Nothing more than a bunch of masochists (144Cong.Rec.H69)

I'm not prone to going out on weeknights because, well, I'm old now. But it was hard to pass up an invitation to the 17th Street High Heel Race, in which a variety of cross-dressing, and simply fun-loving, men strap on stilettos to dash 400 meters on downtown DC street. As someone who doesn't like to walk 4 feet in high heels, I admire these racers' perseverance. And apparently, so do many other people: The street was so packed with spectators that I couldn't get a good photo (left). Luckily, as I headed to Stoney's for a post-race meal of an "ultimate grilled cheese," I saw -- and heard -- a crew of singing nuns that had crossed the finish line (right).

Running in heels -- especially while wearing habits -- is pretty sadistic, but it's nothing compared to the race my husband ran a few days later, the aptly-named Mountain Masochist, a 50-mile race through the highlands around the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. Logistics made the race even more challenging for TJ, my little masochist. After we got off work Friday evening, we had to drive four hours to Otter Creek Campground, where TJ got about five hours of sleep in the back of our CRV before the cold and rainy start a couple of miles from the campground (top left). It was still dark at 6:30 a.m., so the runners strapped on headlamps (top right), which reflected nicely in the pond they had to circumvent before starting their first climb (bottom).

Eventually, the rain cleared out, so the morning was mild for a trail run (top left). But as the day wore on, the altitudes got higher and the temperatures got lower. During a loop on the Henry Lanum Trail, flurries set it, making the Mount Pleasant National Scenic Area less than pleasant. However, the snow -- the first of the season, for me -- brought a bit of festivity to the aid station there, which was blasting carols as part of its Christmas theme (top right). Eventually, TJ and the other runners descended to the valley for the last stretch to the finish line at Montebello Camping & Fishing Resort (bottom left). TJ was shivering but satisfied at the end, having finished in less than 10-1/2 hours and placing 92nd out of 354 (bottom right).

As I waited at the aid stations to crew for him, I distracted myself from the cold by enjoying the beauty of the George Washington National Forest (top left). Many jewel-tone leaves were still on the trees surrounding the waterways flowing into the Pedlar Reservoir (top right). TJ even finished during daylight, so we both were able to bask in the the pastel sunset of the Blue Ridge mountains (bottom).

Going home by way of Nelson County's Route 151 through Rockfish Valley, we also basked in some beverages. We stopped for a quick pint at Devil's Backbone Brewing Company, but the bar was so packed that we had to take ours to the patio (left). Luckily, the tasty heft of my Schwartz Bier (TJ had a Striped Bass APA) heated my insides enough that I could ignore the cold, hard picnic tables (right).

Our second stop along the Brew Ridge Trail was Wild Wolf Brewing Company, where I had a Howling Pumpkin Ale along with my shredded pork tacos. TJ toasted his achievement with a juicy burger and Wee Heavy in the bar (left). I was so happy to be within warmth that I forgot to take photos inside; I didn't take these shots until we were back outside walking to our car (right). 

Despite the name of the first race in this post, what really made TJ a masochist was his decision to run a second 50-mile race two weeks later. And I, masochistically, was there once again at the cold and dark -- but at least not rainy -- start of the Stone Mill 50-Miler in Maryland. I was happy that I hadn't spent four hours driving and five hours sleeping in a car the night before, but I was still unsure I would enjoy following TJ around Montgomery County during the first big cold snap in the DMV region.

Nevertheless, I showed up at all the aid stations along the Muddy Branch Greenway Trail, Seneca Creek Greenway Trail, and C&O Canal Towpath. One station, with a belated Halloween theme, brought back fond memories of my marathon training because I ran there during the summer -- when it was warm (top left). Another station was staffed by some friendly faces from the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club that organized The Big Schloss 50K in September, when TJ placed ninth -- and when it was warm (top right). The halfway station was at the Seneca Quarry, an old stone mill that the race is named after (bottom). By this point, the sun was coming out, and I was feeling less grumpy about not spending a warm weekend inside my cozy apartment.

By the fifth or sixth stop where I watched TJ emerge from the woods, I was enjoying the weather so much that I set myself up with a chair so I could do homework, read, or simply enjoy the silence while I waited (left). At the aid station near the Seneca Bluffs Trail, there were a few too many children to find peace, so I watched the remaining leaves flutter down instead (right).

 

Plus, Sage was along for the ride, and I felt bad leaving him in the car when I know he enjoys the brisk air so much. He wasn't much help in watching out for TJ at the aid station at Pennyfield Lock, where you can arrange to stay in an old lockhouse, by the way (left). However, he was much more enthusiastic in congratulating TJ upon his completion of the race (right).

Although he was shooting for under 9 hours after an initial fast pace, TJ still finished with a personal best -- and placed 47th out of 260 (left). He looked so strong at the end that the announcer suggested he could run back to his hometown in Ohio. The volunteers could've used some strength as they tried to help him untie his shoes in order to remove his chip (right).

TJ was lacking in strength himself during our post-race meal. He usually beats me to the bottom of any pint, but at Growlers in Gaithersburg, he slowly sipped his Chesnut Street brown ale, while I quaffed my Skellington pumpkin porter at a normal speed. TJ was so wiped that he had to take half of his prime-rib sandwich home (I had no problem finishing my lamb burger) and had to let me share some of his second drink, a Diamond APA. 

Luckily, I had enough strength to drive us the hour home, which was a much better showing by me than after the previous 50-miler, when I had to hand over the wheel to TJ on the way home. But I did, like the old person I am, fall asleep before 10 p.m. -- and it wasn't even a weeknight.

I mean after all, he is the father of the country (H.Doc.108-204)

A while back, we had some friends come to visit us, and we played tour guide -- and tourist -- in the DC area. We got a second chance to take in the sights of our fair city when my father came to visit a few weeks later. Fittingly, we dragged him to the home of the father of our country, George Washington. My dad was a little surprised that we wanted to go to Mount Vernon, considering that I had been there before. Surprisingly, I did not remember that visit, which apparently happened when I was a toddler.

Once we got on the grounds of the estate, we hunted for a fountain where my parents took a photo of my brother and me, during that visit so many years ago. We never did find it, but we did see the main house, on a quick, assembly-line tour (top). At a more leisurely pace, we enjoyed the beautiful weather as we strolled through other parts of the presidential land (bottom left), including Washington's tomb. We even sauntered down to the recreated farm area, where Fall Harvest Family Days were being held. On the farmland sits Washington's 16-sided barn (bottom right), which he designed to thresh grain by means of horse instead of industrial power.

 

Eventually, the grain would make its way to one of Washington's gristmills, like the one at his Dogue Run Farm (top left). (Fair warning: The following photos were taken on a previous visit to the gristmill, but considering it's a replica of an 18th-century mill, it didn't seem like much had changed.) The flow of Dogue Run is used to move a water wheel, which ingeniously powers a peg-and-wheel contraption that shakes and separates the finer flour from the stuff used as animal feed (top right). But of course, the water wheel turns all the gears within the operation, including the ones that rotate the grindstones of the gristmill (bottom).

 

Some water from the stream and some grain from the mill are diverted to the nearby distillery, which has been rebuilt on the exact ground where its remains were discovered (top). The first step of the whisky-making process is boiling water (not from the stream, but from a cleaner well), which is then ladled with the help of some cool small-barrel scoops (bottom left) into a mix of corn and rye grain. Malted barley is later added to the mash, which is then poured into the stills. Heating the mash causes alcoholic gases to rise into the copper hats; then, the gas moves through a pipe to a barrel, where water (from the stream) is used to cool the gas back into liquid form (bottom right). The resulting liquid is distilled again, and perhaps even again, to reach the desired alcohol level.

 

Unfortunately, no tastings are offered at the distillery, and we were unwilling to pay $150 for a bottle of apple brandy to try at home. Fortunately, the day before, we had already got our tasting on at some of the northern Virginia wineries near Middleburg. On a recommendation from my aunt, we started with Chrysalis Vineyards. For $10, you got to taste 12 wines, a variety of reds and whites (top left). This was a particularly good deal because you didn't have to pay any extra for the beautiful view (top right). While my dad partook of the full tasting menu, TJ and I settled in with a single glass -- Albariño Verde for him and Traminette for me -- under the nearby patio (bottom). In the end, my dad took home a whole case, including a few bottles of the Schitz & Giggels table-wine blend.

Next, we headed across the road to Cana Vineyards, which adds apple wine to the variety of its menu (top). Overall, the wine wasn't as good, but at least the scenery was as spectacular (bottom left). A well-placed table provided the perfect spot for a picnic. Before going beyond the Beltway, we picked up some sliced meat, pretzel rolls, and carrot salad from German Gourmet in Falls Church (bottom right).

We had so much fun out in the countryside that a few weeks later, TJ and I played tour guide to ourselves as we followed part of the Maryland Cider and Mead Trail. We started at Lingamore Winecellars, near Mt. Airy, which had two types of mead available for tasting (top left). In a field full of picnic tables but no people, we sipped glasses of Medieval Mead, which is served at the Maryland Renaissance Festival (top right). By this weekend, more of the leaves had fallen, but it was still nice to bask in the landscape, full of grapevines (bottom).

 

Stuck in the middle of those vines are some telephone-pole trellises for hops, which are used by Red Shedman Brewery, located across the parking lot from the winery tasting room. Our six four-ouncers -- Farmer's Daughter blonde, honey rye, Pump House IPA, pumpkin Oktoberfest, vanilla porter, and Hog's Hollow chocolate stout on nitro -- composed one of the most consistently strong flights I've ever tasted (top left). Having found a role model, TJ took some time to peruse the brewroom from some observation windows (top right). Proprietor and brewer Vic headed down to the vats (bottom) a couple times to get us samples of works-in-progress: an even crisper, fresher IPA and a smokier, nuttier chocolate stout aged in bourbon barrels.

We got a little distracted from the trail, being lured off-track by Milkhouse Brewery, just 10 minutes away from Lingamore (top left). The wood-paneled tasting room was pretty packed, with some dogs even, so we drank our Dollyhyde Farmhouse Ale and Goldie's Best Bitter in the brewery right next to the mash tun (top right). After the high-quality offerings at Red Shedman, these pints just didn't measure up. But the detour, once again, was worth the location; I almost lost TJ to the solace of Stillpoint Farm (bottom).

Our last stop, all the way on the other side of Frederick, was Distillery Lane Ciderworks (top). The farm grows more than three-dozen types of apples, including one strain the owner recently imported from Kazakhstan. The variety of apples leads to an incredibly diverse range of tart- to sweet-tasting ciders (bottom left). TJ browsed the shelves while I tasted four ciders: Celebration, Sidra Montana Sur, Jefferson, and Witch's Brew (bottom right). I was absolutely blown away by the distinctive flavors, which were as refined as those at any winery I've ever been to.

 

We bought a scope of alcoholic ciders and a half-gallon of the non-alcoholic kind from the farmer, who kindly took us behind the glass to show and explain the apple-pressing process. He also recommended a good place for dinner in nearby Middletown (left). The Main Cup, located in an old ice-cream factory, offered a snug communal atmosphere with savory comfort food (right) -- and, of course, it had DLC cider on tap.