Many Milestones: Observations from the Rear Flank of the Baby Boom

This week I achieved another milestone birthday. Like many milestones these days, it is not a number that ends in a zero or a five. Most of my milestone birthdays now are determined not by the decades and half decades of the anniversaries of my birth but rather but the stange and seemingly arbitrary vagaries of U.S. law.

Last spring, my wife and I were in a funky museum in Arizona (I think) along the famed Route 66. I was pleased to see that in this establishment the “senior” admission price was for those 60 and ‘better.’ The cost would be $5 each instead of $8 saving us $6 between the two of us.

“There are some advantages to getting older,” I said to the lady selling the tickets who seemed like she might qualify for a much higher threshold.

“It’s the only one!” she said with a disgusted look on her face.

I could see her point. Yes, getting older does have some benefits including discounted entry fees to museums and a few other attractions but let’s face it, not one of them (with the possible exception of grandchildren should one be so blessed) is adequate compensation for the aches and pains, the cognitive decline, and yes, serious medical problems that go along with getting older. As a doctor friend of mine kindly reminded me recently, “Getting old is a chronic disease.”

Nevertheless, when perks of seniority are offered, no matter how modest, I like to believe I can accept them with grace.

Here are three that come along with my new advanced age of 62.

1. Most places that offer a senior discount, begin offering it at 62. Yes, there are some that are as low as 55 and some as high as 65 but 62 seems to be the most common number. These discounts are rarely significant. Usually just a few dollars, but they make me feel like I am getting a bargain when I get to see something or do something for $10 that my younger friends have to pay $12 for.

2. I can buy a U.S. National Park Pass for $80 that will be good for the rest of my life. Previously, I bought a pass every year for the same price. Many years I didn’t get my money’s worth but I bought one anyway to support the national parks. Now I feel I have done my share and this next purchase will probably be my last. My wife has her own though one pass covers everyone in the party. If you are not yet old enough to buy the lifetime pass consider buying an annual pass to support the park service.

3. I can collect Social Security benefits, though I probably won’t for 8 more years.

According to the Social Security Administration 23% of men who turn 62 start to take their benefits right away. The percentage is slightly lower for women. However, there is a good reason not to. For each year you wait, your monthly benefit increases about 6% per year until you reach full retirement age (67 for me) and then an additional 8% per year until you reach age 70. After that there is no longer a benefit to waiting. This means that all other things being equal, it may pay to wait if you can.

If you are married and you were the higher wage earner, there is an extra reason to wait because if you die before your spouse, they will get your higher benefit instead of their own for the rest of his/her life.

If you are the lower earning spouse, waiting may or may not make sense. There is a great online calculator called Open Social Security that can help you create a filing strategy as a couple looking at multiple life expectancies. Most calculators don’t take marital status into account. For example, the calculator suggests that I should wait until age 70 to file but that Barbara should file now. She hasn’t yet but maybe soon.

More milestones lie ahead (God willing). The next biggie is age 65 when I am eligible for our national socialized medicine program Medicare. Barbara is two years ahead of me so I have begun to try to make my way through the labyrinth and am sorting through the options and decisions that will need to be made in the next months.

Part A, Part B, prescription drug plans, Medicare Advantage (mostly disadvantageous), Medigap or supplemental plans, co-pays, and deductibles, oh my!

If you thought Social Security was complicated, Medicare is absolutely mind-boggling particularly as the onset of Medicare coincides with the aforementioned cognitive decline (see above).

No wonder our politicians never want to call it quits; they can’t make head or tail out of the retirement programs they created and make more complicated every year. It’s easier to get reelected than to enroll!

Well, I better run. I need to get over to my nearest Park Service entrance gate to pick up my lifetime pass before the government shuts down. Of course, all the parks will be closed for who knows how long but I can hold it in my hand and dream of the places I’ll go if not in person then with my Apple Vision Pro virtual reality headset (available early 2024).

Maybe Apple will even start offering a discount for seniors instead of just for college students. Tim Cook should be able to empathize; he is also 62 years old.

The world’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.

The House (and Town) That Hops Built

Perhaps the best part of travelling without a strict timetable is being able to stop wherever, whenever. This explains how we found ourselves in Milwaukee, a city that - to be honest - was not on my rather prodigious bucket list.

Located a few hours north of Chicago on the western shore of Lake Michigan, Milwaukee, it turns out, is a little nugget of malted barley filled with beautiful architecture, a vibrant riverfront, incredible art, and, oh yes, beer. Lots and lots of beer.

We are on our way to Door County, Wisconsin, which is a peninsula that juts out into Lake Michigan and is said to be the “Cape Cod of the mid-west.” We will be partaking in a five day organized biking trip. As we swung north from Chicago the city of Milwaukee presented itself for consideration. With several days still before we needed to be in Door County we were totally like, why not?

The night before we had been camping in Indiana Dunes National Park, a lovely spot except for two things: it was hotter than hell, and the mosquitos were abundant and thirsty. We had set up the tent which is both cooler and better protection from the mozzies than the van, but it was a sticky, itchy night notwithstanding. The fact that there are no campgrounds in downtown Milwaukee meant that we would need to stay in a hotel, one with air conditioning and comfy beds. Such a shame, but there you are.

Inside the future at the Milwaukee Museum of Art

Our hotel was about 20 minutes from downtown, and we headed first to the Milwaukee Museum of Art, which boasts a stunning building designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, who was inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright. The place reminded me of the space station from the 1968 film “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Its spacious underground parking garage also served as a convenient place to stash the van for the day as we walked around the city.

We spent several hours in the museum, which features a design exhibit (I love those) as well as an impressive collection of American and European art including, rather surprisingly, one of the largest collections of Georgia O’Keefe paintings anywhere. The museum deserved more time but after a few hours, we were hungry both for food and to see more of the city.

The weather was still hot and sticky, but we ventured out into the streets of downtown, heading first for the public market, which is evocative of the Pike Place Market in Seattle. Among the dazzling number of choices, we selected a place that made panini sandwiches. I chose a tuna melt while Barbara picked the Mediterranean, a combo of cheese, tomatoes, and peppers. The sandwiches were so generous that we each ate only half and saved the remainder for dinner.

From there we made a beeline to the “world famous” National Bobblehead Hall of Fame and Museum. Here you can see every sports star in history and many other famous political and entertainment personalities immortalized as a little plastic statue with an oversize head that is attached with a spring. Why? Again, I ask why? We paid $5 each for admission and then paid our respects. I was disappointed not to find any of the Marx Brothers there. Nor did I see Steve Jobs or Tim Cook. However, Judy Garland was there in her Dorothy persona, as all the U.S. Presidents and Mr. Spock from Star Trek, his hand in the traditional hand shape of the Kohanim. Live Long and Prosper, old friend.

…to boldly go where no head has bobbled before.

Next we walked around the downtown and along the river. The river has multiple bridge crossings, all of which open to allow boat traffic through. Some of the bridges open drawbridge style while others lift straight up into the air like an elevator. Regardless of how they open, when they do all foot and vehicle traffic on the bridges comes to a halt while the boats go by below. At one such crossing, I spotted the Vista Queen, which, the internet informed me, has a sightseeing tour every day at 2 pm. We had obviously missed that day’s tour, which clinched the argument already raging in my brain. We’d need a second day in Milwaukee.

But first there was a required visit to Downtown Books, a massive used bookstore on Wisconsin Ave. More overwhelming than the sheer number of books was the geography of the store, with books towering from floor to the tops of the 15-foot ceilings. You’d need binoculars to read the titles on the highest shelves. Just the cookbook section alone was dozens of shelves filed by title rather than by author or cuisine. In short, it was impossible to find anything that you might be looking for except by chance. I left without making a purchase.

Emerging from our hotel on day two, we were struck by a chilly and meaningful breeze. Sometime during the night, autumn had swept in and temperatures had plunged. The crisp air was a relief after the sweltering days of the past week.

Soon we were parked near the dock for the Vista Queen and walking through the urban campus of Marquette University, a private, Jesuit institution, toward the mansion built by Captain Fredrick Pabst, 19th century steamboat captain and beer magnate. The good cap’n built the mansion (now a museum) in the late 1800s to celebrate his wealth and good fortune and to house his family on what was then Milwaukee’s poshest boulevard, the appropriately named Grand Avenue.

Pabst Mansion: the house that hops built

A struggling immigrant from Saxony (now part of Germany), Pabst had begun life with very modest means, making a living bussing restaurant tables and eventually working his way to becoming the captain on a lake steamboat. He married into the beer business, and his father-in-law taught him all there was to know about brewing. The captain eventually took over the business. I am not sure if Pabst Blue Ribbon was as bad a beer then as it is today but people must have had a taste for the stuff. He made a fortune.

The mansion is breathtaking. Much of it has original furnishings, wall coverings and floors. Ahead of its time, the mansion had electricity, an elevator, even a telephone (albeit one attached to the wall) at the time of its construction. The hour-long tour was excellent. Unlike most of these kinds of tours, you can go anywhere in the house. There are no ropes and no restrictions except don’t touch anything and don’t sit on the furniture. Our guide was knowledgeable and amusing. Sadly, I am sorry to report we weren’t offered so much as an ounce of beer. The captain himself apparently preferred wine. The house has a wine cellar with a capacity of more than 3,000 bottles. All of which have long since been consumed.

With our cruise departing in less than 90 minutes, lunch was the next priority and, on our way, back to the dock we stumbled on Brick 3 Pizza, which claims to be “Bringing the Big Apple to Milwaukee.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I thought.

Four slices at Brick 3

With our optimistically large eyes, we ordered two slices each. I got a cheese slice (there is nothing more defining of the class than the cheese slice) and a Californian, which had fresh tomatoes and, as it turned out, enough garlic to discourage even the most amorous vampire. Barbara got a slice of Californian as well along with one that was spinach and feta. The four slices flew into to the traditional stainless steel pizza ovens (not sure where the “brick” comes in) and a minute or two later were delivered to our table on paper plates. They were hot enough to scald the skin off the roof of ones mouth, which I proceeded to do without further ado.

The pizza was a very respectable New York slice. The crust was perfectly thin, the cheese stretchy and a little sour, the sauce light and tart (not sweet). New York style pizza is always judged pass/fail. This passed easily.

We each ended up saving one of our slices to eat later. We complimented the man behind the counter (the owner, I am guessing) and found out that he hailed from Staten Island. I told him that I was born in Queens. It turned out both our earliest memories were of the 1964-65 World’s Fair.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Staten Island isn’t really New York City.

Upscale condos line the Milwaukee River

Pizza box in hand, we dashed off to our rendezvous with the Vista Queen.

We found seats in the bow of the boat and soon we were underway. We were soaring under the bridges that we had walked across the day before. Our young guide was mostly very knowledgeable, though she identified a 19th century red brick building that looked to me like New York’s Carnegie Hall as “Brutalist” architecture. Barbara and I looked at each other bewildered but the guide was quickly schooled by the boat captain. The next time she pointed out a Brutalist building, she got it right.

The art museum as seen from the lake

From the boat we got an up-close view of the city’s historic Third Ward before heading out into the waters of Lake Michigan for a gorgeous view of the city skyline and the aforementioned art museum. It was chilly and windy on the water especially in the bow of the boat and we were pretty happy to get back to the dock and head back to the hotel for a few IPAs (not PBRs) chilling in the fridge.

The list of the world’s great cities is long. London, New York, L.A., Paris, Tokyo, Trenton. These are the destinations we put on the list and check off when/if we finally get to visit. But often it is the places you end up by accident that have the greatest capacity to surprise and delight. Perhaps it is precisely because we come to such places without expectations, without demands, without anxiety that they will prove worth the trouble, worth the funds expended, that we approach them with an open heart.

Milwaukee is just such a city. It graciously forgives you - not for having written it off - but for never having thought of it at all. Then it courts you with humor, good food, incredible art, and beer. It’s a place that makes you think: In different life I could have been happy here.

The world’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.

The World’s Most Beautiful Resort

They say if all you have is a hammer everything looks like a nail. Well, when you are traveling and sleeping in a Toyota Sienna, every accommodation without wheels looks like a resort.

I saw JBL for the first time in September of 1972. I was just shy of 12 years old. My dad and I had hiked in 3.5 miles from the town of Keene Valley in the Adirondack Park in upstate New York for a week of living and hiking in the back country. We carried everything we’d need for the week: food, sleeping bags, a stove. The plan was to climb some of the 46 mountains in New York state that are more than 4,000 feet above sea-level, on our ways to becoming “46ers.”

We did not bring a tent. We didn’t need one. We would be staying in an iconic Adirondack lean-to just steps from Johns Brook. It was a lovely, idyllic spot, but the accommodations are rustic to put it mildly. A lean-to is a 3 walled structure, open in the front. The floor may be wood planks or just dirt. In 1972 most of the floors were dirt. A roof protected us from rain, but lean-tos can be cold especially in mid-September when the temperatures can go below freezing at night.

As we hiked the last quarter mile to the lean-to we passed a somewhat more robust structure. This was Johns Brook Lodge, my father explained, established as a backcountry lodge in 1925. Softer, less rugged sportsmen than we could enjoy beds, heat, prepared meals, and flush toilets. My dad and I, however, had no need for such niceties. We were backpackers. The real deal.

We had a beautiful week. My Uncle Marty joined us on Thursday. We climbed seven mountains, and I left feeling that the Adirondacks was the most beautiful place on earth.

So when, in mid-August of this year my wife and I planned to spend three nights in the same area, we reserved a lean-to. But three days before we were to hike in, my wife in her wisdom, looked at all the stuff we were going to have to carry in and suggested that we see if there was space at the lodge. The lodge costs more than a lean-to but at just $79 per person with three meals included, Johns Brook Lodge is a bargain. They even gave us credit for the lean-to payment. As my 62nd birthday approaches I decided to embrace my softer side.

The only way to get to the lodge is to hike there. It is a relatively easy hike for the Adirondacks. You start from a parking lot a few miles from Keene Valley called “The Garden.” I don’t know why it is called that. It is not a garden – just a parking lot. The hike is about 5 km and just about 300 meters of elevation gain. The trail crosses burbling streams and in a year like this, lots of mud. We carried everything we would need for three days in our packs. This included clothes, raingear, sleeping bags, camp shoes, and sleepwear. We would not need: food, a bear canister, or a cook stove.

Arriving at the lodge, you are greeted by a member of the summer crew. The crew is made up of four young people (usually college students) plus a slightly older person who supervises them. The crew member checks you in and assigns you to a dorm room. Bunks are first-come, first-served.

There are four dorm rooms at JBL. Two with four bunks each and two with ten bunks each, for a total of 28 beds. The beds are a bare mattress (you must bring your own bedding) and a pillow.

In addition to the dorms, there is a main room where lodgers hang out when not on the trails and take meals at communal tables. There is a wood stove, but it is only fired from November through April. There is also a large kitchen where the crew prepares meals for everyone. Everything is made of wood. There is a rustic feel to the whole place.

Each of the ten-bunk rooms has a bathroom with two sinks with running water and a toilet behind a separate door. The flush toilets are gone. It was decided for environmental reasons that it would be better to replace them with pit toilets. Every year, all of the human waste is collected in big plastic barrels and lifted out by helicopter for processing in a local plant. Toilet paper is provided, however. Those in the 4-bunk rooms have to go through the other rooms to visit the facilities.

The grand porch of Johns Brook Lodge is great for basking in the sun durning the day or star-gazing at night.

The lodge has electric lights powered by solar collectors on the roof. However, there are no outlets for lodgers to charge things, nor any wifi. Cellular signal does not reach the lodge. To see the lodge and learn more, check out this fine YouTube tour.

Upon arriving early in the day, Barbara and I were assigned to a ten-bunk room and staked out two lower bunks catty corner to each other. It was a lovely warm day, and we spent the rest of the day until dinner time sitting on the huge porch in (what else?) Adirondack chairs reading and planning our hikes.

With no internet and no cell coverage, your only option is to socialize with the other lodgers. Such accommodations create instant affinity, and within minutes you are chatting away with your fellow travelers as if you had known them all your life.

Dinner was simple but plentiful: vegetarian chili, corn bread, salad, and a very sweet apple cobbler for dessert. At 10 pm, the staff turns out all the lights and if you aren’t already in bed when that happens you will be shortly.

I awoke in the night and went outside to see the stars. The sky was stunning. The moonless night was so filled with so many stars it was nearly impossible to identify the constellations. The Milky Way filled the heavens like so much star dust. There was no human noise. Just the wind in the trees, the crickets, and the brook happily about its journey toward Lake Champlain and the sea. I was loath to return to bed.

Breakfast is served at 7:30 am and is a carb-lovers dream. Pancakes, French toast, oatmeal. Some days there are eggs and treyf meats I can’t eat.

Lunch is a bagged affair, the assumption being that you will be on the trail. You have your choice of a peanut butter and jelly or hummus sandwich or you can have one of each if you think you will eat them. Also, a bag of trail mix and a big cookie.

There is a tap to fill your bottles with potable water and off you go.

On the second day, we returned from our hike at about 4 pm. There are no showers as much as I would have liked one. However, you can take a dip in the very chilly Johns Brook. The brook is fed with snowmelt and rain from high in the mountains, so it is plenty invigorating.

Dinner on the second night was black bean burgers. I wasn’t that crazy about them but there was ketchup, which made it work and the buns, baked on the premises, were delicious. Dessert was a shockingly sweet chocolate tart. We ate everything.

The following day, Barbara decided to relax and chill at the lodge so I did an easy(ish) climb of a mountain called Big Slide that I first did with my dad that September in 1972. The day was fine and blue, and I made good time for me, though I was quickly passed by a family with two teens that were staying at the lodge. The hike, though not terribly long, was challenging enough ascending more than 2,000 feet over 3 miles and requiring some scrambling up some rock faces.

I arrived at the summit just before noon and just in time to see the family that had passed me before they started down. I chatted for a few minutes with another family (a young couple and their mother/mother-in-law) eating my lodge-provided peanut butter and jelly sandwich before they too started down.

After they departed, I sat alone on the bare rock summit gazing out at the group of mountains in the distance known as the “great range.” I thought about my life and all that has happened in the more than 50 years since I had first sat here with my dad. I thought of my own children and how they too have come to love the natural world. I pondered this gift my father and mother earth have given me and wondered if I would ever sit on this spot again.

As I sat, a wind began to blow some large dark clouds in my direction and they began to fill the previously blue sky. It was as if the mountains wanted to remind me that behind the staggering beauty of the “forever wild” lurked danger for those who were overconfident or took their safety for granted.

I am not one of these. When I hike, I carry a map and compass, a GPS device and a phone loaded with maps and a backup power source. I also have raingear, a lamp, a way to make fire, a water filter and water purification tablets. Still, I didn’t linger too much longer once the clouds started rolling in.

I took a different trail down. It was shorter but steeper following a lovely brook most of the way. The brook eventually joins with Johns Brook and leads back to the lodge. I arrived a good hour before the rain started and cleaned up as best I could before dinner. It rained the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. It was cozy in the warm, dry lodge.

Dinner that night was pizza and although it was not as good as mine, it was damn good nonetheless. There was also homemade bread with garlic butter and dessert was a lovely white birthday cake with sprinkles. It was not too sweet and there was a lot of it.

Is Johns Brook Lodge the most beautiful resort in the world? I don’t know. I’m not even sure it is a resort. But, beauty is in the beholder’s eye, and to this beholder it is. True, there are no showers. The toilets are a bit smelly. And the food though tasty would not, I dare say, garner even half of one Michelin star.

Yet the quiet isolation of this place, the fact that it can only be reached under your own steam, the nights absent of human light or noise, and the unquiet majesty of the mountains that surround the valley speak to a kind of splendor that is too rare in our increasingly crowded world. Rare too is the sense of companionship in sharing such a place with a few other kindred souls who love and appreciate it.

The Adirondack Park sees many more visitors each year than it did in 1972. The park saw more than 12 million visitors in 2021. Yet it is still possible to spend a day here and not see another human soul. Most of the 12 million never make it into the back country. Those that do are often in a few popular areas. When you are miles from a paved road on an unmarked herd path, there is still a sense of the wild, of wilderness and yes, of danger.

I am too cynical to be confident that such places will always exist, but I am grateful that I was here while they did. I am even more grateful for the time I spent therein.

Life’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.