Pit vipers can really rattle you

The eastern timber rattlesnake hardly ever shows aggression towards humans, so, if you really think about it, I’m actually quite fortunate.  If I wasn’t a super-lucky dude, I probably wouldn’t have encountered the largest pit viper in North America at all.  That gigantic, venomous reptile might have just heard me coming and hidden somewhere until I’d wandered past, subjecting me to a serene, boring day in the woods without any heart palpitations at all. 

But I am a lucky person.

I’d set off down the trail last Saturday as a part of an elite expeditionary force, consisting of me, my 40-pound dog Memphis and my fifteen-month-old son, Zack.  We might not sound that elite, but right in the corner of Zack’s nursery, you’ll find a Diaper Genie II Elite model, which they don’t sell to just anyone (unless they have diapers to dispose of).  It says “Elite” right on the thing.  We have credentials.

The rest of our family had a baby shower to attend that day, so they missed out on our luck-filled adventure.

“I’m going to Julie’s baby shower tomorrow.  You can come with me and eat cake and help open presents, or you can go hiking with Zack and Daddy,” my wife Kara had explained to our four-year-old son Evan.

Evan loves hiking.  Something deep inside him just connects to the sounds of the birds, the crunch of the leaves under his feet and the unwrapping of the candy bar his father bribes him with.  (Go ahead and judge, but I bet Thoreau’s dad hooked him up with some serious candy in his formative years.)

But I knew I had no chance when the decision boiled down to this: Mommy and cake, or Daddy and exercise.  His four-year-old brain couldn’t even process the decision anymore once it hit the word “cake.” 

Without Evan on our expedition, I decided we’d go further from home and tackle a larger, more remote hike.  About five minutes up the trail from the parking area, Memphis trotted twenty feet ahead of me.  Zack sat perched on my back, quietly enjoying the ride, just as his big brother had done so many times before.

I was just getting my camera strap adjusted around my neck when this sound came from the bushes beside my ankle.  “I’M CONSIDERING KILLING YOU!” it said.

Actually, that’s just how I translated it, but the rattle sounded like a child’s car that you pull back, but instead of letting it go, you pick it up and let the wheels spin.  It wasn’t the gentle tika-tika-tika noise I would have expected.  The rattle was fast, urgent and an effective cure for constipation.

I looked down and saw a large, ornate snake within easy striking distance of my leg, piled on top of itself like a hastily coiled garden hose.  He watched as I jumped, cussed and scooted away, my heart pounding as I put precious distance between us.  Then he slowly straightened out and slithered across the trail as if to say, “Glad we have that settled.”    

In the research I’ve done since, I found that timber rattlesnakes are generally docile, rarely rattle at people, and even when they lunge, they often do so as a warning, with their mouths closed.  The majority of bites happen to adult males who intentionally provoke the snake, often while drunk or otherwise intoxicated.  At first, this sounds like damning evidence against my gender, but you can say this about us: At least we know better when we’re sober.

After the snake slithered into the bushes, heading for the open field beyond, I stopped to collect my breath and my thoughts.  Memphis trotted back and stood next to me.

“We’re pretty lucky, huh?” I asked her, giving her a pat. 

And indeed, we were.  Also, I’m lucky Zack’s not old enough to repeat the words he learned that day.

You can weld cast iron shin guards with Mike Todd at mikectodd@gmail.com.

More Weird Derby Observations

Here are some more random observations I've noticed this season in derby. 



1.  Making line ups can be like doing a super hard version of Sudoku. I've captained and coached and I hate hate hate making line ups.  I know that most of the time those line ups fly out of the window as soon as penalty issues happen, but gah.  It's like doing some weird and convoluted word problem and I'm being made to show my work.  I think the part that bugs me is that there isn't a perfectly correct answer to the line up word problem.  It all depends on who is "hot" that day, or who is having an off day, or who is unhappy with whom.  Sometimes you have to see people on game day to see if your line ups are working and take the steps to correct them if you screwed the pooch.  If someone could create a smart app that does all of that, I'd be super stoked.  Thanks in advance!



2.  It helps to send a follow up email if you hit someone in the face at scrimmage.   Oops.  I've hit people in the face, and been hit in the face by teammates.  It just sucks on both sides, but if you're the transgressor, write a follow up email and check on your victim.   It's just the nice thing to do, and if she's got a boo boo that isn't awesome, she might appreciate you checking on her.  You don't have to send a Hallmark card, but a short email checking on her can go a long way. If you're the one who got hit in the face, well, let's hope she sends an email, or cookies.



3.  Everyone always has better and nicer new stuff than you do.  It never fails, you order what you think are the perfect wheels and then you see your teammate with some kick ass awesome wheels on that she loves...and that you didn't order.  Another thing that happens is I finally break down and buy some new pads and two weeks later, someone sends me a link to an awesome set of new gaskets that would be perfect for me.  Why does this always happen!!!  It's not like I buy gear that often!  Grawr!



4.  Every floor sucks except for the one you practice on.  Duh.  Right?  We all get used to what we are used to, and change scares us.  I've skated on wood, concrete, awesome sport court, not so awesome sport court, the sport court from hell, masonite, and outdoor asphalt.  There have been a few away games where I was ok with the floor, but I can count them on one hand.  Is it wrong of me to want to skate on a wooden floor for every game?  Probably.  Sigh.

See what I mean? 

5.  Every once in a while, the refs call players by the wrong color.  I think it's weird, but it mostly happens during games where the colors of the teams are black and white.  Personally, I attribute this phenomena to the fact that the refs are looking at the number of the player, which is usually printed in the opposite color.  So if my jersey is black, my number is most likely printed in white, and I have been called "White one two one" on a major, and I've spent a good ten seconds wondering if there is a 121 on the other team.



6.  There is always one skater on every team that takes forever to get her gear on.  It might be because she has to tape every part of her body, or because she's constantly fiddling with her skates or talking, but she's always the last to get on the floor.  The weird thing is that she always has her opposite on the team too.  This person could come in 15 minutes late and be fully geared up in a blink of an eye.  My teammate Daisy Rage can seriously transform into full derby mode in under two minutes.  I've timed her.  I think she is an Autobot.  And I hope she doesn't think I'm too weird for having timed her gearing up.  I'm not a creeper...I swear!

Bye Bye Intros (except for home teams)

Derby intros.  I hate them.  Unless you have a team choreographer and oodles of extra time to practice your dance moves on skates, most intros are awkward and silly time wasters.  I once witnessed an intro that went on for almost ten minutes, with spotlights and overblown music.  The opposing team was patiently waiting to do the team hand slaps and they got tired of waiting and went back to their locker room.  It really was one of the worst intros I've ever seen in five years of derby.  Epic fail.  I've also been involved in a team intro that went on forever because the announcer lost track of time due to an illicit influence; I think we were out there for five minutes just waiting...waiting for everyone to get announced.

I'm totally Batman when I'm not playing derby.

What a waste of time.



In 2010 Eastern Regionals, I watched Philly come out and skate together in a pack for their intros.  No player's name was announced, but a statement was read by the announcers.  I don't remember exactly what it was, but it mentioned how they thought of themselves as a team, and something about derby spirit animals, which made me instantly wonder what Teflon Donna's spirit animal was; I also remember yelling, "brilliant" at the computer screen.  Finally, a team got it. It's about the name on the front of your jersey,  not the back.



One of the picky little reasons I don't like intros is the fact that they can be a little awkward for both teams involved.   When is the proper time to do the hand slap?  Is it on your team's lap?  Is it on your solo lap?  What if the other team is expecting to get their hand slapped every time?  What if someone feels snubbed because I accidentally missed slapping her hand.  That's a lot of baggage that comes with something that doesn't necessarily belong in the game.  Don't get me wrong, I love the victory lap hand slaps, those should stay.



The most important one is the fact that derby is supposed to be a team sport.  As derby has grown and matured, it's become more team focused and I personally think that the intros need to go by the wayside.  People generally don't wear tutus on the competitive level, and most teams try to keep their uniforms, well, uniform.  Announcing the names and having a skater take a lap takes the attention off of the idea of team, in my humble opinion.



But, if you are so married to the idea of intros, here are a few tips to keep them short and sweet.



 1.  Seriously, keep them short.  If I'm on a team that has traveled more than a couple of hours and have to drive home that night, please don't drag out your intros.  Also, leave the tag lines out; we're not professional wrestlers. I know that will piss some people off, but come on.  We already have derby names...you need a tag line too?  Really?



2.  Be respectful.  I've seen some teams be pretty disrespectful to the other team in their intros.  Tearing the team's shirt up, making threatening gestures,  or refusing to slap hands is all obnoxious.  Just smile and slap hands.  You don't need to be a jerk.  Remember, derby is a small community with a long memory.



3.  Make sure people can hear them.  If you're going to do intros, make sure the music isn't too loud and the microphones are working.  Nothing is more frustrating than intros where nobody can hear jack crap, including the skaters. 



4.  Keep them to home teams or theme bouts.  Home teams are where personalities should shine.  Usually home teams are where newer skaters are brought into the league, and have rabid family and friends excited to see them play.  Ham it up on home teams!  Also, themed bouts can be a perfect time for the extravagant intros.  Capes and tutus and fluffy pink leg warmers are fun for fans too.

Are these mental health days working?

As seems to happen about once a month these days, getting a column done for this week just wasn't going to happen.  I turned in this oldie-but-not-that-baddie instead.  Sorry for being a degenerate.

Just so your retinas have something to do for a few more seconds before you click along to a website that's actually been updated, here are some more pictures from our trip to Rangeley, Maine, a couple weeks back.  That place makes me smile.  'Til next week!  (Probably.)

Don't Eat Your Mistakes: Admitting when you're wrong

Hey, are you human?  Do you walk upright?  Do you have opposable thumbs?  Are you capable of speech and reasoning?  If you answered yes, then welcome to the human race!  You're a human and than means you are inherently flawed.  Accept it and move on...you have bigger and better things to worry about than screwing up.

Whew!  Now that we got that out of the way, let's talk about all of your past, present and future screw ups when it comes to derby.  Don't be shy, you, me and everyone and their brother will mistakes in derby. You'll do something stupid on the track, let the jammer waltz up the inside line, or say something stupid to someone and your mistake will be in plain view of everyone.



So what do you do?



Are you going to be a jerk when you make a mistake, or are you going to own it?  I have to say, I admire the people that own their mistakes, which is definitely not easy to do in derby.  It took me a long time to be able to admit that I had screwed up on the track.  I never wanted to look weak, and I didn't want other people to think I was stupid.  Every time I screwed up and it was noticeable,  I died a little inside.  I hated myself for screwing up, and I was angry at myself for being...human.  Seems stupid now, but the pressure we put ourselves under during derby is incredible.  If you were like me, you're beating yourself up inside and you don't want to own your mistake, but honestly that's the best thing you can do.



The more you ignore or "eat" your mistakes, on the track and in your league, they're going to eat you from the inside. Admit you made a mistake.  You don't have to make a giant production of it, but admitting it is a good way of starting to get a handle on it.  If you can say "I messed that up" out loud to your teammates and they don't act like you killed their first born, then maybe you can forgive yourself and learn from your error.  We tend to treat ourselves way worse than other people will treat us for screwing up.



(As long as we're actually taking responsibility for the error and are working on not doing it again.  Insincere apologies suck donkey dong, so don't do that, ok?  Nobody likes an insincere, angry d-bag.)

My Precious! Protect your rink time.

I don't know about your league, but we are always scrambling for track time.  We don't have a  warehouse so we're at the mercy of roller rinks and sport court facilities.  Hell, we've even skated outside at local parks during the cooler part of the year.  Practice time is incredibly special and precious!

My precious!  Image found here

So how can you protect it?  First of all, your team needs to know how important and expensive each and every hour can be.  When I was in college, I decided that skipping classes was out of the question, because I did the math and broke down just how much each class was costing me.  There was no way in the world I was going to waste that much money ditching one class!  I went to them all! Skaters need to understand that every time they are late, or miss practice, they're throwing their money away!  Skater dues pay for practice space, so if you pay monthly dues, wouldn't you want to get your money's worth?  I know I do!  Money is hard to come by, don't you want to get your best bang for your buck?  Don't skip practices unless real life interferes.



Coaches and captains, make sure you're using the rink time to the best of its abilities.  Keep practices moving along and engaging.  When you have a lot of people standing around waiting for a turn at drills, then you're in danger of the whole group being distracted.  If you have people standing around too long, they're not getting what they paid for.   If a drill doesn't involve enough people, split the drills up, use half of the track, or run drills that can also be done on the side or involve more people.  Another option you have if  you don't have a drill you can split up on the track or have the extra room to do another drill on the outside of the track, try limiting the time each group of people do the drill.  Standing around for two minutes at a time, with a possibility of several more minutes isn't the best use of track time.



Finally, and this one is going to piss off a lot of people, but I think off skates stuff should remain outside of track time.  Just hear me out, I am a giant fan of cross training, but not when there is limited rink time to be had.  Do off skates training at a park, or after practice, or at some other time, but please please please do not take up skating time with it.  Just my two cents.  Do offskates training!  Do it!  Just don't take up valuable rink time.



Of course, if you have a warehouse, none of this applies and I am totally jealous.

Home on the Rangeley Lake

“Look out!  He’s going to crack his head open!” my wife Kara yelled, pointing across the cottage at our son Zack, who was wobbling along as if he were sailing on a storm-tossed ship.  I grabbed Zack’s shoulder and redirected him away from the Coffee Table of Doom, the one with edges so sharp that you could shave your legs just by walking too close to it.

Zack’s at that tricky developmental intersection at the corner of Ambulatory and Clueless.  Given the choice between going down stairs or a ramp, he will choose to go over the railing.  He navigates around rooms like a bat, except instead of bouncing sound waves off of everything, he uses his head.
 
In our normal lives, we’ve managed this situation by removing all the right angles from our house, or burying them in a half-inch of foam padding.  On vacation in a rustic Maine cottage last week, though, we had much less control over an interior that seemed designed as a baby obstacle course.

“AHHHH!” Kara yelled, diving to catch the lamp that Zack was pulling onto his head.

We knew what we were getting into.  My family has been renting the same cabins on Rangeley Lake in western Maine for nearly thirty years.  Looking back at the pictures from our early summers in Rangeley, it’s amazing how little the place has changed.  Only the people are different, with each of us, in our own way, getting thinner and better-looking every year. (Which is what you’d say, too, if you knew your family was going to read this.  In our case, it happens to be true.  Which is also what you’d say.)

The cabins, though, look exactly the same.  Every winter, they are battered by wind and snow, biodegrading at such a rate that without intervention, they’d be gone in five years.  Then the warm(ish) weather comes, and the family that owns the camp begins the process of cobbling the place back together, just keeping pace with entropy.  A woodshed collapses, a new gazebo is built.  Everything stays in balance. 

We like these cabins just the way they are, with nails poking through the floor, leaking pipes fixed with strategically placed bowls and extension cords stapled to the ceiling.  It wouldn’t feel like vacation without these things.  If my family wanted light switches instead of pull cords that you had to stumble across a dark room to locate, we could just stay home. 

We love it there because when you try to open that creaky screen door that wedges itself against the floor when you pull on it, just on the other side, you might see a loon pop up beside the dock, framed by a mile of water before the mountains rise in the distance beyond.  Or you might see one of your little cousins inviting you to come for a swim, or throwing cracked corn to an army of perpetually hungry ducks.  Or you might just see nothing but gently lapping waves and a soon-to-be-occupied Adirondack chair.

“Dude!  He’s going for the stove now!” I yelled as Zack tottered toward the Franklin stove with the concrete hearth.  Kara put herself on a direct intercept course.

While it’s great to see your kids experiencing the same things you experienced so many years ago, it’s tough to relax when your offspring is bent on self-destruction.  When I mentioned this observation to my cousin Rachel, who has three children of her own, she said, “We don’t call them ‘vacations’ anymore.  We call them ‘family outings.’  Helps us to keep our expectations in check.”

In the end, our family outing was quite a success, mainly because we managed to keep Zack from plunging off the end of a dock.  This may have been a temporary victory, though, since he’ll get another shot at it next year. 

You can pull up an Adirondack chair beside Mike Todd at mikectodd@gmail.com.