Notes from the Road

Kelly Hayes, a spotter on NBC’s Sunday Night Football, is attempting to to complete “The Running Decathlon” which consists of the ten most widely-run track events. His goal is to run each race “half as fast,” or in twice the time, of the current world record in each event. And

Berlin. Perfect high-summer June evening–even at the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. The light has sculpted the 2,711 concrete slabs, each meant to symbolize a coffin, into a pleasingly abstract play of gray and black. It’s contrary to the intent, of course. Even so, the behavior of this

By Richard West “He hinted of pubs where life can drink its fill.” (Patrick Kavanagh) I propose a change in exercise routines, from jumping to conclusions, skipping bail, and prematurely crossing bridges. Instead a literary pub crawl that combines aerobics, limbering up the intellect, and weight lifting glassware.  And where

By Everett Potter We sailed at sunset on the Guildive, a motor yacht built in 1934 for a Wall Streeter to commute via the East River to a city emerging from the Depression. But we weren’t commuters and we were hundreds of miles north of Manhattan, in the dark waters

by Everett Potter If you ask me to define adventure travel, I will likely skip a description of a Moab single track trail, Class IV rapids on the Colorado River or a Via Ferrata in the Dolomites. Instead, I’ll cut to the chase and say that after three decades of writing about

By Kim D. McHugh Watching a Corn Dance at the Ohkay Owingeh Pueblo near Santa Fe gives me a better understanding of why New Mexico has “Land of Enchantment” on its license plates. In a gathering of more than 200 tribal members, the Corn Dance is performed as a blessing

By Everett Potter It’s difficult for anyone to watch all of the images of devastation coming out of Nepal, but I find it especially disheartening. In 2009, I spent three weeks traveling around the country –- on foot, in ancient rickety airplanes flown by Buddha Air and Yeti Airlines, and

by Everett Potter A slow day of fishing is quickly forgotten when a decent fish finally takes the fly. Granted, this sounds like a truism of the kind that my beloved Yankee grandfather might have said to me as we fished in Maine together decades ago, but it had the

by Everett Potter Just when I thought that I’d seen it all after visiting Ireland for the past 35 years – the greatest vistas, the venerable pub that I swore pulled the best pint ever, the most comfortable country house hotel anywhere – I had a pleasant awakening last October.

Everett Potter The Merrion occupies a row of four understated 18th century Georgian townhouses in Dublin with brass signage so discreet you might mistake it for that rare private investment firm that hadn’t lost its shirt during the Celtic Tiger years. While it’s in the heart of the Irish capital,