Baby Elephant Lost and Found

An elephant family

An elephant family

An elephant parade went through our swamp Monday morning. Dozens of them; large family groups with big males at the front, mothers bringing up the rear and babies sandwiched in between. They moved steadily and determinedly, grazing briefly on the tall grasses in the swamp and then pushing on into the dry grasslands. We were told they were migrating north, using the daylight hours to travel through the “safe” territory of Lewa. By nightfall they would be at the Lewa boundary, positioned to traverse the more dangerous, poacher prone districts under cover of darkness.

We watched from the breakfast terrace at Ngiri House, occasionally picking up binoculars to study a particular elephant cluster or scan the surrounding area for other animals. On one such scan I spotted a lone baby elephant wandering in the grass at the edge of the swamp, heading west rather than north with the rest. Where was its mother? Where was it going? As breakfast progressed I kept track of it, willing it to turn and join the safety of a large family group. I was worried. A baby elephant, I told John, should not be wandering around by itself. There were lions out there more than capable of taking him (or her) down.
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Back in Kenya

A herd of more than fifty Impala joining us for breakfast

A herd of more than fifty Impala joining us for breakfast

Anne and I have returned to the Lewa Conservancy in northern Kenya. After a long and uneventful flight, we landed in Nairobi, passed through a quick and efficient immigration and customs procedure, picked up our six bags and headed to the UpperHill Country Lodge to spend the night.

The next morning, Sunday, we gathered up our luggage and a mountain bike that Tom Gleason had generously left for us, climbed into our Land Cruiser with our driver, John, and made the four hour, 240 kilometer drive to Lewa Conservancy. Despite it being dry season, we had an afternoon downpour during the drive.

Hopefully, that ends the boring bits of the post.
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Help!!!

Friends and Family,

Do you have any DVD movies or TV series sitting around that you think are fun, interesting, or otherwise worth watching that you probably won’t be using for the next year or so that you could lend to us? If you do we would appreciate it if you would let us know before we leave for Kenya.

As we quickly approach our time of departure, September 13, it has occurred to Anne and me that we are going to be sitting in our hut in the conservancy together with no TV, restricted ability to stream from the internet and no ability to head to the movies in the evening. Our plan is to try to keep ourselves busy but being able to watch a show occasionally would help us pass the time. We will play the DVD’s on a computer which I believe will play both regular and Blu Ray DVD’s.

If you are willing to send us any, please contact us by phone, e-mail (jknapp@usinternet.com), or by making a comment here. I can then give you our address so you can send them.

Thanks in advance.

John and Anne

First Grow an Oak Tree

“The grandkids are coming in August. I think you should build them a play kitchen,” Anne said to me a few weeks ago. ”Now, what does this have to do with Ten Centuries?” you ask. Well, the basic Ten Centuries philosophy is that life is more fun if you do stuff. That even includes building a play kitchen from scratch.

I decided to make three pieces: a stove, a sink and a refrigerator. But where to start? Going to the internet, I looked up play kitchen plans and was astonished to see that the plans showed the stove and sink base to be 18-22 inches tall. I grabbed a tape and measured 20 inches from the floor, “That is tiny,” I thought, “it must be a mistake.” But before making them bigger I called my daughter, Marion, the proud mother of a 3 ½ year old. “Monette is only 36 inches tall,” she replied, “20 inches is past her waist.” I forget just how little a little person is.

Building from scratch.

Building from scratch.


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Ode to John’s Legs

John's Legs

John’s Legs

I love
John’s legs,
Pumping pedals up and down.
Strong, sculpted, serviceable
Like David.
As perfectly proportioned
As the Vitruvius Man.
No mere hamstrings these
Sinuous forms moving under taught skin and lycra.
Semitendinosus, semimembranosus,
Vastus lateralis, biceps of the thigh.
The gastrocnemius flexes to display
A great inverted heart
And from the back of calves
Delivers a continual visual valentine.
When rarely I pass, I receive
A full display where quad meets knee of
Rectus femorus, vastus medialius
And vastus lateralis power.
I cannot see the action where hip meets thigh,
My heart flutters,
I can only imagine.

Hard Is Fun: The Hardest Day ever.

Starting L'Etape du Tour

Starting L’Etape du Tour

Yesterday, Tim and I rode L’etape du Tour. It was beyond a doubt the hardest day physically I have ever experienced. We rode a total of 90 miles (81 on l’etape and 9 returning from the finish). In the course of that we were climbing for between 40 and 45 miles. The total ascent was 11,375 feet.

The first half of the ride was to die for. The weather was perfect, blue skies with puffy white clouds and an afternoon temperature of 80 degrees. The course started out with six miles of flat along the crystal azure waters of Lake Annecy with views of majestic mountains in every direction. We then began climbing past picturesque villages to mountain passes with picture perfect vistas. At every village local residents lined up along the route chanting allez, allez, allez (go, go, go).

My granddaughter Monette cheering me on.

My granddaughter Monette cheering me on.


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Pre-event Preparation

About two days before the Etape, John changed. The gregarious, relaxed guy I usually live with disappeared, replaced by a pensive, brooding, pacing, sometimes growling tiger. My space, like Piscene Patel’s (Pi in “The Life of Pi”) was inhabited by a “Richard Parker.”

Fortunately I’ve seen this beast before. The two serious “athletes” in the family — John and Marion — undergo this metamorphosis before every big event, physical or mental. They turn inward, grow silent, scowl and snarl if pulled into the trivialities of every-day life. They are focused on the event, the challenge, the competition and their goals. They are readying for the fight.

I find the process interesting. It isn’t that I’m uncompetitive, anyone who knows me can attest to that. But I am not in John’s — or Marion’s for that matter — league. They have a physical need to “win” and more often than not, they do. What I have learned over the years, though, is that every Richard Parker needs a Pi to perform at his or her best.

John and Tim intensely studying the route.

John and Tim intensely studying the route.

John putting his race number on the bike.

John putting his race number on the bike.

L’Etape du Tour de France

I’m here in Annecy, France with my friend, architect, and riding buddy, Tim Quigley, to ride in L’Etape du Tour de France. For those of you who are not bicycling aficionados, this means that we will attempt to ride one of the mountain stages of the Tour de France. The actual race with the actual riders will take place on July 20th. We, along with 14,000 other riders, will try tomorrow, Sunday July 7th.

The ride is 81 miles (128 km) long and includes 6 ascents totaling a climb of about 9,500 ft. The hills are 3 category 3, 1 category 2, 1 category 1 and an HC (which means beyond category). The category 1 hill, Mont Revard, is 16km (10 miles) long with a gradient of 5.4% and the final hill, Semnoz (HC), which starts at mile 74 averages 8.3% for 11 km (6.7 miles). These are major efforts. If you want more details about the route go to L’etape du Tour.

Tim and I looking at Mont Semnoz. Worried.

Tim and I looking at Mont Semnoz. Worried.

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Old Friends

In the fall of 1965, Lise Hansen rescued me. I was a large, freakishly tall, pubescent 12-year old American enrolled in a public school in Virum, Denmark; a suburb of Copenhagen. My classmates were all petit — a head shorter than I, their growth spurts yet to come — Danish pre-teens whose English consisted of parroted lyrics from The Beatles and Herman’s Hermits and Level 1 ” Learn to Speak English” textbooks. I was a circus side-show thrust into their midst and the boys, in particular, found taunting me rather amusing. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper; miserable enough that, unbeknownst to me, my parents were considering the extreme and expensive option of putting me in a private American school.

Old friends Anne and Lise.

Old friends Anne and Lise.

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Musings on Evolution and Intelligent Design

No, this isn’t about religion. It is about ways of thinking. The main argument for intelligent design is that organisms are too complicated to have developed through a series of random mutations followed by natural selection: the world is too “perfect” to have developed by evolution, it needed a designer; i.e God.
Now what does that have to do with our stay in Denmark?
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