e-mail: cedartrailsretreat@yahoo.com
Life is all about BUTTS you're either covering it, laughing it off, kicking it, kissing it, busting it, trying to get a piece of it, or behaving like one ......
SEE YOU AT CEDAR TRAILS!
Following are just a few of the highlights
If you have ever walked the trails and gone to the back corner past the horse fence you reached the overlook. (Overlook Trail, Northeast) You were standing on the west rim of the Meteor Crater. The geologic fault that was created by the impact. The Crater includes The Serpent Mound Natural National Landmark.
Come to Cedar Trails and see for yourself and walk the trails "al-Natural"
The first Annual " AANR World Record Skinny-Dip" setting the count at 13, 648 people simultaneously skinny-dipping across North America for the "Guinness World Record".
Join us again July 10th to make the count higher for the 2nd annual Guinness World Record.
Join us again July 10th to make the count higher for the 2nd annual Guinness World Record.
Everyone has a great time at the
"8" ball pool tournament.
It turned out great!
Congratulation, Ann!
"8" ball pool tournament.
It turned out great!
Congratulation, Ann!
Ann would like to thank everyone for their support of the CT Cafe' this season. She will see next year!
Cedar Trails Cafe' is closed for the season.
Have you ever tried having your spouse feed you ice cream this way? Who can do it the fastest and the winners are?
We can't forget the "Nudely Wed Game" It was a great time again this season.
The "Bill Hoover Annual Hog Roast" is a great success every year and again this season members got up early to get the hog started and thoughout the day continued to add seasoning and check the temperature. Watching over the hog has become a great part of the day.
Everyone has a reason to cook, right?
And the winners are?
The "Bill Hoover Annual Hog Roast" became a favorite along with many great nights of music, dancing, and Karaoke.
Experience Indian Summer with us at Cedar Trails. Fall is a great time to enjoy the fall leaves and an evening in the hot tub. The swimming pool is still open. Cedar Trails closes October 1st.
If the weather remains warm after october 1st give us a call to make a reservation to visit.
If the weather remains warm after october 1st give us a call to make a reservation to visit.
Don't miss out on the last of the season.
If you haven't been here now is the time to give us a try!
Watch this page for "Down Memory Lane" in the upcoming months.
If you haven't been here now is the time to give us a try!
Watch this page for "Down Memory Lane" in the upcoming months.
Most nude vacationers say that what they enjoy most is liberation from the typical pretenses of society. "When you don't have any clothes on, you don't know if someone's a judge or a doctor, or a lawyer or a mechanic," said Larry Massa. "You are what you are."
In order to enjoy the grounds that are naturally so beautiful the three miles of hiking trails were added giving the naturist a view of the Meteor Crater
plus plenty of animal and plant life to enjoy.
plus plenty of animal and plant life to enjoy.
Who will be the new winner of the Chili Cookoff.
A membership to CT was the surprise present as they celebrate their 23rd anniversary. This is just one of the spontaneous events that turn up throughout the summer.
This column appears in the October 19 Body Issue http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=4526351 of ESPN The Magazine.
The meal is just plain awkward. On a gray September Friday, we sit in a western Pennsylvania pizzeria, sharing appetizers and uncomfortable conversation. A bartender, a trainer, a teacher, a college kid and a couple of hack writers -- six disparate souls with little in common except the dawning reality of what is about to come. We are the Breakfast Club, only this is dinner.
"Anybody wanna split that stuffed mushroom?"
"Anybody know where the bathroom is?"
"Anybody ever done this before?"
Not hardly.
A couple of months earlier, one of my editors had called with an assignment. He told me about a wildly competitive volleyball tournament held each September not too far from Pittsburgh at a resort called the White Thorn Lodge. The event has been luring quality athletes from all over the country for 39 years: D1 players, national team members. The comp is of such a high caliber, they call it the Super Bowl of Volleyball. "Anyway," he said, "we want you and Struby to round up a team and write about playing in the thing." (Struby is fellow Mag writer Tim Struby, whom I'd met a few times but knew nothing about other than that he's more than a half-foot shorter than me, used to model and didn't seem the volleyball type.)
"Sweet," I replied. "Sign me up."
"One more thing," the editor said. "White Thorn is a nudist lodge."
Legend has it that nearly 3,000 years ago, a Greek runner named Orsippus won an Olympic race after losing his loincloth. And now I'm being asked to follow his lead, to proudly continue the legitimate if under-the-radar tradition of nude competition. Now, I may never have had a proper nudist experience, but I will admit to being a bit of an exhibitionist. I spent the first couple of years after college working at a Club Med resort, where I was approximately 8 percent clothed during the day -- and even less so at night. But finding four others who are both good at volleyball and willing to take nudism for a spin -- in front of millions of readers, no less -- seemed a nearly impossible task. Making it harder still was a mandate from The Mag to field two female pros (for gender equity's sake).
Against all odds, though, Struby came through, landing a pair of blonde bombers, Carol Hamilton and Michele Rauter, who played at Cal State Dominguez Hills and Wyoming, respectively, before going pro in Europe. Born in Long Beach and raised in San Diego, where she tends bar in the off-season, Carol is no stranger to public nudity, having been more than once to the world-famous Black's Beach in La Jolla. "I've always been very comfortable with my body," says the 6'2" lefty. Ditto Michele, a 5'9" native of Vancouver, B.C., who doubles as a personal trainer and tells me that visiting a nudist camp is on her bucket list.
Pros in pocket, I filled the fifth slot with a friend of a friend: Noah Kaiser, a free-spirited teacher from LA who played outside hitter at Westchester High, looks like Lenny Kravitz and is always down for anything. The final golden ticket went to a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend named Greg Hunter. Greg is a newly-graduated Rutgers setter who spent the summer playing the East Coast beach circuit in a Speedo. Add yours truly, a former regular at the famed Rosecrans courts of Manhattan Beach, and we are a roster of gamers.
I've worked out like a fiend for the two months leading up to the event, so I have no fear of what lies ahead. No inhibitions at all. Or so I think, right up until we get back in our RVs after our get-to-know-you dinner. As we rumble in tandem along State Line Road near Beaver Falls on Friday night, just minutes from our destination, my head suddenly swims with doubts. Exactly when will we have to get naked? Did I work out enough? Should I have trimmed down there? Should I have tanned? Will anyone notice the cluster of freckles on my right butt cheek that looks like a chocolate chip cookie? Will anyone not? Is it too late to get implants?
I'm not the only one with issues either. Carol has her period. Michele has ingrowns from her Brazilian wax. Noah frets about not being circumcised. Greg? He's stressed about having broken up with his college girlfriend the day before. And Tim? Well, he's anxious about playing a sport he doesn't really know how to play.
When we drive through White Thorn's front gate, all of our concerns disappear, replaced by sheer and utter disbelief. An elderly man carrying a clipboard approaches on the driver's side. He wears one of those Day-Glo orange vests that are popular with parking attendant types -- and nothing else. I can't help but gawk at his manhood. Not surprisingly, it looks like every other one I've ever seen. Next to him stands a stout woman with short gray hair. She's in jeans and a burgundy flannel shirt, unbuttoned halfway to reveal two bronzed, sagging breasts in their entirety (I swear I've seen her on HBO's Real Sex). Jeans and a flannel? Yes, it is unseasonably cool for the last week of summer -- temps are in the low 60s -- but still. "We're nudists," the woman says, "but we're not stupid."
Through the trees to the right is a view unlike anything any of us has ever seen: a swirl of naked bodies and volleyball nets, sprinkled with bobbing white balls. It's like one of those computergenerated movie scenes in which the hero lands on another planet and stumbles upon a mass congregation of inhabitants praying to a different god. Or performing some unknown ritual. Or playing nude volleyball. We are in another world.
The planet Naked.
As I shed my threads, I'm not as concerned about how my body looks as I am about the sight of my underpants.
The camp was founded in 1961, back when there was an actual naked volleyball association called the Tri State League, made up of real-deal squads from Penn Sylvan (Pa.), Sunny Heights, (N.J.) and Pine Tree (Md.). The league led to White Thorn's hosting of the inaugural Super Bowl, in 1971. What started with five squads is now a 70-team event. Whatever we might think about naked sports, this is serious naked sports.
We've arrived just in time for the opening ceremony. The evening is crisp, but that doesn't stop the two flag-bearers from performing their duties in full glory. Nor does it stop last year's champions from parading around the clubhouse lawn in nothing but socks and shoes. The team goes by the name Tiki Tomba, and its members look less like nudists and more like athletes. "I thought the volleyball was going to be crappy," says Carol, eyes wide with shock. "But these guys look like players." We find out later that almost all the Tiki Tombas were on the East Stroudsburg University volleyball team.
From the moment we rolled into camp and noticed that the weather had put the clothing back in clothing-optional, we expected not to have to get naked until our match the next morning (Rule No. 1: If you're playing, you're naked). We also expected to be able to practice some before having to show off our goods, so to speak.
But when the opening ceremony wraps, the White Thorn brass asks us to take the court. We've requested a spot in the all-male AA level, the tourney's highest division, but given our estrogen-laced roster, the powers-that-be are dubious that we'll be able to hang with the Tiki Tombas of their world. They're afraid someone will get hurt, maybe take a 110 mph heater square in the face. I tell them these women are pros; if anybody's going to get hurt, it sure as heck won't be one of them. In any case, they want us to face the music. I feel like a pole dancer on amateur night.
Turns out, White Thorn has had trouble keeping the participation of a certain national sports magazine a secret. As we stand beneath an inky sky on the green asphalt of Court 1 -- White Thorn boasts 11 outdoor courts -- the buzz of the lights gives way to the buzz of spectators. Hundreds of bodies that moments earlier weren't there line each side of the playing area. Many are clad (they're nudists, not stupid) and curious. "We're on a stage," says Michele. "Everyone is waiting to judge us."
Sensing we'll chicken out, a topless woman, who had been warming up with others on the other side of the court, crosses under the net, introduces herself and cajoles us into huddling up with her. "We've been dying for you ESPN guys to come," she says. "See all those people? They want to see a game. Just one, just for fun." Then she turns to Carol, who's dressed in sweats and a tank top, and yanks off her shirt. Game on.
Naomi HarrisClockwise from front: Eddie, Noah, Michele, Greg, Carol and Ian rock the socks. (Not pictured: Tim.)
We end up playing not one but two games, in varying degrees of nakedness. Noah, who had conquered his demons as soon as we parked the RVs, plays completely naked. Greg wears shorts. Carol is half-clothed, Michele fully so. "It was freaking cold," she says later. "Plus, I was too concerned with playing well." So am I, which is why I keep my T-shirt and shorts on. But during the first game, all I can think about is an insight shared by a White Thorn vet: When you're around a bunch of naked people and you're the one wearing clothes, you feel like an idiot.
By game's end (we lost), I realize he's right. And as I shed my threads for the second game, I'm not as concerned about how my body looks as I am obsessed by the sight of my underpants. When you anticipate that your skivvies will be on display -- maybe you're headed out for a romantic dinner, or maybe you're Soulja Boy -- you dress accordingly. Preparing for a naked volleyball game isn't one of those times. I hastily yank off my shorts and sagging, moth-eaten daddy briefs in one fell swoop. Out on the court, readying myself for the start of play, I quickly realize how exposed my backside feels. The serve receive position is similar to the classic ready stance of most sports: wide base, knees bent, butt sticking out. Mind you, I'm in the back row, which puts my keister that much closer to the watchers. You know the gem about the sun not shining on a specific spot of the human anatomy? It holds true for me, but only because it's night.
Struby, after surveying the talent on the court, decides to stay on the sideline on account of the whole bump-set-spike thing, although he's not exactly heartbroken about missing the whole nudity thing. "I have no problem getting naked," he says, "but I want to do it when I want to do it, not because everyone else is doing it." Luckily, Ian, a White Thorn regular, is willing to take Tim's spot for the weekend, and Ian has no issue with being au naturel -- not now, not ever. Feeling pretty good, we win the second game.
On Saturday morning, the only thing that has changed is the sky, which has brightened all the way to a deep gray. It is still chilly, and we are still on another planet. Dozens of angular, naked bodies have already flooded the courts to practice. Then there's us, the Breakfast Club, on Court 1, doing hitting lines, fully clothed. "None of us is ready to get naked," says Michele. But by the time the ref (naked) blows the first whistle, we're all rocking birthday suits. As it turns out, it's not unlike rocking a new pair of prescription glasses. At first we're very conscious of the difference, but before long we don't even notice. Everyone else is doing what we're doing, so by definition, it's normal. And playing a very high level of volleyball, we all get caught up in the game. "At first I felt unprotected," Carol says later. "Like, just because I had my clothes off I was going to get hit in the crotch. But after about five minutes, I totally forgot I was naked." Between points is a different story. "That's when I noticed everything," says Michele. "I thought my boobs would hurt from bouncing around, but during the game I didn't even feel them. The only time they bothered me was between plays." What bothers me between plays is not knowing how to interact with my teammates.
Naomi HarrisEddie had no fear of what lay ahead -- until he realized what folks would see from behind.
Part of what makes volleyball a great nudist pastime is that the game itself requires no physical contact. Problem is, no sport features more high-fiving and ass-smacking than six-on-six volleyball. Every single point is a slap-and-tickle fest waiting to happen. When you're clothed, that is. When you're naked, slapping and tickling doesn't come so easily.
But winning overcomes everything, even on planet Naked. Especially on planet Naked. In its all-out party environment, winning is the drug that shatters the ice. In each of our first four games of Saturday's pool play -- all close losses -- our interpoint interaction never goes beyond mild high fives and the occasional fist pound. Although we're comfortable in our own bare skins, a collective self-consciousness infects our side of the net. But in our fifth game, a miraculous, come-from-behind win against a stacked team we have no business beating, all propriety gives way. We are the Ohio State Buckeyes, only instead of stickers on our helmets we have handprints on our butts. Greg, riding a mix of ample rumpus and inspired play, is by far the most decorated among us.
We don't win again, and we'll be eliminated in the first round of Sunday's playoffs, but it doesn't matter. We've gone from strangers who barely know each other to friends who know each other barely. Even Tim gets in on the action. Late Saturday, with another throng watching our final pool-play match (our women make us the Michelle Wie of White Thorn; everywhere we go, a gallery follows), Tim pops up from the sideline, strips down and subs in for a single play so he'll be eligible for the playoffs, just in case. "Until then he was an outcast," says Michele. "After that, he was one of us."
The meal is just plain easy. On a golden Sunday afternoon, hours after our final match, we sit and share roasted corn and belly laughs. A bartender, a trainer, a teacher, a college kid and a couple hack writers. Thrown together by the nudity gods, we are six kindred spirits.
"Can't believe we won only one game."
"Can't believe the handprints on your ass are still there."
"Can't wait to come back next year."
Eddie Matz is a senior writer at ESPN The Magazine.
The meal is just plain awkward. On a gray September Friday, we sit in a western Pennsylvania pizzeria, sharing appetizers and uncomfortable conversation. A bartender, a trainer, a teacher, a college kid and a couple of hack writers -- six disparate souls with little in common except the dawning reality of what is about to come. We are the Breakfast Club, only this is dinner.
"Anybody wanna split that stuffed mushroom?"
"Anybody know where the bathroom is?"
"Anybody ever done this before?"
Not hardly.
A couple of months earlier, one of my editors had called with an assignment. He told me about a wildly competitive volleyball tournament held each September not too far from Pittsburgh at a resort called the White Thorn Lodge. The event has been luring quality athletes from all over the country for 39 years: D1 players, national team members. The comp is of such a high caliber, they call it the Super Bowl of Volleyball. "Anyway," he said, "we want you and Struby to round up a team and write about playing in the thing." (Struby is fellow Mag writer Tim Struby, whom I'd met a few times but knew nothing about other than that he's more than a half-foot shorter than me, used to model and didn't seem the volleyball type.)
"Sweet," I replied. "Sign me up."
"One more thing," the editor said. "White Thorn is a nudist lodge."
Legend has it that nearly 3,000 years ago, a Greek runner named Orsippus won an Olympic race after losing his loincloth. And now I'm being asked to follow his lead, to proudly continue the legitimate if under-the-radar tradition of nude competition. Now, I may never have had a proper nudist experience, but I will admit to being a bit of an exhibitionist. I spent the first couple of years after college working at a Club Med resort, where I was approximately 8 percent clothed during the day -- and even less so at night. But finding four others who are both good at volleyball and willing to take nudism for a spin -- in front of millions of readers, no less -- seemed a nearly impossible task. Making it harder still was a mandate from The Mag to field two female pros (for gender equity's sake).
Against all odds, though, Struby came through, landing a pair of blonde bombers, Carol Hamilton and Michele Rauter, who played at Cal State Dominguez Hills and Wyoming, respectively, before going pro in Europe. Born in Long Beach and raised in San Diego, where she tends bar in the off-season, Carol is no stranger to public nudity, having been more than once to the world-famous Black's Beach in La Jolla. "I've always been very comfortable with my body," says the 6'2" lefty. Ditto Michele, a 5'9" native of Vancouver, B.C., who doubles as a personal trainer and tells me that visiting a nudist camp is on her bucket list.
Pros in pocket, I filled the fifth slot with a friend of a friend: Noah Kaiser, a free-spirited teacher from LA who played outside hitter at Westchester High, looks like Lenny Kravitz and is always down for anything. The final golden ticket went to a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend named Greg Hunter. Greg is a newly-graduated Rutgers setter who spent the summer playing the East Coast beach circuit in a Speedo. Add yours truly, a former regular at the famed Rosecrans courts of Manhattan Beach, and we are a roster of gamers.
I've worked out like a fiend for the two months leading up to the event, so I have no fear of what lies ahead. No inhibitions at all. Or so I think, right up until we get back in our RVs after our get-to-know-you dinner. As we rumble in tandem along State Line Road near Beaver Falls on Friday night, just minutes from our destination, my head suddenly swims with doubts. Exactly when will we have to get naked? Did I work out enough? Should I have trimmed down there? Should I have tanned? Will anyone notice the cluster of freckles on my right butt cheek that looks like a chocolate chip cookie? Will anyone not? Is it too late to get implants?
I'm not the only one with issues either. Carol has her period. Michele has ingrowns from her Brazilian wax. Noah frets about not being circumcised. Greg? He's stressed about having broken up with his college girlfriend the day before. And Tim? Well, he's anxious about playing a sport he doesn't really know how to play.
When we drive through White Thorn's front gate, all of our concerns disappear, replaced by sheer and utter disbelief. An elderly man carrying a clipboard approaches on the driver's side. He wears one of those Day-Glo orange vests that are popular with parking attendant types -- and nothing else. I can't help but gawk at his manhood. Not surprisingly, it looks like every other one I've ever seen. Next to him stands a stout woman with short gray hair. She's in jeans and a burgundy flannel shirt, unbuttoned halfway to reveal two bronzed, sagging breasts in their entirety (I swear I've seen her on HBO's Real Sex). Jeans and a flannel? Yes, it is unseasonably cool for the last week of summer -- temps are in the low 60s -- but still. "We're nudists," the woman says, "but we're not stupid."
Through the trees to the right is a view unlike anything any of us has ever seen: a swirl of naked bodies and volleyball nets, sprinkled with bobbing white balls. It's like one of those computergenerated movie scenes in which the hero lands on another planet and stumbles upon a mass congregation of inhabitants praying to a different god. Or performing some unknown ritual. Or playing nude volleyball. We are in another world.
The planet Naked.
As I shed my threads, I'm not as concerned about how my body looks as I am about the sight of my underpants.
The camp was founded in 1961, back when there was an actual naked volleyball association called the Tri State League, made up of real-deal squads from Penn Sylvan (Pa.), Sunny Heights, (N.J.) and Pine Tree (Md.). The league led to White Thorn's hosting of the inaugural Super Bowl, in 1971. What started with five squads is now a 70-team event. Whatever we might think about naked sports, this is serious naked sports.
We've arrived just in time for the opening ceremony. The evening is crisp, but that doesn't stop the two flag-bearers from performing their duties in full glory. Nor does it stop last year's champions from parading around the clubhouse lawn in nothing but socks and shoes. The team goes by the name Tiki Tomba, and its members look less like nudists and more like athletes. "I thought the volleyball was going to be crappy," says Carol, eyes wide with shock. "But these guys look like players." We find out later that almost all the Tiki Tombas were on the East Stroudsburg University volleyball team.
From the moment we rolled into camp and noticed that the weather had put the clothing back in clothing-optional, we expected not to have to get naked until our match the next morning (Rule No. 1: If you're playing, you're naked). We also expected to be able to practice some before having to show off our goods, so to speak.
But when the opening ceremony wraps, the White Thorn brass asks us to take the court. We've requested a spot in the all-male AA level, the tourney's highest division, but given our estrogen-laced roster, the powers-that-be are dubious that we'll be able to hang with the Tiki Tombas of their world. They're afraid someone will get hurt, maybe take a 110 mph heater square in the face. I tell them these women are pros; if anybody's going to get hurt, it sure as heck won't be one of them. In any case, they want us to face the music. I feel like a pole dancer on amateur night.
Turns out, White Thorn has had trouble keeping the participation of a certain national sports magazine a secret. As we stand beneath an inky sky on the green asphalt of Court 1 -- White Thorn boasts 11 outdoor courts -- the buzz of the lights gives way to the buzz of spectators. Hundreds of bodies that moments earlier weren't there line each side of the playing area. Many are clad (they're nudists, not stupid) and curious. "We're on a stage," says Michele. "Everyone is waiting to judge us."
Sensing we'll chicken out, a topless woman, who had been warming up with others on the other side of the court, crosses under the net, introduces herself and cajoles us into huddling up with her. "We've been dying for you ESPN guys to come," she says. "See all those people? They want to see a game. Just one, just for fun." Then she turns to Carol, who's dressed in sweats and a tank top, and yanks off her shirt. Game on.
Naomi HarrisClockwise from front: Eddie, Noah, Michele, Greg, Carol and Ian rock the socks. (Not pictured: Tim.)
We end up playing not one but two games, in varying degrees of nakedness. Noah, who had conquered his demons as soon as we parked the RVs, plays completely naked. Greg wears shorts. Carol is half-clothed, Michele fully so. "It was freaking cold," she says later. "Plus, I was too concerned with playing well." So am I, which is why I keep my T-shirt and shorts on. But during the first game, all I can think about is an insight shared by a White Thorn vet: When you're around a bunch of naked people and you're the one wearing clothes, you feel like an idiot.
By game's end (we lost), I realize he's right. And as I shed my threads for the second game, I'm not as concerned about how my body looks as I am obsessed by the sight of my underpants. When you anticipate that your skivvies will be on display -- maybe you're headed out for a romantic dinner, or maybe you're Soulja Boy -- you dress accordingly. Preparing for a naked volleyball game isn't one of those times. I hastily yank off my shorts and sagging, moth-eaten daddy briefs in one fell swoop. Out on the court, readying myself for the start of play, I quickly realize how exposed my backside feels. The serve receive position is similar to the classic ready stance of most sports: wide base, knees bent, butt sticking out. Mind you, I'm in the back row, which puts my keister that much closer to the watchers. You know the gem about the sun not shining on a specific spot of the human anatomy? It holds true for me, but only because it's night.
Struby, after surveying the talent on the court, decides to stay on the sideline on account of the whole bump-set-spike thing, although he's not exactly heartbroken about missing the whole nudity thing. "I have no problem getting naked," he says, "but I want to do it when I want to do it, not because everyone else is doing it." Luckily, Ian, a White Thorn regular, is willing to take Tim's spot for the weekend, and Ian has no issue with being au naturel -- not now, not ever. Feeling pretty good, we win the second game.
On Saturday morning, the only thing that has changed is the sky, which has brightened all the way to a deep gray. It is still chilly, and we are still on another planet. Dozens of angular, naked bodies have already flooded the courts to practice. Then there's us, the Breakfast Club, on Court 1, doing hitting lines, fully clothed. "None of us is ready to get naked," says Michele. But by the time the ref (naked) blows the first whistle, we're all rocking birthday suits. As it turns out, it's not unlike rocking a new pair of prescription glasses. At first we're very conscious of the difference, but before long we don't even notice. Everyone else is doing what we're doing, so by definition, it's normal. And playing a very high level of volleyball, we all get caught up in the game. "At first I felt unprotected," Carol says later. "Like, just because I had my clothes off I was going to get hit in the crotch. But after about five minutes, I totally forgot I was naked." Between points is a different story. "That's when I noticed everything," says Michele. "I thought my boobs would hurt from bouncing around, but during the game I didn't even feel them. The only time they bothered me was between plays." What bothers me between plays is not knowing how to interact with my teammates.
Naomi HarrisEddie had no fear of what lay ahead -- until he realized what folks would see from behind.
Part of what makes volleyball a great nudist pastime is that the game itself requires no physical contact. Problem is, no sport features more high-fiving and ass-smacking than six-on-six volleyball. Every single point is a slap-and-tickle fest waiting to happen. When you're clothed, that is. When you're naked, slapping and tickling doesn't come so easily.
But winning overcomes everything, even on planet Naked. Especially on planet Naked. In its all-out party environment, winning is the drug that shatters the ice. In each of our first four games of Saturday's pool play -- all close losses -- our interpoint interaction never goes beyond mild high fives and the occasional fist pound. Although we're comfortable in our own bare skins, a collective self-consciousness infects our side of the net. But in our fifth game, a miraculous, come-from-behind win against a stacked team we have no business beating, all propriety gives way. We are the Ohio State Buckeyes, only instead of stickers on our helmets we have handprints on our butts. Greg, riding a mix of ample rumpus and inspired play, is by far the most decorated among us.
We don't win again, and we'll be eliminated in the first round of Sunday's playoffs, but it doesn't matter. We've gone from strangers who barely know each other to friends who know each other barely. Even Tim gets in on the action. Late Saturday, with another throng watching our final pool-play match (our women make us the Michelle Wie of White Thorn; everywhere we go, a gallery follows), Tim pops up from the sideline, strips down and subs in for a single play so he'll be eligible for the playoffs, just in case. "Until then he was an outcast," says Michele. "After that, he was one of us."
The meal is just plain easy. On a golden Sunday afternoon, hours after our final match, we sit and share roasted corn and belly laughs. A bartender, a trainer, a teacher, a college kid and a couple hack writers. Thrown together by the nudity gods, we are six kindred spirits.
"Can't believe we won only one game."
"Can't believe the handprints on your ass are still there."
"Can't wait to come back next year."
Eddie Matz is a senior writer at ESPN The Magazine.
At Cedar Trails 1st Timers are always welcome! We take the time to help you get started.
We are the friendliest club around.
We are the friendliest club around.
Everyone is welcome at Cedar Trails near Cincinnati, Ohio, Northen Kentucdy and West Verginia
Sorry, we are closed for the winter season.
See you in May!
See you in May!
Have a great day
Everyone is welcome at Cedar Trails near Cincinnati, Ohio, Northen Kentucdy and West Verginia
I have had many requests for information on the Meteor Crater of which Cedar Trails sits on the rim and is visible from the hiking trails.
The following information is from the Adams County Travel and Visitors Bureau along with the the publication "Country Living" February 2008
The following information is from the Adams County Travel and Visitors Bureau along with the the publication "Country Living" February 2008
A meteor hit Adams County and left a six-mile-wide crater -
300 million years ago.
Mark T. Baranoske is a Geologist with the Ohio Division of Geologic Survey in Columbus. He was the lead scientist on a project designed to determine the origin of an anomaly in the rocks covering a rough circle six miles across in Highland and Pike Counties, but mostly in Adams County. The first to discover the huge feature was as early as the 1830's and was called a "sunken mountain". 300 million years ago.
Geologic Survey scientists spent years researching the subsurface geology of what has commonly been called the Serpent Mound cryptoexplosion, or the cryptovulcano site. The Native American effigy site has nothing directly to do with the geologic event of astral origin with the new scientific findings.
You can visit and still see the remnants of this earth shattering event. There are several places where parts of the crater are still visible and apparent to the eye, once you know what to look for. You will enter the crater along ST 73 between Locust Grove and Louden (Cedar Trails Nudist Retreat) you will enter the crater (traveling west on SR 73) once you pass Seaman Road and exit the crater as you approach Louden Road - an area which includes Serpent Mound State Memorial. Because the famous ancient earthwork lies inside the crater, the area was Federally-designated the Serpent Mound Crypto-explosion natural national landmark.
The meteor crater was given this special federal designation by the Department of the Interior because it is considered a "nationally significant natural area" and is only one of 23 such designations in the state of Ohio, and one of only 587 designations nationally.
Adams County also has additional Natural National Landmark area: Buzzardroost Rock-Lynx Prairie and The Wilderness. Another nearby Natural National Landmark located just north of the crater is the Fort Hill State Memorial designated such in December 1974.
The meteor crater was originally given the title of "crypto-explosion" because geologists originally did not know what the origin of the strange geologic feature was. But, in 2005, an international team of geologists and geophysicists, announced the findings of conclusive evidence from the meteor impact. The researchers revealed that, after analyzing dozens of core samples that were collected throughout the crater area, there was a layer of iridium crystals at approximately 1,412 ft below the ground which formed as a result of the tremendous heat generated in the meteor's impact. They also found microscopic cracks in quartz similar to what has been found at nuclear bomb explosion sites, as well as find "shatter cones" - rock fragments left after the explosive impact occurred.
You can see some of these "shatter cones" fragments on display at the House of Phacops rock and fossil shop located at the intersection of SR 41 and SR 73 just outside the crater. The best place to view the crater (from the inside) is at Serpent Mound State Memorial, where if you look to the south from the parking lot - the ridge you see in the distance is the rim of the crater itself. There are displays about the crater at the museum there. You can also see some evidence of the force of the impact if you drive north from SR 73 on ELMVILLE ROAD, as you are coming to Cedar Trails nudist Retreat, just before you reach the Brush Creek Bridge, look to your right in the farm field-the 10-15 foot ledge running east/west is a significant geologic fault that was created by the impact.
Much of the area for viewing the crater is on private land such as: Cedar Trails Nudist Retreat which has hiking trails to take you to the rim of the crater. The north/west side of the Cedar Trails Property sits right on the ridge and is visible for viewing. There is also a lookout point that allows view of the other side of the rim in a distance.
Maybe the Mound Builders put their effigy there, moved simply by its beauty. It is pretty enough after all. It is well worth coming to see.
If you know where to look you can still see the remnants of the crater.
A few highlights of the season!
David is the trail master for Cedar Trails. He has spent many hours along with Fred to maintain and improve the hiking trails for everyone to enjoy.
Our thanks go out to him.
His new project is to make the trails easier to traverse by building bridges across some areas. He has completed two and did a great job. He is asking for donations to help him complete the additional bridges planned. For next season is working on an activity using the trails as a fundraiser with the proceeds going to the bridge project.
Our thanks go out to him.
His new project is to make the trails easier to traverse by building bridges across some areas. He has completed two and did a great job. He is asking for donations to help him complete the additional bridges planned. For next season is working on an activity using the trails as a fundraiser with the proceeds going to the bridge project.
A few moments of quit meditation taken by the pond.
Cedar Trails special fireworks on the
4th of July.
Have you ever seen this kind?
4th of July.
Have you ever seen this kind?
Cedar Trails skinny dip even though AANR did not have this event this season.
Brenda and Herman opening the Time Capsule
watch for more pictures on the newsletter to come
The judges deciding
the winner---
the winner---
and the winner is-----Steve.
Good food, good hot tubing, and a good fire and conversaytion. Great time at the Chili Cook-off!
Second bridge completed by David this winter.
It even has a sitting bench!
It even has a sitting bench!
Hope you are surviving the winter and look forward to seeing you in May.
First bridge completed
Marking the trails for Gulfcart use
One of the favorite events that has become a tradition is the Nedly Wed Game. Each year it gets better and this year it started with a parade to bring the couples to the game.