The morning of Monday, April 8, 2024 in Cleveland, Ohio dawned with cloudy skies.
I'd been anxiously checking weather reports for the week leading up to that date, hoping to see a forecast for a clear day for the once-in-a-lifetime (without traveling) total solar eclipse. Instead I'd been seeing a very uncertain forecast, oscillating between partly and mostly cloudy. For the past few days I'd been checking the hourly percentage cloud cover forecast on the 8th for Cleveland and other locations within a few hours' drive, trying to decide whether Erin and I should drive somewhere to increase our chances of seeing the eclipse unobscured by clouds. Around 24 hours out it was starting to look like maybe we should - our forecast was at around 50% cloud cover, and there were locations to our west at around 25%. But when I woke up early on the morning of the 8th I saw those predicted differences had mostly disappeared. No real point, then, in dealing with the headache of traffic to travel out of town. In Cleveland, as I recall, the cloud cover forecast for 3 pm (totality would begin at 3:13) had settled to a percentage in the mid 40s - meaning, apparently, that we had slightly better than a coin flip's odds of seeing the sun when totality hit.
The clouds parted by late morning. When Erin and I rode our bikes down the hill into Little Italy to take a red line train to the west side, it had become a beautiful, sunny day, the sky a bright blue with few clouds in sight. Could this really be happening? Were we going to get a perfect day for eclipse viewing, in Cleveland, Ohio, in April?
We exited the train in Ohio City and then rode our bikes several miles to Edgewater Park on the shore of Lake Erie, which was very predictably an eclipse viewing hot spot. After locking up our bikes, we headed over to a very familiar spot for us, the rocks by the iconic Edgewater willow tree, and settled in.
The skies were not nearly as clear as they had been an hour prior. Anxiety about the clouds returned - but there was nothing we could do about it. No sense worrying about something out of our control.
By the time the eclipse's start was imminent, most of the sky was in fact covered in clouds, but a very thin layer of clouds so that the sun still shone through. We eagerly counted down the moments, donning our eclipse glasses and looking upward.
Right on time, at 1:59 pm, the shadow of the moon began to creep across the face of the sun.
I do hope people appreciate just how amazing it is that we humans are able to predict with such precision and accuracy the times and locations at which these events will occur. Like so many other wonders of the modern world, it's easy to take for granted, but it's something that is only possible thanks to the cumulative efforts and ingenuity and combined knowledge of countless people working at these very difficult problems over years and decades and centuries and millennia.
Biologically, we humans aren't really much different from humans who lived ten thousand years ago. We aren't endowed at birth with significantly more intelligence or ability to understand the world we inhabit. But a human back then who encountered a total solar eclipse would (1) have no idea ahead of time that it was going to happen, (2) have no clue what was going on, and (3) probably find the experience pretty terrifying. A human today can know exactly when the eclipse will happen and look up in the sky in both awe and understanding at the cosmic dance unfolding overhead. This is despite the fact that no individual human, starting from scratch, could ever have worked out all the details of these phenomena. As a scientist, I think about these things often, with amazement and gratitude.
For most of its duration, this eclipse was not a new experience for me. I'd experienced >80% solar eclipses in both 1994 (at age 10, a momentous experience in a young future scientist's life) and 2017.
The 1994 eclipse, I see now, was an annular eclipse - not a total eclipse anywhere, but at the center of the path the moon's shadow was completely inside the sun. And Cleveland got annularity, but I lived in Columbus at the time. Funny, that.
In 2017, I could have experienced totality had I extended an unrelated vacation by a few days to stay out in Oregon with my parents, but opted not to take extra time off work. In retrospect, this was a poor decision.
So here's the thing about solar eclipses. I'd heard this said before, but I never appreciated the extent to which it's true until I experienced it myself. There are partial solar eclipses, and there are total solar eclipses. And a partial solar eclipse is a really cool thing to witness, but a total solar eclipse is... just something else. And nothing, nothing, can prepare you for what it's like to experience a total solar eclipse in person until you actually do it yourself.
We've all seen countless pictures of solar eclipses by now. Here's a picture I took approximately 35 minutes into the eclipse:
This picture looks basically just like what you'd see if you were looking at the eclipse, in person, through eclipse glasses. Obviously there are much higher quality pictures out there, but looking at a really high quality picture of a partial solar eclipse still looks basically just like what you'd see if you were looking at the eclipse, in person, through a telescope with a solar filter. Seeing a partial solar eclipse in person, from a purely visual standpoint, isn't all that different from seeing a picture of a partial solar eclipse.
As more and more of the sun's surface was covered and the daylight began to grow dimmer and the air noticeably cooled, I found myself wondering if we were really going to get the full totality experience. A thin layer of clouds continued to cover most of the sky. The clouds were thin enough that the sun's light easily shone through, but I knew that the light from the sun's corona at totality wouldn't be nearly as bright as the light from the solar surface itself. Would we be able to see the corona very well, or even much at all, through the clouds? I didn't know! Obviously the sky would suddenly become much darker when totality was reached, but beyond that, would we be getting the visual spectacle we were hoping to see? Or would many of the people gathered there on the shores of Lake Erie end up feeling the whole thing was a bit of a letdown?
Again, there was nothing to gain by worrying about something outside my control, so I could only watch and wait and hope for the best. I looked up through my eclipse glasses as the last sliver of the sun's surface disappeared into nothingness. As I began to move the eclipse glasses away from my eyes, I remember hearing Erin next to me say, "Look at that" - or words to that effect. I looked up.
This is a picture I took of totality (edited simply to decrease the exposure level). Again, there are much higher quality pictures out there, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out given my lack of fancy equipment:
We've all seen lots of pictures like this now. This is basically the standard totality shot everyone tries to get. It's a cool looking shot, right? The black circle of the moon's shadow with the heavenly white light of the corona encircling it. The pictures of partial eclipses look really cool, but this definitely looks a lot cooler.
Here's the thing about solar eclipses, though. Pictures of partial eclipses look really cool, and in fact, a good picture of a partial eclipse basically captures what you see looking at the eclipse in person.
Pictures of total eclipses look even cooler, but no picture can even remotely begin to capture the experience of seeing a total solar eclipse in person. It just can't be done. I've seen hundreds of great totality photos by now, and not a one even comes close.
I've seen a lot of really beautiful things in my life. Yosemite Valley, where Erin and I eloped in October, is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Seeing it in person definitely far exceeds seeing it in pictures... but a good picture of Yosemite Valley at least gives you a pretty good sense of what it would be like to see it in person.
A total solar eclipse might be the most unique visual experience any of us will ever have. It's so far outside the realm of normal human experience that I think our minds just can't comprehend what it's like to see it without actually seeing it. Our cameras can't capture the full range of light in a single image that our eyes can, and this is true for pictures of many things, but with most things we can at least imagine what they'd look like in person because they're in the realm of normal human experience. A total solar eclipse is simply outside of that realm.
When you look at the classic totality picture, you're seeing a white ring of light on a black background. That's it. It gives you no context for the rest of what you're seeing.
When I looked up at the fully eclipsed sun, I gasped, my eyes went wide and my jaw dropped, and I'm pretty sure I got at least a little misty-eyed. Seeing those pictures gave me absolutely no idea what it would be like to look up into the sky, a sky that even aside from the eclipsed sun was unlike any sky I'd ever seen before, and up in that sky to see what looked like a hole in the sky with the most beautiful white light I'd ever seen flowing out of it.
In comparison to the context-less white ring of light on a black background picture, this picture of mine gives a somewhat better sense of what it was like to see totality in person:
This is actually a composite of two images - in the original picture the sun was too overexposed to see the moon's shadow, so I took that from another of my totality photos.
This picture helps me remember what that moment was like, but I feel like if I hadn't been there in person, it still wouldn't give me any real idea what it was like. There are countless far better pictures out there on the Internet. I've seen all sorts of stunning and beautiful photos of the eclipse. None comes close to the reality.
Another thing that must be mentioned about total solar eclipses is the incredibly improbable cosmic coincidence that allows us to see these spectacles. The disks of the moon and sun appear almost exactly identical in size in our sky. This is true because the sun's diameter is approximately 400 times the moon's diameter, and the sun is approximately 400 times as far away from the Earth as the moon is. There's no reason things have to be that way. It just happens that they are. If the moon were just a little smaller or farther away, total solar eclipses would never happen. If the moon were much larger or closer, there would still be total solar eclipses and they'd still undoubtedly be amazing, but the unforgettable sight of a black hole in the sky surrounded by a ring of glowing light is something we'd never get to witness. There's nowhere else in our solar system with eclipses nearly as spectacular as those we see. How many worlds are there in the universe, I wonder, where intelligent beings with the ability to understand what they're seeing are lucky enough to witness eclipses as amazing as those visible from our Earth? (I've seen it said that the apparent coincidence of the sun's and moon's apparent sizes in our sky is one of the best arguments for the existence of a higher power - after experiencing a total solar eclipse in person, I can see the appeal of this argument.)
In Cleveland, we were lucky to get almost four minutes of totality. I took a few pictures and then set my camera down. I've thought many times about the double-edged sword of taking lots of pictures of cool experiences (concerts, hikes, etc.) - it's really great to be able to look back on those pictures later and it helps you remember the original experience, but if you focus too much on taking pictures, it takes you out of the moment, and the original experience isn't as good as it might have been. These precious few minutes of totality were perhaps the best example of this dilemma that many will ever experience.
I just tried to take it all in - the sky, the lake, the enraptured crowds of people, the cool air, the sounds of birds calling in ways they never normally would in the middle of the afternoon - and most of all the magical sight of the moon's dark, perfectly circular shadow with the white light of the corona flowing over its edges and even a pinkish solar flare visible near the bottom. I hugged Erin. A part of me wished this moment could last forever. Of course it couldn't.
Perhaps the most beautiful moment of all was seeing the building glow of the sunrise over the edge of the moon's shadow just before totality ended. It was indescribably beautiful. The whole thing was, but especially that moment. It really was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.
And then it was over.
Erin said something to the effect of how it was interesting to have had this experience where there was this buildup, this intense anticipation of an event, and then it happened and for a few minutes we were basically transported to somewhere so different from anything we'd ever experienced - and then it was all over, and it felt like, did that really happen?
The crowds began to dissipate not long after totality ended. We'd planned to wait until after totality to check out the eclipse through a telescope the Cleveland Metroparks had set up, and were very disappointed to discover they had taken it down already even though there was still a good hour of eclipse left. Still, we hung around on the beach with a dwindling crowd of other "eclipse enthusiasts" (as we might say) until the moon's shadow had fully disappeared from the sun's surface. The entire thing was just a magical experience - totality, of course, by far the most magical, but why not savor it all?
April 8 was not only the day of a total solar eclipse, it was also the Guardians' home opener, always one of the most anticipated days of the year in Cleveland. We decided to ride our bikes to one of our favorite bars/restaurants Happy Dog to catch the game on TV. It ended up being a win for the home team, who are off to quite a hot start to the season. After watching most of the game, we rode to Mitchell's ice cream in Ohio City for the once-in-a-lifetime eclipse-themed ice cream sandwiches they were offering on that day only.
The ice cream sandwiches were disappointing, the cookie to ice cream ratio way off. Oh well, the rest of the day far exceeded expectations.
It was really nice to enjoy a day of riding our bikes around together to various fun destinations. It had been a while since we'd done this, the winter in Cleveland generally not being conducive to the activity. So this was actually the first such day we'd had as a married couple.
And what a day it was, one I'll surely look back on fondly for the rest of my life!
I've been thinking this year about what makes a place a desirable one for me to call home.
I've lived in Ohio for my whole life. One year in Canton, seventeen years in Columbus, and now seventeen years in Cleveland. Undoubtedly that's molded my views, what I find comfortable in a place to live. I wonder to what extent those views are inherent to me, and to what extent they're a result of where I've lived, or of life experiences that I could have had no matter where I lived.
My sister has lived in New York City for more than a decade. Earlier this year I visited her there and I found it to be a great place to visit but my suspicions were confirmed that I could never see myself living there. Even if the higher cost of living could be ignored, there's one very important obstacle to my ability to enjoy living in such a place. I really, really like spending time in nature. I've realized that it's very beneficial to my mental health. New York is a huge city that is basically devoid of anything resembling wilderness. Spending time in nature for an NYC resident requires going far out of one's way. It's not something you can just casually do after work. I'd go crazy in a place like that.
Two weeks ago I returned from a trip to another, very different, part of New York State - my family's annual Adirondacks vacation. I love visiting the Adirondacks every year. The mountains and lakes and trees and air are refreshing to the soul. In fact, I realized that there are three places now that have come to feel at least a little something like home to me. Cleveland, first and foremost. And Columbus, of course. The Adirondacks are the third. (And yes, there was a period of time last year when Nashville also felt like home, but that's obviously no longer the case.)
I have two interests that I feel especially passionate about, though - nature is one, and music is the other. Although I could imagine myself living in the Adirondacks (setting aside the fact that there's not much there in my current line of work) more than I could in New York City, the huge reduction in concertgoing opportunities would be hard to bear. And although the Lake Placid dining scene has improved a great deal since my family first vacationed there, I'd also miss the many wonderful restaurants of all different cuisines I can frequent back home.
New York City, of course, has far more to offer in the realms of live music and dining than Cleveland. And the Adirondacks have more nature to offer than Northeast Ohio. So for someone who is strongly pulled in those two conflicting directions of city life and outdoor life, Cleveland is a nice middle ground.
It's not just Cleveland, though, that fits me so well. It's the specific location I now call home, in Cleveland Heights, a large suburb just east of the city proper. I live on a lovely street lined with large trees (much like the one on which I grew up) in a neighborhood where I can easily walk to numerous restaurants and bars, a drugstore, a grocery store, a bakery, a movie theater, and a library. At the same time, just a mile away from my house, and easily accessible within minutes by bicycle or on the way home during my short commute from work, is a gorgeous park system, running along the course of the Doan Brook waterway. Roughly marking the border between Cleveland Heights and Shaker Heights are two beautiful lakes (Horseshoe Lake and Lower Shaker Lake) at which great blue herons and other wildlife can be spotted, and in between the two lakes, there is the Nature Center at Shaker Lakes.
The early evening moon reflecting off of Horseshoe Lake.
A wintery scene at the Nature Center.
Lower Shaker Lake at sunset.
My mountain bike leaning against a tree in front of a very calm Lower Shaker Lake reflecting the sky.
The lakes are beautiful, but undoubtedly my favorite part of the Doan Brook waterway is Roxboro Ravine, a narrow gorge that takes the brook downhill from Lower Shaker Lake. I've written about the ravine before, on more than one occasion, and in fact dubbed it my favorite place in the world. Cleveland is known for its great "Emerald Necklace" of Metroparks surrounding the city, and the Metroparks are certainly a reason for civic pride, but the ravine, a park hidden in plain sight in the middle of a residential neighborhood and that most people don't know exists, is to me more wonderful than anything the Metroparks have to offer. One can walk down a trail just tens of meters away from an at times busy street and instantly be transported to a place that feels like it could be miles away from civilization.
Certainly there are more remote and more secluded and yes, more beautiful natural locations that I've visited in my many travels, including in the Adirondacks, but there's just something extra special about the ravine existing in this rugged and gorgeous state right smack dab in the midst of densely populated inner ring suburbs, and the instant escape it provides from city life. Due to the thick tree cover, steep walls, and rushing water, there are places in the ravine where if one didn't know better, it would be easy to think there were no other humans for miles around. I've had so many great times there over the years, going running, hiking, riding my mountain bike, and (of course) getting engaged to Cara.
The ravine and the lakes are truly a treasure, cherished by many who live in the area. So it might be hard to imagine the threat they faced half a century ago. A plan was put forward that, had it come to fruition, would have made the Heights a far different place from the one I now love to call home.
In 1964, Cuyahoga County Engineer Albert Porter proposed the creation of a new system of freeways to connect the eastern suburbs to downtown Cleveland. These freeways would have run through Cleveland Heights and Shaker Heights - the Clark Freeway would have run almost directly along the path of Doan Brook.
I have been aware of this history for some time, but recently, perhaps due both to my continuously growing love for Doan Brook and my growing unease about all the troubling changes happening in our country and world, I've taken a greater interest in learning more about this history. I happened upon the existence of a limited run 2011 book called The Legacy of Clark Freeway Fighters that recounts the history with a focus on interviews with the now elderly women who took the lead in fighting the freeway plan, and I quickly decided to track down and purchase a copy for myself. Once I had the book in hand, I fittingly took it after work one day to the spot by the ravine's waterfall where I've come to enjoy doing so much of my leisure reading. As it turned out, a seemingly endless torrential downpour stranded me under the rock overhang there for almost two hours (much longer than it took me to read the book), but I didn't really mind. I had nowhere else I needed to be, and it was great fun to experience the sights and sounds of the storm, including the sudden rapid expansion of the waterfall, as well as the two very wet raccoons I spotted in a tree on the other side of the ravine.
Getting back to the Legacy book... as I sat there, and began reading the book, and looked at the map of the proposed freeways on one of the early pages...
...I suddenly felt overcome with emotion, as I thought about the wonderful community I call home, and the fact that one of the freeways on that map would have run a stone's throw away from the waterfall by which I sat, and another of the freeways would have run pretty much right through or next to the house in which I live. In one of my recent posts, I wrote, "It's absurd the extent to which our society has prioritized fast automobile travel over so many other things that are so much more important." In that post my focus was on the lives lost as a result of that excess prioritization of fast automobile travel, but those lives are just a part of the "so many other things that are so much more important." I'm so, so grateful to the residents of the community who knew their homes and parks were more important than the ability to get downtown a few minutes faster and who got together and organized and succeeded in stopping the freeway plan. And not only did they stop a negative outcome, they turned it into an additional positive outcome, as the Nature Center at Shaker Lakes was intentionally created at the site of a proposed freeway interchange to help demonstrate the value of what would be lost if the freeways were built.
It was the women of the community, members of garden clubs and civic organizations, "little ladies in tennis shoes" as they called themselves, who took the lead in the fight, and it was a wonderful thing that the editors of this book were able to obtain (via interviews conducted by students at The Intergenerational School in Cleveland) and share the decades later perspectives of some of those women. I'd like to share with you a few of my favorite quotes from the interviews.
"I just couldn't believe that they would put a freeway through there. It was too beautiful of a park.... Many people who lived east of Shaker Heights and beyond just couldn't wait for the freeway to be built because they wanted to hop onto it and whiz downtown.... It is a challenge to get other people to appreciate nature because they're accustomed to looking at it but not seeing it." - Kay Fuller
"The whole thing is just unthinkable and Albert Porter, then County Engineer, boasted that he was not afraid of a bunch of Shaker Heights matrons being able to interfere with his freeway. He was stomped on in the end. I think it was the first time in many people's lives that they realized that they could do something.... I think that it should be evident to young people that with a well-organized protest - and this was very well-organized with lots of people with expertise in many areas - you can achieve a lot. The lesson is you can't say, 'I can't possibly do that.' or 'We can't possibly stop that.'" - Gloria Reske
"Activism was in the air. The Civil Rights Movement was inspiring to everybody. The fact that there were people out there who were fighting for their rights, and who were marching, and really taking a position, often at great risk to themselves, was a model for us. If they can do that, what are we doing sitting around doing nothing, twiddling our thumbs? When people were so active in defense of their rights, how could we just sit?" - Kathy Barber "My mother was a tremendous nature lover and we would drive down to her hometown in Wellington, which we thought of, as little girls, as a very long trip - it was 60 miles and she liked to go the hilliest way. We would get to the top of a hill and she'd stop the car and gasp, 'Let's just look at this beautiful view!' This sort of excitement about beauty was a big part of her life and that carried over to me and I hope to my children." - Sally Burton I'll be forever grateful to those "little ladies in tennis shoes" for standing up for what was right and for helping preserve and shape for the future the amazing place I now call home. Their actions and the effects of those actions are a lesson for us all of the importance of activism, and it's a lesson that's especially important today. We all have a role to play in deciding what the world in which we live and in which our children will grow up looks like. Not all such actions will be successful, but if no one takes action on an issue, failure is assured - you never know until you try. And in a world with so many big and seemingly consuming threats, the Freeway Fighters remind us that even at the small local level, people working together can make a meaningful difference.
It does occur to me that the Freeway Fighters had advantages that many activists don't. It saddens me to think of all the other communities, disproportionately populated by people with less wealth and darker skin, that have been destroyed by America's obsession with freeway building. How many other places with homes and parks just as beautiful as those in my neighborhood have been torn apart so that people who lived somewhere else could "hop onto" a freeway and "whiz downtown"?
(It's also worth noting that the Shaker Lakes are not natural lakes but were created by the Shakers who settled in this area in the 19th century - so human beings are capable of shaping their environments for the better as well as for the worse.)
Near the end of the book is a short essay titled "Proving That Trend is Not Destiny" by David Beach, director of the Cleveland Museum of Natural History's GreenCityBlueLake Institute. It's a great distillation of the issues that I want to highlight in this post so I'm going to quote extensively from it:
In a narrow sense, Albert Porter was right. In the '60s he was the Cuyahoga County Engineer, and when he looked at Cleveland and the eastern suburbs he saw that there was going to be a mess if more roads were not built. With his rational, engineer's mind, he studied projections of population migration and increasing traffic flows. He saw that the east side was going to need more road capacity to keep traffic flowing smoothly - a lot more capacity. Indeed, the east side would need enormous freeways in multiple locations, so everyone would have easy freeway access. The overriding concern was "the convenience of the motoring public," as the highway planners were fond of saying. Our whole society had to change so more people could drive more cars faster. And this made perfect sense if you cared more about speeding through places than the quality of places - if your vision of "progress" was the development of a sprawling, frenetic, high-mileage, high energy-consuming society. For Porter, these were the inexorable trends, and he had to plan for them. But some people in the path of those freeways refused to be held captive by such trends. They believed, as urban critic Lewis Mumford once wrote, that trend is not destiny. People can have a different vision. Behaviors can change. Different public investments can be made. And the trends can be deflected to create a different future. So they rose up and stopped the freeways that would have destroyed what they loved about their communities. The battle against the Clark Freeway, especially, became one of the iconic struggles for conservation in the history of Greater Cleveland. It was a training ground for dozens of community and environmental activists. It inspired thousands of people to believe that they could have a voice. Fifty years later, this area on the east side of Cleveland is the hole in the regional highway donut. It's a very inconvenient place for the motoring public. And that is wonderful!
A lot of people who don't live in the Heights complain about the lack of convenient freeway access to this area. I've come to realize that my home is a great place to live not in spite of the lack of convenient freeway access. It's a great place to live in large part as a result of the lack of convenient freeway access.
I read another book recently called Rust Belt Chic: The Cleveland Anthology. It's a collection of personal little stories (published in 2012) about what makes Cleveland the place it is and I liked it a lot for the diversity of perspectives it presented to paint a realistic picture of Cleveland with all its grandeur and all its flaws. As I read the book, I of course enjoyed every mention of a place that was special to me. The beginning of Stephanie Gautam's "One that Denver Lost" especially struck me:
As a child growing up in Cleveland Heights, I felt that my hometown was a paradise. The ravine off North Park Boulevard was just steps from our duplex on South Overlook, yet to me, it was a wilderness promising adventure and otherworldly discoveries.
I never set foot in Cleveland Heights as a child, and yet as an adult, the ravine to me has been much as it was to young Stephanie. I've found so much adventure and made so many discoveries there. How wonderful it would be to grow up in such a place. How much we owe to the activists who preserved it. And how important it is that we carry that same spirit of activism into the future.
When I was a small child, probably five or six years old, I wrote and illustrated a book called "The cleveland browns Story book." I have no actual memory of writing this story, but I still have the book, and have enjoyed looking at it several times over the years. The full text of the story follows:
Once there was a man. His name was Berny kosar. He was a qurterback for the Browns. His passes didn't score a point. The other Team fumbled his team scored and kicked the extra point. The kikoff went in to the other teams endzone. Hi's Team maid a safty. it was 9 to 0 at the end of the half.
Hi's team scored a 100 yard t.d.! 15-0 and there was no more scores. It was a shut out! Cleveland was in the play offs. They won the division title! and maid it to the super bowl!
I have only vague memories of watching the original (before the move to Baltimore following the 1995 season) Browns. I do not remember seeing The Drive or The Fumble. I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, but based on my writing this book, I was clearly a Cleveland sports fan from a young age (not surprising, as Columbus natives tend to go for either Cleveland or Cincinnati pro sports teams, and my mom was from Northeast Ohio). A couple of things jump out at me from my story. One, I didn't seem to have a high opinion of Bernie Kosar's quarterbacking skills. ("His passes didn't score a point.") I'm not sure why this was. When I wrote the book, the Browns were coming off of several consecutive playoff appearances, with Kosar generally playing well although not putting up gaudy statistics. And two, I seemed to know that it would be very exciting for the Browns to make the Super Bowl. Notice that the book abruptly ends before we get to find out whether the Browns actually win the Super Bowl.
My favorite pro sports team in the 1990s was the Cleveland Indians, who made the playoffs every year from 1995 to 1999. I definitely remember watching both the 1995 and 1997 World Series, both losses for the Tribe. My first real taste of what it was like to be a Cleveland sports fan was the heartbreaking Game 7 collapse in the '97 series vs. the Marlins.
The Cleveland Cavaliers were my favorite pro basketball team by default due to their representing Cleveland, but I have no actual memories of watching them as a child; their games were rarely available for me to watch. Most of my NBA memories from that era are of watching and rooting against the Michael Jordan-led Bulls. My younger brother and I hated the Bulls and even came up with what we thought were hilarious nicknames for many of their players - Michael Jordan was "Psycho Boredom," Scottie Pippen "Snotty Pickens," Toni Kukoc "Toni Cockroach," Luc Longley "Puke Longley." Every year we hoped to see the Bulls fall in the NBA Finals and every year we were disappointed. But looking back, those are some good memories to have.
I have now lived in Cleveland for almost fifteen years since starting college in 2001, and I truly consider it my home. I feel a much stronger connection to Cleveland than I ever did to Columbus. This was not really the case during my undergrad years, but once I started dating Cara in 2006 and we began to explore the city together, and especially after she moved here in 2008, I really fell in love with Cleveland, and so did she.
It was during our first year of dating that the Cavs reached the NBA Finals for the first time, in 2007. Before then, to be honest, I was a pretty casual fan of the NBA and probably paid less attention to it than any of the other big four major league sports. I do vaguely recall seeing this Sports Illustrated cover in 2002:
I wondered how it was possible that a high school junior could be receiving so much hype. (The fact that he has turned out to be even better than he was hyped up to be is truly remarkable.) I was happy, I'm sure, when the Cavs got to draft LeBron the following year, but it's not something I really remember; as I said, I was a pretty casual fan.
2007 is my first strong memory of watching the Cavs. They were playing their heated rival the Detroit Pistons in the Eastern Conference Finals. After Game 5, the sporting world was abuzz at LeBron's spectacular performance in which he scored the Cavs' last 25 points in a thrilling double overtime victory. Game 6 was in Cleveland on June 2, and on the same day the Indians had a home game against the Detroit Tigers. Cara and I attended that Indians game, a 9-5 loss for the home team. After the game ended, the Cavs game was still going on. A huge crowd gathered on the plaza outside Quicken Loans Arena to watch, on a huge screen, the game occurring inside that arena. That game was "the Boobie Gibson game" - Cavs rookie Daniel "Boobie" Gibson played the game of his life, going off for 31 points including 5/5 on three point attempts to lead the Cavs to their first conference championship. Cara and I joined the crowd in exulting at the Cavs' victory. It was a thrilling moment.
Not long after the game ended, a fight broke out in the crowd not far from where we were standing. It wasn't anything too serious and ended quickly, but as soon as the fighting began I instinctively hugged Cara close to me and turned to shield her, putting myself in between her and the violence. She later said that it made her feel very safe when I did that.
As a not very knowledgeable NBA fan, I thought anything could happen in a seven game series and that LeBron might be able to lead the Cavs to victory over the San Antonio Spurs. As it turned out, the Cavs were horribly outmatched and lost in a sweep. That was okay, though. LeBron was still quite young and just on the verge of becoming the game's top player. I, and probably many other people, thought it was just a matter of time until he would succeed in "getting one for the Land" (not that we would have used that phrase back then).
The 2007 Indians, by the way, provided my second real moment of Cleveland sports heartbreak, blowing a 3-1 lead against the Red Sox in the ALCS. Now a true Clevelander, I felt this loss much more deeply than the '97 World Series loss. Cara and I were both very into the Indians that year. I remember going to a Nada Surf concert in Columbus and buying a double set of earbuds so we could both listen to game 3 of the ALCS on a single portable radio while we waited in line outside the venue, and also watching the game on the TV at the bar in between acts. I also remember watching another game in that series at Cara's parents' house.
It was in September 2008 that Cara moved to Cleveland, and in the season that began the following month the Cavs took the NBA by storm, rolling to a 66-16 regular season record. Was this finally Cleveland's year? I had so much confidence in LeBron. I thought he could lead the Cavs past any obstacle. Yet in the Eastern Conference Finals, the Cavs lost the first game to the Orlando Magic, and then blew a 23 point lead in game 2 and looked ready to fall into a two game hole as the Magic took a two point lead with one second left.
Then LeBron did this:
Cara and I were watching the game at La Dolce Vita in Little Italy. It was just down the street from where she lived (at the time, we still lived separately, but I'd be moving in with her in less than two weeks) and she often hung out at the bar there on nights that we weren't doing something together. It's funny to think about, now. Hanging out at bars just wasn't something I really did back then.
I still remember the feeling of disgust at the Cavs blowing the game turning suddenly to exhilaration at LeBron's amazing game winner. It's one of those sports moments I'll always remember.
The following year brings another memory of a 60+ win Cavs team putting up a disappointing playoff performance. This time they didn't even make the conference finals, falling to the Celtics in round two. My most prominent memory from that series is actually of a game I didn't watch - during Game 5, Cara and I were at the Beachland Ballroom seeing Local Natives perform. My brother was texting Cara updates about the game. "I don't know what's going on," he said (or something to that effect), as the Cavs were demolished 120-88 and LeBron had one of the worst games of his life, shooting just 3-14 from the field.
So the first LeBron Cavs era is something that carries a close connection in my mind to the early years of my relationship with Cara.
The Cavs lost that series to Boston in six games, with LeBron infamously removing his Cleveland jersey as he left the court after the closeout game.
Then, of course, came The Decision.
I remember well all the speculation and rumors about LeBron's free agency. Of course, I was worried that he might leave. But when it was announced that he would make his decision known in a live TV special, I started to feel fairly confident. Surely, I thought, he wouldn't hold a live TV special just to crush the hopes of his hometown team's fans!
I remember sitting there in the small living room of our Little Italy apartment, watching the TV with Cara, full of nervousness but cautious optimism.
When LeBron said that he was taking his talents to South Beach, I was stunned. And then deeply saddened. Somehow I had built an emotional connection to LeBron and the Cavs unlike any I'd had with any other sports team. In a way, I suppose, the seeds of that connection were sown when Cara and I stood together in a huge crowd of people, watching the Cavs win the 2007 ECF. And for LeBron to leave, at the time, was devastating.
The following year brought LeBron's first Finals trip with his new team, and it also brought my and Cara's wedding. As the series between Miami and Dallas progressed, I noticed that game 6 was scheduled to be held on June 12, the same day as our wedding. And I began to worry that our wedding day might be marred by it also being the same day that LeBron won his first title, but not for Cleveland. I'm not joking when I say that. It was something that I felt genuine concern over. I was very relieved when the Mavericks took a 3-2 series lead, ensuring that my worst fears would not come true.
On our wedding night, I did not try to convince Cara to let me watch the entire game (I wouldn't have wanted to, really), but I did want to see the end of the game, and I talked her into having the TV in our hotel room on for the fourth quarter. As this was going on, we sat side by side in bed, each on our laptops, simultaneously updating our relationship statuses on Facebook to Married. I was overjoyed when the Mavericks finished off LeBron's Heat to take the championship. It was a perfect cherry on the top to the day that I still consider the best of my entire life.
The next three years saw three more Finals appearances for the Heat. Each time, I reflexively rooted against them, but I found that my feelings toward LeBron were gradually changing. By 2013 I don't think I even disliked him anymore. I couldn't help but admire and be awed by his tremendous basketball skills, and I also admired the fact that he continued to make great philanthropic efforts in his hometown of Akron. Although I cheered for the Heat's opponents in each of their four consecutive Finals appearances, looking back, I feel that things actually went perfectly with the Heat losing the first, then winning two, then losing again. If the Heat had won the title in LeBron's very first season after leaving the Cavs, it would have been simply too painful to watch. But LeBron needed to win titles in Miami, so that he could learn how to lead a team to greatness, and so that he could gain a reputation as a winner that would make talented players want to join his teams in a way that was not the case during his first go around in Cleveland. So it turned out to be a great thing for Cleveland that LeBron won those two titles in Miami. And yet it was also great that the San Antonio Spurs dismantled the Heat in 2014, because I very much doubt LeBron would have left Miami coming off of a threepeat with a chance to make it four in a row.
It's funny how now when I watch old highlights of amazing plays LeBron made wearing a Heat jersey, I find myself cheering him on, when I certainly would not have done so when those plays originally happened.
The summer of 2014 brought another much hyped LeBron free agency. Again there were rumors, this time that he would return to Cleveland, but I couldn't bring myself to believe them. I guess my years as a Cleveland sports fan had gotten to me, and I just never expected anything good would happen.
In 2014 Cara, of course, was going through various different treatments for her cancer. It was a difficult time, although one that we made the most of, enjoying many great experiences together.
Still, it was rare for me to experience moments of pure, unadulterated joy.
One such moment came on July 11 (it's easy for me to remember the date because it's my sister's birthday). I was at work, on my computer, when I saw the announcement. Could this really be true? I wondered. I clicked on the link. And saw... this was really Sports Illustrated's official website that I was on... and that was really a picture of LeBron James and the headline "I'm Coming Home." My jaw dropped. A Cleveland sports story with a shocking twist in a good way? Even seeing it, it was hard to believe at first. But it was true. I quickly shared the article to Facebook, my only comment on the post being "omg." Shortly after, I made another post:
By the way, anyone who is still upset at LeBron over The Decision really needs to get over it. Yes, the way it went down was handled poorly, but he did have every right to leave, and seriously, that was four years ago. If anything, the fact that LeBron was able to forgive that idiot Dan Gilbert is pretty commendable, and shows a lot more maturity than anyone still holding a grudge against LeBron!
I eagerly anticipated the beginning of the new NBA season. When LeBron's first game back with the Cavs finally rolled around, I decided I wanted to watch it with a crowd, so Cara and I headed out to a nearby Buffalo Wild Wings. The place was absolutely packed, and we returned home before ending up at the New Heights Grill, a local establishment just around the corner from the house we had moved into the second floor of a few months prior. It was my first visit to the New Heights Grill; little did I know how much time I, but not Cara, would spend there in the future.
We were able to secure a table, and we sat to watch the game along with all the other eager patrons. Cheers rang out as LeBron got an and-one on an early fast break. But after that, the Cavs just didn't look very good. It was surreal to watch. They ended up losing to a New York Knicks team that would go 17-65 on the year.
The Cavs, as it turned out, wouldn't look very good for the entire first half of the season, but in the second half, they really turned things around. I remember thinking that it would be really nice if the Cavs could win the title that year, so that Cara would get to see it, because I wasn't sure she'd still be around a year later. That doesn't mean I expected her to die within a year, but I was distinctly aware of the possibility. What I didn't expect at all, though, not until the very last week of her life, was that Cara wouldn't even be around to see that year's NBA Finals.
One of the very last things I did with her was watch game three of the Cavs' first round playoff series against the Boston Celtics. Well, watch the second half of the game, that is; during the first half her mother and I were picking up Papa John's pizza, which was what Cara wanted for dinner. I sat in a chair next to her hospital bed as we ate. At that point I was sadly aware that she didn't have much time left, but it was still something I was thinking about in terms of days or weeks. Not hours. Cara wasn't really paying a lot of attention to the game, to be honest, but at that point she was still herself. Still lucid. Still the same wonderful Cara I had spent all those years with, only now having to come to grips with her pending mortality.
The Cavs won the game to take a 3-0 lead in the series. It was not too long after the game ended that Cara's condition began to stunningly and rapidly deteriorate. There was a second NBA playoffs game on TV that night, the Golden State Warriors against the New Orleans Pelicans. As Cara worsened, more and more of my attention was on her. I would still occasionally glance up at the TV from her bedside, and I remember looking up to see Steph Curry nail a dramatic three pointer to cap a remarkable comeback for Golden State from a 20 point deficit and send the game into overtime, where the Warriors were victorious. That happened around midnight. At 4:15, Cara was gone.
And so I've realized that I will always carry a mental association between the NBA playoffs and Cara's death. It's really not a bad thing, though. Watching the playoffs, often with friends, provided a fun distraction from the deep sorrow I was feeling in those early weeks after her death. I even got to go, with my brother, to see in person the Cavs winning the Eastern Conference championship. As they were awarded the trophy to thunderous applause, I felt very excited, but also very sad that Cara wasn't there to see it. She wasn't really much of a sports fan, but she loved Cleveland and was always happy to see our teams do well. In the fall of 2014 she even became legitimately enthusiastic about the Browns for once, as they got off to a 6-3 start and briefly held first place in their division. We all know how that turned out.
In the very next game after Cara's passing, the Cavs finished off the Celtics but lost Kevin Love to a season-ending injury. In the first game of the Finals against Golden State, the Cavs lost the game and lost Kyrie Irving to a season-ending injury in overtime after barely missing a shot that would have won the game in regulation. That was Cleveland sports for you! Heroic efforts by LeBron James and Matthew Dellavedova helped the Cavs win the next two games. What a great story it would be, I thought, if LeBron could carry his team to the long hoped for title after losing the next two best players on his team to injury. Alas, the Cavs and their depleted roster became too worn down and the Warriors took the series in six games, adding another entry to the long catalog of heartbreak for Cleveland sports fans.
The next season brought fresh hope. But as the season progressed, and the Warriors went on an ultimately successful quest for the greatest regular season record in NBA history while the Cavs looked underwhelming in comparison, I began to wonder whether LeBron could succeed in bringing a title to Northeast Ohio - now, or ever. As the playoffs started, though, the Cavs took their play to a whole new level. Cautious optimism emerged. The Finals rematch between the Cavs and Warriors was one of the most hyped ever - the 73-9 Warriors led by the league's first ever unanimous MVP in Steph Curry trying to finish off the greatest season in league history against one of the greatest players ever trying to end Cleveland's decades long title drought.
The Warriors took game one. Then, in game two, the Warriors not only won, but they utterly dominated the Cavs 110-77, and at that point I had honestly pretty much given up on the Cavs winning the series. I just hoped they wouldn't be swept. But in game three, the first home game, the Cavs won in just as dominating a fashion as they had lost the previous game. Perhaps there was still reason to hope.
In game four, the Cavs led at halftime but then sputtered out in the second half and fell into a 3-1 hole in the series. Now they would have to do what seemed like the impossible - winning three games in a row, with two of the games in one of the toughest road environments out there. Sigh, Cleveland sports... I and many other people undoubtedly thought.
A faint glimmer of hope appeared when it was announced that Golden State's star forward Draymond Green would be suspended for game five. Some Warriors fans will no doubt go to their graves contending this was evidence that the series was rigged, but Green's repeated shots to other players' groins over the course of the playoffs easily justified the suspension. The only curious part was that he hadn't been suspended during the Warriors' previous series. The Cavs responded, with both Kyrie and LeBron putting up masterful 41 point efforts in a Cleveland win. And now my cautious optimism returned. Game six was a home game, where the Cavs had been outstanding all playoffs besides the second half of game four, and if the Cavs won game six? Who would bet against LeBron James in a game seven?
The New Heights Grill that I mentioned earlier had become my go-to spot for watching Cavs games that season, especially in the playoffs, sometimes alone but usually with a friend or two. For game six, the New Heights Grill was the most crowded I'd ever seen it. And the crowd was jubilant throughout as the Cavs delivered play after highlight reel quality play and knotted up the series to force a single, winner-take-all final game.
I quickly realized that this was a potential once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and that I had to be in downtown Cleveland to watch game seven. Official watch parties, both inside and outside Quicken Loans Arena, sold out almost instantaneously, frustrating me and countless other fans. The next best option was to simply go downtown and find a restaurant or bar in which I could watch.
And so my friend Fiona and I took a bus downtown that Sunday afternoon, arriving several hours before game time, and already downtown was like I'd never seen it before. Throngs of people decked out in Cavs gear roamed the sidewalks wherever I looked. Popular establishments for watching sports were already packed, some with long lines stretching out the doors. We decided to inquire about the wait at Barrio, a popular taco joint not far from the arena. At 5:25 we were told there was a three hour wait, which would result in us being seated after the game had already started. We weren't even optimistic at that, figuring most people, once they had tables, would simply stay there. Still, we put in a name just in case, and then wandered around the downtown area for a while, scoping out other possibilities, and marveling at the crowds. One thing we both realized was that we had to get some food into ourselves at some point, so after a while we headed east on Euclid Avenue, away from the crowds, and eventually grabbed a bite at a Jimmy John's on Cleveland State's campus. Then we headed back into the heart of downtown to look for a bar where we could stand.
At 6:50, as we were walking through Playhouse Square, Fiona's phone rang. "We'll be there really, really soon," I heard her say. We had a table at Barrio! We walked as quickly as we could (for Fiona, with much shorter legs, it was more of an alternating walk and jog) and navigated our way through swarms of other Cavs fans to make it to Barrio in a little over five minutes. And there we were taken to our table. It was on the far side of the room from the projector screens that would be showing the game, but we had an unobstructed view, we were in a place packed full of other excited fans, and the location downtown was right near the center of where all the celebration would be going down if our desired outcome came to be.
I instantly regretted having eaten at Jimmy John's, because Barrio has much better food, but that was okay. I did eventually order one taco to enjoy along with a couple of margaritas. And then we settled in to watch one of the biggest games in NBA history.
I've never been so tense watching a sporting event. At times I was shaking with excitement. The game was a thriller from the start, with numerous lead changes, neither team ever taking a double digit lead. The enthusiasm of the restaurant patrons was incredible. Chants of "Let's go Cavs!" and "Defense! Defense!" repeatedly filled the establishment. I'm pretty sure it was a more into it crowd than any I've seen at games I attended in person! Cheers and applause filled the room with each made field goal by the Cavs.
None, of course, more so than Kyrie's clutch triple with less than a minute left that broke a long scoring drought by both teams and gave the Cavs a three point lead. At that point it was pandemonium. Could this really be happening? I'm sure we were all thinking. We were so close now to that long awaited title, but this was Cleveland, there was still plenty of time for something to go wrong. With ten seconds left, LeBron rose up for a thunderous, game-clinching dunk - was fouled hard and barely missed his shot - and fell to the ground writhing in pain, clutching the wrist on his shooting hand.
The inside of Barrio became quieter than it had been in a long time.
Nightmare scenarios spun through my mind. The injured LeBron would miss both free throws - or even worse, be unable to finish the game and the substitute free throw shooter would miss both. The Warriors would hit a three to force overtime. The Warriors would win in overtime. It would be a classic Cleveland sports ending.
LeBron shook off his injury and stepped to the line. His first free throw was up - and no good. Tension mounted. LeBron sent up his second attempt - it hit the rim - and it rattled home!
Jubilant cheers once more filled Barrio, only to increase many fold in intensity soon after as time ran out on the Warriors. Strangers exchanged high fives and hugs. It was like being in a dream. It was hard to believe it was real. Gradually, it began to sink in. The fifty-two year drought was really over. And what a way for it to end! The Cavs going up against the team with the best regular season record in history. Falling into a 3-1 hole from which no previous team had ever come back in the Finals. And led by LeBron James, the "kid from Akron" returning to Northeast Ohio with a promise to bring his hometown fans the title they'd craved for so long. Going up against the player in Steph Curry who was causing many people to question, for the first time in years, LeBron's status as the game's top player. LeBron clearly took this personally and it was amazing to watch him crush Curry's spirit by repeatedly swatting the smaller player's layup attempts over the course of the series. It's only fitting that the championship that finally came to Cleveland came in such a dramatic fashion. It's truly one of the great stories in all of sports history.
Shortly after time expired, we headed out into the streets, and instantly my decision to watch the game downtown was validated. A growing crowd of people joined together in raucous celebration the likes of which the city had never before seen. There was no wanton destruction of property (none that I witnessed, and very little overall). No setting things on fire. Just a whole bunch of people overjoyed at finally getting to experience something they'd long wondered if they'd ever get to experience, and sharing that joy with each other. We stayed there for a while, taking it all in, basking in the moment. People yelled, chanted, high fived, embraced, laughed in disbelief. It occurred to me that what we were experiencing - a city winning a major sports championship after having endured that long of a drought - was something that no one else had ever experienced. And what an experience it was!
Eventually we decided to make our way from Prospect back over to Euclid Avenue via East 4th Street. This was clearly not the fastest way to go, but speed wasn't our goal. Revelers were packed into East 4th like sardines. Progress was very, very slow. At times it was like navigating an obstacle course as we climbed over railings of restaurant patios and once even over stacks of chairs. Numerous high fives were exchanged. I've never before seen such a dense concentration of unmitigated human joy. Finally we made it out to the other end of the block. "That was an adventure," I remarked. We quickly reached the bus stop at which we'd disembarked hours earlier, but it was immediately apparent that the crowds of people in the streets were preventing buses from running downtown. So once more we began to walk east on Euclid.
We passed more and more excited Clevelanders in the streets and sidewalks. And soon a curious sight became apparent - a line of traffic backed up with cars driving into downtown. Apparently when the game ended numerous people decided they wanted to be where the most excitement was, and some just hopped into their cars and started driving. Celebratory honks from car horns frequently sounded, with passersby on foot whooping in response. Some passengers in cars held their hands out the windows, and we ran over to give more high fives. As we walked, I pulled out my phone to check the time. At the appropriate minute, I commented, "It's midnight, so it's my birthday now." Best birthday ever? Yeah, I'd say so.
Around Cleveland State's campus we reached a spot where we were able to catch an eastbound bus, which we rode to where Fiona had parked her car that afternoon. I do wonder just how long it ended up taking for people who parked in garages in the heart of downtown to get out of there. Most of them probably didn't mind.
Once we returned to our neighborhood, I decided it would be fitting for me to go over to the New Heights Grill and have a celebratory drink. When I went up to the bar, one of the employees, recognizing me because I'd watched all but one of the previous games in the series there, greeted me with a high five and then asked where I'd been. "I was downtown," I replied. "It was amazing."
Wednesday brought the parade that Clevelanders had been dreaming of for years. It was the biggest party the city has ever seen and it was a wonderful experience, but to me, being downtown in the epicenter of all the excitement during the immediate aftermath of the victory was even better. The fact that I was able to live that moment is something I'll cherish for the rest of my life. One thing I will say about the parade and subsequent rally - LeBron's speech was truly great. He credited all his teammates and said very real and meaningful things about each and every one of them. LeBron is not only an amazing basketball player, but also a great leader and a great public speaker. The man could probably be president one day if he wanted to (I doubt he does). Additionally, as LeBron is just one and a half years my junior, I've very much enjoyed watching him grow and mature into the man he is today at the same time as I myself have gone through a great deal of growth and maturation over those years.
For the last week the whole city has had a different vibe to it. It's a really cool thing, something that is probably hard to understand if you haven't experienced it yourself. And most people will never experience something like this. There's something I realized. I'm a Cleveland sports fan because I love sports and I love the city that I've called home for almost fifteen years now. But also, being a Cleveland sports fan has fit really well with my identity as a person. Because in Cleveland sports, we've always expected bad things to happen. And in my own life, I've also come to expect bad things to happen. If you know me and especially if you've read my blog over the past half year, you can understand why I'd say that. It's an interesting coincidence that the first week of this past NBA season was the same week when I spiraled into a state of depression triggered by an awful recurrence of an old chronic pain issue. And the beginning of the playoffs coincided with me finally feeling like I was truly coming out of that depression, with the Cavs' run to the title coming alongside me feeling better and better. Throughout all that time, basketball, both watching and playing the sport, has been very important to me. And now that the Cavs have won that championship, and we finally have a Cleveland sports story with a happy ending, I'm thinking - maybe I don't have to expect bad things to happen? Or maybe that would be naive. I don't know. But it's a nice thought to have, and one I intend to keep with me for now.
I thought it might be fun to write some posts about neat places around Cleveland (this isn't entirely a music blog!), so now, while I'm still recovering from a broken hip, some words about one of my favorite places to go when I have my normal mobility.
I suspect that not many people are familiar with the term Roxboro Ravine. A Google search returns very few results. Here's one, though; I think it's where I learned the name:
Path down into the Roxboro Ravine (formerly known as Ambler Park), approximately where Bellfield meets North Park Blvd. (from Cleveland Heights Historical Society)
Quite pretty, isn't it? The spot pictured doesn't look exactly the same today, but anyone who has spent a lot of time in the ravine would have no trouble recognizing the image. I'm sure that a lot more people are familiar with the place known as Roxboro Ravine than with the name Roxboro Ravine, but at the same time I'm sure many people pass by it often while remaining unaware of the wonderful place hiding in plain sight between North Park and Fairhill roads in Shaker Heights.
I was certainly one of those people once. As a cross country runner at CWRU, I often ran along North Park, on the grass right next to the ravine. I undoubtedly glanced down into the ravine from time to time while running by, but (to my memory) did not venture down there at all for my first two years of college. I remember a run my junior year where a couple of my teammates suggested heading down the wooded trails there. I voiced my disagreement, worried that it might be dangerous and not wanting to risk an injury.
I've since been injured twice on those trails, but that hasn't hampered my enthusiasm for running there. The trails aren't inherently dangerous; they just require somewhat more care and surer footing than running on roads. The broken arm in particular was due to completely reckless behavior on my part - I was walking, on a fallen tree, across the brook that flows through the ravine. That was risky enough, but then, as I neared the end of the tree, I began to pick up speed. I guess I just couldn't wait a few more steps until I reached solid ground, and I paid the price for my stupidity when I slipped, fell backwards several feet to the ground, and caught myself with an arm that one glance instantly revealed was broken. I walked out of the ravine up to North Park and was lucky enough to immediately encounter some other people, one of whom was a student at the Case Medical School and drove me to the hospital.
So I've certainly had some adventures in the ravine. (Since learning the proper name, I still usually think of it as just "the ravine." Cara and I have another name for it, as well - "Leslie Anne Ravine," a pun on the Decemberists' song "Leslie Anne Levine." I'm not even sure now which one of us came up with it, I think it was her? We are pretty silly.)
Roxboro Ravine really is a fantastic place for running. In the past few years, I've come to enjoy trail running more and more. It's a great way to commune with nature, and it's much more stimulating to my senses and my mind than running on the streets. The trails in the ravine require more attention than most. There are all sorts of rocks, roots, sharp turns, and quick ups and downs to navigate through. None of it is excessively difficult if proper care is taken, but it's a much more rugged trail than what one might typically find in, say, the Metroparks. I have to say, somewhat egotistically, that running is more fun when you can run fast, and running fast through a rugged, forested trail full of twists and turns is really fun. I've covered the trails through the ravine so many times that my feet practically know each step of the way. I really feel lucky, living in an urban environment, to have such a great place for trail running so close by. (It also seems to be a popular place for mountain biking. I've never tried mountain biking myself, and frankly, the idea of doing it on some of the more treacherous segments of the ravine's trails seems rather scary.)
Running in the ravine is great, but sometimes it can be nice to take in the joys of nature at a more leisurely pace. Cara and I often like to go on walks or hikes together (again, I'm looking forward to getting back to doing this after my injury is all better!), and Roxboro Ravine is one of our favorite places for such excursions. We've traversed the trails there in all seasons. Our most recent hike there was on a beautiful spring day, and contained a cool surprise. As we walked, we noticed there was music coming from somewhere nearby. And not someone's stereo system - this was live music, played by a couple of brass instruments. After we walked farther down the trail, an upward look revealed the musicians' location. They were sitting on the back patio of one of the houses on Fairhill that overlooks the ravine (I'm really jealous of the people who live there). It was like having a concert performed just for us while we enjoyed a great stroll through nature.
That was a memorable hike, but definitely not as memorable as the one that took place on March 7 of this year. That was when Cara and I got engaged. Here's a picture of the spot where it happened, which I took just before the big moment (the ring, at the time, was hidden in my camera bag).
Earlier in the walk, Cara had mentioned that the ravine was "special" to her. This secretly thrilled me, knowing what I was planning to ask her before we left the ravine that day. So I definitely agree, Roxboro Ravine is a special place, for many reasons.
