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Time of the End of the Season Part VII
Time of the End of the Season Part VII
By Bob Hodge
Bob Hodge grew up in Lowell and went on to graduate from Lowell High (1973) and University of Lowell (1990). He was (and still is) one the greatest runners to come out of this region. He’s also a writer whose 2020 memoir, Tale of the Times: A Runner’s Story, is available at lala books in downtown Lowell and in Kindle format from Amazon. The following is an excerpt from his novel-in-progress.
Already published:
Time episode 1
Time episode 2
Time episode 3
Time episode 5
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London Calling
I had a little nest egg so I bought a tent. After a few days sitting around plotting out my plan I packed up my rucksack while everyone was out and left them a note and then I hit the road hobo Willy again.
I got down the road a piece and stuck out my thumb. I headed for the Great Smoky Mountains for some forest bathing.
The memories weigh and come, go and sometimes overwhelm.
I awake disoriented in my little tent in the White Mountain National Forest of NH remembering my long hike through the Smokies with Jared the “Mississippi Mule.”
All those years ago.
I had caught a couple of quick short rides that left me stranded and then I walked along with my thumb out worried the State Police might hassle me. In the late afternoon after I had walked for an hour or so a beat up pick up stopped and a friendly face peered out.
“You headed for the Smokies?” “Yup.”
“We should be there by sundown if Nellie here don’t get too cranky.” “I am Josh, I am meeting my brother Jared who started at Springer and is hiking the AT.”
“I’m Willy, been down in Atlanta just looking for a little escape for a week or so hiking and camping.”
Josh was bringing Jared supplies and camping out at Fontana Dam where Jared would continue his hike through the Great Smokies. I figured I would do the same.
When we were nearly there Josh said, “Just so you know, Jared ain’t much of a talker. Guess I ain’t neither.” We found Jared sitting at the entrance to the campground and then drove around looking for a site. I set up my camp and made a fire and sat down for a bowl of soup and some crackers.
I was feeling at peace with myself. I didn’t even think about going for a run and decided right then to hike the AT through the Smokies for a week and think things through. Hiking close to twenty a day will keep me fit and clear my head.
As I was about to hit the hay Josh came over with a few beers and offered me one. I laughed when I saw it was the same “skunk piss” I drank. “Jared is taking off early around 5 A.M. and he is pretty tired so he is asleep. I’m going to hike with him for a few hours and then head back here and back to Georgia.”
“I appreciate the ride and the beer, I may see you in the morning or out on the trail. I am planning to go the entire trail seventy miles over the next week or less.”
I hit the hay but couldn’t get to sleep right away thinking about the last phone call with my Dad who had been contacted by some meet promoters and AAU officials regarding my invitation to run a big mile race in London the first week in August.
I knew that some thought that my 3:55 mile I had run was a fluke and I doubted myself as a miler but since my reputation as a racer could not get any worse I was thinking “what have I got to lose? Go to London town, see what you got.”
Fact was if I ran like Sal thought I should instead of the reckless abandon I had in that race, I would be a 3:59-4:00 miler and never would have got to 3:55.
Nationals were different and maybe Sal had been right, a ten k in the heat was a different animal.
I awoke with the sun in my eyes and knew it must be close to mid-morning. I slugged down some water and a few slices of bread while I quickly packed up my gear. From the time I first opened my eyes to hitting the trail was about twenty minutes.
If Josh and Jared hit the trail at 5 A.M. They were four hours ahead of me but I would likely see Josh on his return trip.
I walked slowly at first limbering up then began steady climbing and as my heartrate rose so did my pace and my mind and body clicked into a solid groove in this for the long haul. I passed some hikers taking a break and they were eating hard boiled eggs and man they looked delicious and I wondered if I had brought enough real food.
I would be surviving on peanut butter, chocolate, cookies, apples and soup.
Josh came down the trail toward me in the early afternoon. “Jared is heading for Mollies Ridge Shelter that is eleven miles from Fontana, I guess you’d be about half way there.” “Thanks, that is my goal for today if I can make it by dark, I did not bring a light.”
Josh handed me a flashlight. “You can have this, I won’t need it today.”
I stopped once late afternoon to eat and rest and then pushed on. I knew I was approaching Mollies when I saw the light of a fire and smelled the smoke, I had been on the trail for ten hours. But I wasn’t prepared for the scene I was about to witness.
As I approached I could see people dancing wildly around the fire chanting and banging on pots and pans, like a scene from “Lord of the Flies” I was passed a bottle of whiskey by a guy who was chewing tobacco. No thanks.
Someone else passed me a fresh bottle so I took a tug and took them all in, a motley crew. Jared came over and introduced himself. “Will, they will all be in their bags asleep shortly, a bunch of peckerwoods.” “Me too, that was a long day. I’m going to get set up yonder and come back here and heat up my soup.”
One by one they scattered off to sleep and I sipped my soup by the fire. It became deafeningly quiet and the night sky brilliant with stars. I thought about Annie, the fire plug would probably be worried about me and it was a good feeling knowing someone gave a shit.
The next morning, I awoke late again around mid-morning, everyone who was there the night before was gone. I would follow this routine for the next five days where I would get a late start and then come upon the wild scene after dark at the next shelter when I arrived. Someone nicknamed me “two-step” but I never figured out why.
I met two women hiking together, at first, they seemed kind of leery of me but at the next shelter we camped out close to each other and shared some food. Sadie was from Vermont Connecticut River Valley and Mary Jo was from North Carolina. I told them of my adventures over the last six months or so but I’m not sure if they believed me.
Sadie said, “Well Willy, you just snub your nose at everything and everybody, don’t you?” “Well, that’s a harsh girlie, you don’t even know me.” We went on like this for a while before I realized the girl was flirting with me.
I hit the hay early and planned to go all the way to Hot Springs the next day, the end of the line. I was anxious to get back to my running routine. In the morning I slept late again and Sadie and Mary Jo were gone so I hit the trail alone.
I arrived in Hot Springs after dark and debated whether to spend the money for a hotel. I found a little dive hotel and crashed after eating several fast food burgers.
I watched a ball game on television and read the local newspapers. In the morning I would call Pete in NYC and hitchhike to Gatlinburg to catch a bus. My future plans are still evolving just as I like it.
Wild and crazy dreams again getting older no one told me I would have to re-live everything, all the trauma and joy every time I closed my eyes at night.
My old coach with the Beantown Bombers I will never forget our first meeting he just called me 355. “Hey hotshot you think we’re buying that 3:55 mile you ran at the rinky-dink palace track meet in southern east bumfuck?”
I arose early unlike out on the trail and I took in my surroundings. I went for my first run in over a week an easy hour and I felt pretty good, just a bit sore in spots and weary. I took a quick shower and then headed to the coffee shop for the lumberjack breakfast. The pretty waitress asked me if I was a thru hiker and I said
“Ya, I’m all through hiking and heading for NYC.”
I hit the road and stuck out my thumb and right off the bat a VW Bug pulled over and Sadie from the trail a few days ago sticks her head out, “If it ain’t Willy our old friend.”
Somehow, I got squeezed into the back seat amongst all the hiking gear. We talked over the last few days experiences and then Mary Jo said, “Hey Willy, when you need to be in New York because we have decided to head to Vermont but we are planning to go to the coast and hit a few beaches and other sites on the way.”
“I’m in. I just need to be able to run as we travel.”
I called Pete in New York with my revised plan and told him I had accepted the invitation to run in London three weeks from now. “That’s great Willy, got news as well, I got married.”
Sadie and MJ were smart cookies learned college students and they talked non stop so it was hard for me to keep up but sounded interesting like “hey, maybe you do learn some things in those there ivory towers of higher ed.”
They were also sexy and beautiful, about as different in appearance as two women could be but definitely stimulating in their little shorts and t-shirts. I was hoping they packed their bikinis. I managed to get stretched out a bit in the back seat. We were headed for the Chesapeake Bay about five hundred miles.
We would spend a day resting up and enjoying the beach before leaving the following day for Atlantic City and then on to New York.
We stopped in the late afternoon in West Virginia and I went for a run. Sadie started out running with me and I was shocked that she had no problem running five miles at a decent pace, I mean I almost started to push it just to see what she got.
I confessed to the girls my apprehension about competing against the top milers in the world as an unproven kid. Sadie said, “Willy, I can’t believe what you have gone through trying to reach your potential as a runner, man you like a hound dog and once you get the scent you sure gonna stay after it.”
Why not? All of life is a gamble.
Hitch a ride
American Poet Carol Frost: The Lowell Connection
In the August issue of The Atlantic magazine, Carol Frost has a short poem about being alive titled “The Scrubbed and Simple Moon,” which is a big deal because the magazine typically publishes one poem per issue. Twelve poems a year. I’m sure the poetry editor gets thousands of compositions submitted for consideration each year. Kudos to her. A great get, as they say in tennis and pickleball.
Poet Carol Frost was born in Lowell in 1948. She is not often mentioned locally when the subject turns to writers connected to the city. So it is worth noting that she has roots in Lowell. She posts on Facebook occasionally, and today put up a link to a new interview she did with Sean Singer on his Substack newsletter. Here’s the link for readers who want to know more about her.
And here’s her listing on the website of the Poetry Foundation based in Chicago. Click this link for more information.
Carol Frost has had a distinguished career as a writer and teacher. I don’t know a lot about her life in Lowell or after, beyond what has been reported in short profiles online. I never heard that she has a connection to Robert Frost, who also has roots in the Merrimack River Valley—Lawrence. The Shenandoah Literary Magazine website has this information: ” . . . as a child she spent a year in her mother’s hometown of Vienna, so German was the first language she spoke. She studied at the Sorbonne and earned degrees from the State University of New York at Oneonta and Syracuse University.”
Maybe the authorities in the Lowell cultural sector would think about inviting her to read her poems in the city and talk about her literary life. When was the last time she was in the city? If she sees this post, maybe she can let people know.
She lives in Florida where she teaches at Rollins College. Here’s the link to her website.
All Aboard!
All Aboard!
By Leo Racicot
Our mother never learned how to drive. As she told it, the first time her Lowell High School driving instructor took her out on the road, she drove straight into a ditch and said, “Never again!”
As a single girl, she worked at Abbott Worsted in Forge Village, a section of Westford. Curious one day as to how she got to work if she didn’t have a car, I asked and she said, “I took the trolley.” I knew Lowell had had its own trolley system but until then never realized it took riders out-of-town to the suburbs.
Before the coming of electric cars, people wanting to get around did so either on foot or by horse-drawn carts and buggies. Horses used for transportation created no end of problems for large cities; for one thing, they deposited pounds of waste per day on city streets causing messes as well as health threats to the public. The lifespan of workhorses was brief; often the animal would collapse en route and be left in the road for days before being moved; yet another health risk.
A more efficient, sanitary solution was needed. At the end of the 19th century, the newly-invented electric trolley came on-the-scene and was immediately embraced by commuters.
Trolleys not only served Lowell Proper but extended out to the countryside, to Dracut and Westford (how Ma was able to get to work). One line took passengers as far as Southern NH and Canobie Lake for people seeking weekend escape.
The electric trolleys thrived until the 1930s when they were replaced by automobiles and buses.
You can see replicas of the old trolleys on display throughout present-day Lowell. Some even take visitors on short rides so they’re able to experience what it felt like to ride these open-air wonders of transportation history. On weekends, The National Streetcar Museum at 25 Shattuck Street, across from the Lowell National Park Visitors Center, opens for tours on Saturdays and Sundays, 11 am to 4 pm Here, guests can view restored trolley cars and learn about their history and importance.
When we were kids, my friends and I made a game of trying to find trolley track remnants which could still be seen here-and-there around town, especially in the Middle Street area. I remember for years the remains of one piece of track was visible right on Fletcher Street just outside our home.
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Trolley Replica in Downtown Lowell
Trolley conductor portion of a mural
National Streetcar Museum on Shattuck St in Lowell
Horse-drawn carriage in 1899
Electric Street Railway model on Shattuck Street in Lowell
Downtown Lowell trolley cars in 1930
Abbott Worsted Factory in Forge Village
Remnant of trolley track on Middle St
Seen & Heard: Vol. 29
A weekly report on things I’ve read, heard and seen since last Wednesday.
Article: “Could Massachusetts become the first state to repeal legalized marijuana?” by Bryan Hecht, Boston Globe, July 6, 2026. It looks like this November there will be a ballot question asking voters to repeal the ballot question that made selling pot legal in Massachusetts. This article talks about some of the consequences if it passes such as lost tax revenue, marijuana businesses closing, etc. I voted for the repeal several years ago on the grounds that marijuana use was all around us so it might as well be permitted and regulated. I’m not sure how I will vote this year. The primary cause of my skepticism is this: Every day I take my dog for a walk along Pine Street. The number of cars that pass us trailing a plume of marijuana smoke and its distinctive smell is beyond belief. How can the drivers of these cars not be impaired? This article does reveal that the prime movers behind the repeal effort are Republican Party operatives which does cause me pause in allying myself with their efforts. Still, I’ll pay close attention to whatever is written or said on this issue because I’m definitely in the persuadable camp.
Book: The Reshaping of Everyday Life: 1790-1840 by Jack Larkin (1989). I spotted a Kindle version of this book for $1.99 so purchased it, mostly because the period covered spanned the founding and early decades of Lowell. When the book was written, the author was the chief historian at Sturbridge Village which was an important validator of his expertise in this area. The book provides a practical explanation of almost every area of life including typical working conditions, schooling, travel and transportation, simple pleasures and entertainment, sex and marriage and family customs, and housing arrangements. The book was packed with details, so much so that it was challenging to remember details, however, the book’s value was mostly atmospheric, giving a good feel for life. The other thing that stood out was how much everything changed over the fifty years covered. It left me wondering if the pace of change over the past 50 years was equally drastic in the evolution of everyday life today.
Article –‘Systemic failure’: Crash that killed Boston transit planner sparks furor over road safety efforts” by Diti Kohli, et al. Boston Globe, July 10, 2026. 36 year old Louisa Gag was a city of Boston transportation planner who was also a bicycle safety advocate. While cycling to work on July 9, she was struck and killed by a motor vehicle on Tremont Street in Boston. Her death sparked outrage among advocates of bicycling and walking since the location of her death had long been identified as a hazardous stretch of road. The fact that nothing had been done was just further evidence that even a progressive city like Boston puts a higher value on convenience for those driving motor vehicles than it does on those riding bicycles or walking.
Article: “A smoky haze gives skies an eerie tint.” by Ken Mahan, Boston Globe, July 15, 2026. On Tuesday, July 14, I woke to TV weather forecasters predicting a 100 degree day. In the morning, I walked the dog early but it didn’t feel that warm. After lunch I went out to the porch and it was pleasant weather-wise: not too hot with a nice breeze. But there was an odd tint to the sky, almost like a storm was imminent. My weather app showed a 0 percent chance of rain with not a cloud in the sky. Yet on the porch, the sun was invisible (which kept the temperature down). At some point, it occurred to me this was smoke from wild fires. I hadn’t heard that in the news but it had happened last year and was memorable, probably because I don’t ever remember anything like it previously. On Wednesday, this story and all other New England news outlets talked extensively about the smoke.
Obituary: “Sam Neill, Leading Man Who Could Play Everyman, Dies at 78” by Natash Frost, et al, New York Times, July 14, 2026 – Best known for his role in the Jurassic Park movie franchise, Sam Neill was born in Northern Ireland but moved to New Zealand when he was 7 and remained there the rest of his life. Through his career, he appeared in many notable films including The Hunt for Red October, but I always knew him from the British TV show, “Reilly, Ace of Spies” which appeared on WGBH-TV (Channel 2) in Boston and on other PBS stations in early 1984 as part of the Mystery TV series. Neill portrayed Sidney Reilly, a real-life spy of the British secret service in the early 20th century. Reilly, who was born Sigmund Rosenblum in Odessa), was considered the first modern “super-spy”. Among his exploits were stealing heavily guarded German naval blueprints, infiltrating the German General staff during World War I, and nearly pulling off a coupe that would have deposed Vladimir Lenin in Russia in 1918. I believe the show is available for viewing on BritBox and on the PBS Passport app.