to the solid guidance you'll get here.

And mountain bikers, mark your calendars for the Mountain Biking Micro Brew Festival on Aug 7-9.

Sprint to the drinkable finish: Wine Flight training

Some folks run for the joy of it.

Some run seeking the elusive "runner's high" (which, for the record, I've sought and never discovered. Instead I defer to the "post-runner's-high" that coincides with an after-run plate of chicken).

Food and drink make for solid motivation. It's a work and reward theory of life. And if you're going to undo all the hard-earned calorie burn, it's best to do it with purpose.

The Wine Fight 5K - returning this October - is a run after my own heart. Or palate.

The race model's France's Marathon du Medoc, interjecting a sampling of food and wine into a 5k run/walk. "Aid stations" along the way offer delicacies from local purveyors. And across the finish line you'll be rewarded with a wine-tasting celebration.

But how does one prepare for such a vigorous race and taste?

The Wine Flight "training runs" - aka, Passport to Portland. That's how.

The runs lauched last week and occur every Tuesday until race time.

Runners meet up in Monument Square between 6-6:30 pm. Margo Mallar, from Maine Ambassadors, will check you in and hand over your course map and passport.

In addition to revealing the evening's running course and final destination (this time: Maine Mead Works) the map offers some history about the neighborhoods through which you'll go.

Today's lesson: Munjoy Hill. The area was the first home to many new immigrants and boasted small grocers catering to the Jewish, Armenian and Italian families there. "Fisherman [delivered food] from their trucks and horse and wagons. They would proceed up Munjoy Hill, street by street, along with the knife sharpener...All the mothers in their aprons gathered in the street, looked over the goods very carefully and called each other Mrs."

At 6:30, a group of we less-than-speedy runners took off up Congress Street. At the base of the hill, we walked. Wait - did I just say "walked"? I meant, we sprinted.

Okay, maybe we walked some, but it was only to fully appreciate the homes and storefronts there - and to drool just a bit over the smells wafting from The Front Room and Blue Spoon.

At the Eastern Prom, the map directed us to veer right and catch the bike trail down by Fore Street. But being sensible, economic, lazy people, we just motored straight down the East End hill. You say "cheating," I say "energy conservation."

After a hearty running effort, about 14 folks gathered at the Maine Mead Works tasting room. Eli and Nick poured welcome samples of the Dry, Semi-Sweet and Blueberry.

And while we would have gladly sampled the meadery dry, we had pairings to experience.

A table had been set up with fruit, cheese, bread, nuts, chocolate and fish. Our goal, sample the mead with the grub and see what works.

We each took a plate, a glass and a worksheet and tackled the tremendous task at hand. It's a tough job - mead drinking and cheese eating and whatnot. Takes a special kind of person.

I think everyone walked away with some new-found appreciation. Some were new to mead altogether. Some hadn't tried the Blueberry. And some - ahem - don't have a sturdy enough palate to handle habanero cheese.

Was the excursion a success?

Yea, I think people liked it.

"Passport to Portland" runs weekly throughout the spring and summer. Here are some upcoming jaunts:

June 9: Gritty McDuff's

June 16: El Rayo Taqueria

June 30th sounds like an event a chocolate lover shouldn't miss. The course includes a tramp up the Portland Observatory, with chocolate stops on each of the six levels. It's a "dry run" for a festival slated for October.

For more details on the training runs - or to register [$15 for an individual run, $78 for 6 pack, $144 for 12 pack or $210 for a seasons pass] check the Maine Ambassadors website