Day 7 - Don't Tell Me What My Favorite Pizza Shop Is.

Today I woke up surrounded by my loving family. I mean, not literally surrounded by them, because that would be weird and scary, but - you know - they were here.

Which was also weird and scary after 6 days of being a childless bachelor. And by weird and scary, I naturally mean, "delightful".

We spend this lovely Sunday morning working hard, because that's why I'm here.

Me, working really, really hard.

After all that work, Tori and I decided that we would take the Waterville Shuttle for a tour of the town. As we made our way to the bus stop, Kerri was hard at work taking pictures from the balcony.

She's taking pictures of the sky so she can write a letter of complaint to the town. Too blue.

Actually, she was taking pictures of Alex, on his never ending quest to become a pink smear on a road somewhere.

Tori and I waited for the shuttle, which tootles all over town like a toy trolley from a cartoon.

We had to wait for almost 3 minutes! I'll be writing my own letter of complaint.

 It's really a cool service provided by the town. As it was free, Tori had a very hard time convincing me not to spend the entire day, endlessly circling the town.

This is the trolley. Not the entire trolley, obviously, but the business end of it.

We were happy to be speeding about the town at mind-bending speeds approaching 12 miles per hour.

 The driver was a great guy and since we were the only riders, he made time to stop and point out lots on interesting things around town. He even pointed me toward some great biking trails.

As all good things do, our ride came to an end. Then, even more sadly, my visit with my family came to an end. It was hard to say goodbye, primarily because I found out that Alex had hidden my pillows.

I decided to postpone The Great Pillow Hunt for later and take advantage of the biking while the weather was delightful.

I made my way along a beautiful gravel path where octogenarians whizzed along at speeds that would have shamed the Waterville Trolley.

I was trying to get to a place called Greely Pond, but found that because of some recent flooding, it was no longer accessible by bike. A gentleman I met on the path directed me to a path that he said, "Climbs up pretty steeply for about a mile and  half, then drops precipitously."

I don't know if you could resist a description like that, but I couldn't.

I sweated and swore my way upward, careful not to block the path of the octogenarians who kept passing me in great, swirling swarms.

As I climbed, I kept myself motivated by thinking about how much fun the ride down would be. "This will be so much fun!" I lied to myself. "This will be totally worth it."

I finally reached the summit of the road at the point where, as foretold, the road dropped precipitously.

Down ahead of me.

Down behind me.

Not wishing to drop dead in the middle of the woods, I opted to head back down the hill, toward town where there was the promise of ice cream and horizontal roads to bike on.

I zipped down the hill, zigging and zagging through the endless parade of people hiking up the hill. The ride down; the one I had been so eagerly anticipating, lasted a good 5 or 6 seconds and was, I'm sad to say, less thrilling than I had anticipated.

Once back in town, I settled in for some grueling work by the pond. this time, I selected a seat in the town square, so I could have a good view of the beach and all the plastic chairs which ere there yesterday.

The work is brutal, but I feel obligated to do my best at all times.

Please note the complete lack of chairs of any kind on the beach. I'm beginning to suspect some sort of demonic possession.

While taking that picture of the beach, I noticed something on the raft.

Can you see it?

Now can you see it?

It appears to be some sort of a message in a bottle. I quickly reasoned that someone must be in grave peril somewhere and cast that bottle into the river upstream in a desperate attempt to get help. It bobbed downstream and somehow popped out of the water to land on this raft.

I can't think of any other plausible explanation.

And, to whoever it is that is in desperate need of help, I'm sorry, but I didn't have my bathing suit. Maybe I'll try to get out there tomorrow.

If it's warm.

Otherwise hang in there, buddy and remember: Stay Put and Stay Dry.

On my ride home, I was struck by just how many gazebos there are in Waterville Valley. I suspect that the original town may have been simply a loose gathering of gazebos.

I have decided that working in each of them is a moral imperative while I am in residence.

This one overlooks the town common.

I have also noticed that buildings in town are quite transient, as if eager to go walking along paths with old people.

This gazebo will be tricky. It's surrounded by golf course and, naturally, golfers, who tend to hit balls around at very high speed. I'll wear my bike helmet while working there.

This one is tucked away behind the golf course.

And I like the dedication.

This one is attached to someone's house and will likely be even more challenging to get into than the one on the golf course.

This one is right outside the ski school and is very close to my residence.

This is as close as I get to a gazebo where I am staying. Working in there was totally unacceptable.

 Tired and hungry from my arduous bike ride, I grabbed a snack (leftover from the reception last night) and some wine for an afternoon snack.

While in town, I picked up something to help me handle those tricky boxes of wine.

1.

2.

3. Presto! Instant snack.

I wanted to head over to the school's gazebo with my snack so I could eat, drink, and draw in the warm afternoon sun. I realized that sauntering across a schoolyard carrying a box of wine with a straw sticking out the top might prove problematic.

In the words of the late great musician, Louis Jordan: "It looked so common. And I know I ain't common. I got class I ain't even used yet."

So I transferred my wine to a coffee mug and settled in to enjoy last rays of sun on the warm afternoon.

Because I epitomize "classy".

 No sooner had I settled in when I spied an even better place to hang out.

The scorekeeper's chair at the tennis courts was empty!

AND IT HAD A WINE TRAY!

The view from on high.

Sadly, there was no room on the tray for a snack, wine, and my sketchbook. Two things had to go.

Soon, the snacks were gone, the wine was gone, my sketchbook was full, and it was time for dinner.

My father had generously bought 4 pizzas yesterday to feed the assembled family. The leftovers beckoned me, but the presumptuousness of the pizza place's slogan bothered me.

Don't tell me what my favorite pizza shop is.

And so, with the lingering taste of pizza on my lips, I spent another delightful evening hard at work on a top secret new project and trying to find my pillows.

Day 4 - Death in the Valley, Free Boats, and Some Fancy Wine

Day 4 -
Today I spent much of the day hunting for the elusive wild plastic chair along the shore of Cochoran's Pond.
This shy, retiring creature is difficult to locate and to capture one requires cunning, patience, and oh, I don't know - more patience, I guess?

I prepared myself mentally by spending the morning painting a true-life action scene from my youth.

Yes, it really happened. You can read all about it in my autobiography: I Was A Childhood Dino-Rider.

When I thought I was prepared, I hopped on my bike to begin stalking the elusive purple chair. I was focused. I was determined. Nothing could deter me from my–Oh! Look! Something shiny!

I was briefly sidetracked by this street name, which alluded to great things for those willing to follow.

Who could possibly resist?

I wound my way down the lane for about 50 feet and was greeted with this.

It is larger in real life than it is on your computer screen.

Why? I asked myself. Why, oh why would somebody build a 30 foot stone tower here?

And then, all was made clear.

I have decided that the Rev. J.M. Buckley is somebody I would dearly like to have met.

After gazing for a few minutes and pondering the advisability of constructing a ruin in my own yard, I remembered my mission and headed townward to stalk the purple chair.

Once situated in a good location, I began my search. My cunning, patience,  and more patience were rewarded when, after about 2 seconds, I spied my prey.

Can you see it? Off in the distance? It's camouflage is incredible, making it invisible to all but the sharpest, most well-trained eye.

There!

I raced after the chair, which put up a spirited, but ultimately futile escape attempt. I settled myself in and began to work, knowing that I must be ever-watchful for the next threat I was sure to face - the lady who was eyeballing me yesterday.

Hard at work, but ever-alert for the lady.

I got several pages of rough layouts finished while enthroned in the purple chair.

I was taking a brief break from my work and walking through the water when I spied a piece of trash floating around. I reached in to fish it out and was rewarded with this.

Yay! Except that the boat rental place has been closed all week.

I decided to pass along my good fortune and share some luck with someone else. This treasure is buried somewhere in Waterville Valley. If you find it, it's yours! You're welcome.

I worked on a few more drawings before heading off to explore some of the more remote regions of the area.

Don't ask.

Go ahead and ask.

My explorations led me to the Waterville Cemetery, where I found some very amusing, touching grave markers.

The cemetery.

I really wanted to find another marker to the left of this one labeled, "Port!"

And, my personal favorite:

(For the NH impaired, Loon is a nearby ski mountain in direct competition with Waterville Valley.)

At the far end of the cemetery is a small path that, if followed, leads to this:

I sat for a while and enjoyed the quiet and the beauty. Then I decided that quiet and beauty is for suckers and loped off in search of adventure. I found adventure, albeit other people's, at Waterville Academy, where the freestyle skiers were practicing. I was glad that they had inflated the mat before kids hurled themselves into the void.

They would not let me try no matter how desperately I pleaded and whined.

It was fun to watch, but I couldn't stay long because my lovely host, Chris had invited me to join her on her lovely river deck for some lovely wine and lovely snacks and lovely conversation.

All of which were lovely.

She was even kind enough to send me home with the remains of a bottle of wine that might better fit in my wine rack.

Very fancy.

But it still doesn't fit.

She asked me if I enjoyed a particular wine and began to very intelligently describe it and I started laughing. She asked why I was laughing and I explained that my wine typically comes in a box and is red. That is the extent of my wine knowledge.

She sighed and handed me the bottle, probably guessing that I would wrap it in a brown paper bag and drink it with a straw.

Which, naturally, I did.

So thank you, Chris.

I told my wife, Kerri about the wine episode on the phone and she said, "It's good that you can laugh about yourself. Because everybody else does."

With that warm sentiment I headed off to bed, tired from my long day of chair-hunting and being a sophisticated wine-guy because the next day I had a school visit!