Wamble (verb): to twist and turn; to wriggle; to roll over. To wobble, to totter, to waver; to walk with an unsteady gait. To move unsteadily.
Not all who wamble are lost.
We are rolling top-speed along the Currier & Ives Scenic By-Way.
Frankly, this adventure was something of a fantasy come true. Or as close as possible with prevailing conditions. On the road with Bob Hodge. He’s a Kerouac fan, as am I. He’s the kind of guy who would circumnavigate the Lower Forty-Eight in a campervan and has.
Me, too.
Bob is a fixture in the New England running scene and I am a fan of his excellent memoir, Tales of the Times.
I had this idea. Meet up after the Boston marathon and drive north to spend a couple of days with an old friend of mine – Employee #1. Bob and I, we’d talk non-stop for two or three hours and the piece would practically write itself. Like on a 120-foot single scroll of paper with continuous non-stop wit, wisdom and philosophy, tinctured with intermittent drivel. But drug-free.
Okay, just the occasional doobie.
I could be like his Neal Cassady.
Bob Hodge drives Nellie, a stylishly green 2007 Ford Fiesta with 256,000 miles on it. His compact automobile is a damn endurance athlete. Makes sense certainly.
Hard to talk over the engine noise because the transmission is too loud. Had hoped to chat about the race. Don’t remember bomb-sniffing dogs in 1973. What else is different?
Heard the elite athletes are using chicken broth for rehydration.
My bad ear is toward the driver.
I can’t remember what we talked about. Turns out, in the late 1930s, Jack Kerouac was a teammate of John Lang, Bob’s track coach at Lowell High School. Kerouac had written a bit about Coach Lang in his largely autobiographical Lowell-based novel, “Maggie Cassidy.”
Mr. Hodge has written about the proto-beatific pull of the 1950’s prophet.
I did not picture myself getting married, buying a house, having 2.3 children. For some reason it seemed impossible to believe that this would happen for me. Who would want to marry me?
When the pattern that many people fall into – high school, college, work, marriage, house, etc. – is broken, there is a kind of fear and excitement. You can live your life some other way, many people do, but you still want to be accepted. Can you have it both ways?
If we’d had that conversation over the four-cylinder racket, I might have answered, ‘Sure, but not at the same time.’ I know, I tried. Didn’t have what it takes. Like I didn’t have what it takes to be a 2:10 marathoner. Bob could average five minute miles for the marathon; I couldn’t run one mile that fast.
And I could never sustain a pattern I fell into.
Even in a whisper-quiet electric vehicle, I would have no advice to offer. I wambled almost all my life. Rarely ever found my balance. Much like Kerouac. We both moved in with our mothers, as middle-aged men, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Jack’s stay with his Mom ended in an early death; my stay is titled ‘The Ten Worse Years Of My Life.’
10:18 a.m. Across state lines, way ahead of schedule. Stopped at the Everyday Cafe & Pub at 14 Maple Street. There’s a sign nearby: ORGANIC TICK SOLUTIONS.
Incorporated in 1765, the Town of Hopkinton, New Hampshire, was once the state capital and a popular stop on the passenger rail line between Boston and Montreal. Hopkinton and its business district of Contoocook Village offer small town ambiance through a blend of well-preserved history and natural beauty. In addition to working farms and the oldest covered railroad bridge in the United States, both villages host a variety of eclectic shops and services.
Didn’t see the bridge, but you can be sure I used the restroom.
Asked Bob what he thought Eliud Kipchoge got paid to run the Boston marathon. Who the hell knows? is my own answer.
Bob doesn’t. Here’s what he wrote before the race on his excellent website, The Bob Hodge Running Page. Sub-titled “Hodgie-San Through Miles of Years.” He’s something of a big deal in Japan, the Land of the Rising Sun.
Project Eagle
Eliud Kipchoge will run Boston in 2023 and as a fan of pro running I am very happy to see it happen.
Some seem to think he needed to run and win here in the hub but his legacy is surely secured with two Olympic victories and a world record.
I’m sure he had entertained the thought of running here but what did it actually take resource ($$$) wise and why is it that no one is inquiring and is leaving this out of their reportage ?
A Red Sox ball player just hit the road for another team for an 11 year $280 million dollar contract. While I think that is insane and obscene you know at least in pro baseball what is at stake. Excitement for one thing.
In pro running it’s all hidden and I believe that is wrong and is killing and damaging the sport from an integrity and marketing perspective.
The entities that produce marathon events especially the non profits like the BAA owe it to the public to reveal the details and should be eager to do so.
It might explain also the paltry amount of prize money offered compared to most any other pro sport.
I have much respect for Kipchoge, an intelligent philosophical man and I welcome him to Bean Town, where I hope we will see a very competitive race and coverage worthy of it.
“I have spoken, all depart.”
http://bobhodge.us/project-eagle/
While I am attempting to provide worthy coverage, I just saw where Jaylen Brown may be looking at a five-year contract worth $295 million. Imagine if he’d played a winning Game Seven.
What other sport keeps the money secret? Besides dark money politics and the Supreme Court.
Got to the right place precisely on time. Maybe long enough to stretch out auto rigor. Tucker’s in New London is apparently the noontime choice of normal-enough looking people. Who all likely shop at L.L. Bean.
I went with the MEAT LOVERS skillet. Made with three local scrambled eggs. Served with choice of toast.
Hardwood smoked bacon, sausage, Canadian bacon, sautéed onions & peppers, and American cheese over house potatoes. 13.71. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, whenever you eat it.
Back in the car, we follow Employee #1 through a series of tiny New England villages to his new house. New to me. Deep in the woods, I nervously watch for bear. Bob’s eyes are glued to the road, as we follow the twists and turns. Gas pedal to the floor, we are doing 75 mph, our top speed. Nellie working like an asthmatic during burn season in the Willamette Valley.
We get there. She’s a good girl.
Jeff Johnson and I go so far back, we can’t remember when. (I can hear him now, “or why.”) He was as excited as ever about the idea of me spending a couple of days with him. Here’s a note when I gave him the good news.
We’re looking forward to your visit. We hope you are planning some long walks through the neighborhood.
The Eastman Bears
He’s trying to scare me, but I live in Florida. We’ve fought off Sequined Drag Queens, Sex-Crazed Children’s Books, Mickey Mouse’s Mermaids and Advanced Placement Black History Classes. Don’t even get me started on Woke Boa Constrictors. Like the lady said, you are known by your enemies.
I am trying to reconstruct our conversations in the home of the man who named Nike. Based solely on my memory, apparently we were completely mute for two days. That is our typical style; he’s always thinking, I’m always spaced out. You can build a long-lasting solid relationship that way.
Subconsciously, think I invited Hodgie-san along, figuring he’d add – I don’t know – something else, “more” maybe. Imagined we’d be a team. Like Jeff could think it up, Bob could do it and I could write about it.
Whatever it was, we kept it quiet. Thinking we are probably a geezer or two short of starting our own old folk’s home. Naps might’ve been involved.
Guess I’ll just have to make shit up.
There was a time when Bob would run a great race and Jeff would take his photo and we’d all appear in my road racing column in The Bible of The Sport, Track & Field News. That could easily be true.
Bob, tuning up for Falmouth or Mt. Washington, went for a jog, while I, tuning up for tomorrow, went for a walk. My knees are so bad and the driveway so steep, I had to walk down laterally, switchback-fashion. And, of course, there’s the constant fear of bears.
I try never to be with famous people in life-threatening situations. The whole ride up here, I could almost see the Boston headlines –
Bob Hodge and Passenger…
Originally, I was worried about vehicular mayhem, then Bob mentioned he’d just purchased a brand-new Subaru with All-Wheel Drive. But Bob doesn’t drive that car. What Bob drives is a completely different vehicle.
Running Legend Bob Hodge, Companion Found Frozen To Death In New Hampshire.
Why is Project Eagle so secret anyway? How much did Kipchoge get paid and does he have to give any money back after his losing performance? Why did he lose?
You hear things over fifty years. I remember Bill Rodgers might’ve been paid $3000 to run the 1976 New York City marathon. That’s $16,000 today. Guessing Fred Lebow thought it was worth every penny.
Good guess, Kipchoge’s fee began at a half million. But like Sgt. Schultz, I know nothing. I am willing to stand by that. It’s the bonuses that worry me. Again, I ask, why lead the race at course record pace?
Oh, I remember now. Every time we asked Bob anything about his illustrious career, he’d say, “It’s in the book.”
Which I recommend.
Damn, it’s chilly here. Between the bears and the driveway, my walks are too tense.
Marathoner Bob Hodge, Another Hiker Eaten By Bears.
Wednesday night, the three of us – the Olympian coach, the member of multiple Halls of Fame and me, who never earned a varsity letter – headed for the Farmer’s Table at Rum Brook Place, 249 Route 10 North, Grantham.
Where the locals hang out. I swear I overheard one say, “Look, fresh bear bait.”
Don’t even remember what I had to eat. Looking at the menu now, that usually sparks the memory. Nothing.
Thursday morning.
Back at Tucker’s, this time actual breakfast-time.
FROM THE GRIDDLE. BLUEBERRY FRENCH TOAST. Three pieces of blueberry tea bread dipped in French toast batter. Topped with house blueberry compote, powdered sugar, and a lemon drizzle. Served with pure NH maple syrup. 12.95.
Add pure New Hampshire maple syrup from Fuller’s Sugarhouse. +2.00. I don’t think so.
Bob and Jeff flipped a coin, loser gets to drive me to the bus station, maybe half an hour away. Seem to remember Kerouac dumping Cassady by the side of a blonde. Been an honor and a pleasure and a fun time, I told Bob before he and Nellie headed home. With a wave and a transmission whine.
Whisper quiet in Jeff’s Subaru. New Englanders believe in climate change. Got to thinking about Kipchoge. Media just jonesing for controversy. Build him up, sell him, shoot him down if he loses. Repeat the cycle if he wins, build him up higher, so you can sell him for more the next time. Eventually, you write about him fading. Is he fading? Is he over the hill?
Look at me. Yeah, you. Kipchoge got to the top of the mountain and that is where he will always reside. The acme, the apogee. He is not a star, he’s a celestial being around whom many – especially his countrymen – bask in the glow of his excellence.
Never actually saw the man myself.
Turns out Bob Hodge fit the pattern just about perfectly.
I met his truly dear longtime first wife, the lovely Miss Frannie. She drives the new car.
Then there’s this.
