Closing the Loop and Starting Anew

 

Amazing spring bloom in Grand Teton NP.

Amazing spring bloom in Grand Teton NP. (Click to expand. Mo betta!)

We humans love to celebrate and formally close chapters of our lives. Loose threads, relationships ending and open books need to be tied up and closed with graduations, parties and awesome drunken nights jumping off bridges into rivers. (You know who you are!) New adventures invigorate us, yet tying up a thread of the past in a neat knot is extremely satisfying. The infinity symbol, ∞, always starts anew, the mobius strip woven back to the beginning. This article is a brief reflection on our time traveling in the van from November through June, a chapter we recently closed, for the time being at least.

Tomorrow will mark eight months since we rented our house, packed our van and lit out on the open road. Our first stop was to drop off our cat Oliver at C’s parents’ up in Idaho, followed by a big, wandering loop south, east and back to the homestead just in time for my 32nd birthday. Eight years ago, I spent my birthday exploring the Kremlin in Moscow, Russia with my brother Finn. In June, for the first time in over a decade, I celebrated it in Moscow, Idaho with my family around a big table in my parents’ dining room with giant cottonwood trees framing the view. Looking back at the arc of those intervening years, it is amazing how we end up where we do! I’m exceptionally grateful to have the life I do, and even with the hard work to get here, I also realize how lucky I am.

 

A full moon rises over Yellowstone.

A full moon rises over Yellowstone.

Next up is the bike tour, another leg in the journey that will eventually loop us back somehow, logistics TBD! The first loop added eight thousand miles to the van’s odometer and baked a cake of hundreds of memories mixed with dozens of new friends, all iced with beautiful landscapes to serve up one fantastic journey. Who knows how many miles our bikes will see before we return to the comfort of the Sprinter van?

As Steinbeck said, “We find that after years of struggle we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” The initial goal of our “winter escape” was to explore the California coast and get close to nature, with lots of mountain biking and hiking. Check mark next to that…and so much more. The journey (obviously) continues!

Cruising farmland in eastern Washington, somewhere near a little town called Farmington.

Bike tour, day 1! Cruising farmland in eastern Washington, somewhere near a little town called Farmington.

Traveling always breaks loose blockages within me and free up creative flows. I hadn’t written creatively for almost seven years prior to departing Portland and now can’t seem to stop words from tumbling forth. I think of travel in pre-computer days when people just disappeared over the horizon with promises to call on holidays over a crackly line or send a postcard from afar. It’s so different now, with WiFi available everywhere and cell phones linking us to the world. Still, disconnecting from a place physically stimulates a confidence in me, a seething wanderlust, to pursue goals I’ve only dreamed about. Momentum is a powerful force and we’ve been flying downhill with the wind at our back since November.

How has this trip changed me? I feel my brain rewiring priorities daily as distractions and maintenance items like fixing a porch disappeared and made room for creativity and time in nature, which leads to my mind spinning as fast as the wheels on my bike. I’ve always felt tied down by possessions and now I’m also realizing that I can’t do all the activities or hobbies I identified with in the past without sacrificing true competency. Expectations for who I should be or how I should live my life that don’t ring true any longer? Time to jettison those over the starboard side pronto presto.

SONY DSC

Chelsea showing her signature style in Yellowstone.

I’m learning that the threads of judgment other people levy upon us are merely constructs of our own mind and we can choose to not be controlled by them. Powerful forces, for sure, yet our reaction to them imbues their fiery power. I’m trying to operate from a place of courage rooted in self-confidence instead of obligation to anything or anyone. It’s difficult, and I’m by no means perfect, yet clipping restraining strings one by one lets me pivot and wheel about to seek my North Star.

There’s still a little voice inside me questioning, “Hey, why are you traveling? Do something to help the world!” I guess I’m no different than most people in that I need a mission and want to be of service in a positive way. I’m considering this a sabbatical that I’ve earned, yet dealing with that internal questioning while also acknowledging that traveling is exactly what I want to be doing at this moment is a balancing act that I’ll probably struggle with for the rest of my life. In some respect, I think we all toss and turn over the best use of our limited time on this planet. So many factors tied to “best” – for us, for other people, for the environment.

For now, I’m going to continue to explore the world and share what I find. I’ve always wanted to use the syrupy cliche phrase “This road trip called life” and it’s starting to feel accurate for our existence. Where does one trip and another end if we’re on the road the entire time in an untethered ship? As this trip continues to unfold a day at a time, it’s a giant wave of nostalgia and dreams that we are lucky enough to be surfing. Who knows where this section of the infinity loop will take us or how we will change, or where we’ll cross through and return in some fashion, physically or mentally, to the beginning.

Onward we go,

Dakota

P.S. More photos from Grand Teton/Yellowstone coming soon. Didn’t want to bury you all at once!

A slow-moving section through Grand Teton NP where all the animals congregate.

A slow-moving section through Grand Teton NP where all the animals congregate.

Moments before rolling out the driveway toward Maine.

Moments before rolling out the driveway toward Maine.

Away We Spin Into the Unknown

A sunset ride in Capital Reef National Park.

A sunset ride in Capital Reef National Park.

It’s easy to do something that turns you into the Cheshire Cat of Glee. Everyone has that activity that lights up their soul and makes them smile ear-to-ear. Recently, mountain biking the best trails in the west does that for me, rolling up to a trailhead in the van and careening off into the distance eyes aglow. During the last eight months, I’ve had some of the most content moments of my life ripping along twisty trails or halfway through a ride eating lunch with a splendid vista.

And now, gears are shifting. We are parking the van at Chelsea’s parents’ near Moscow, Idaho and depart in two days on the next phase of our adventure: biking 4,500 miles cross-country to Maine! We’re embarking with just our touring bikes, a tent and other camping gear for an unsupported trek that will take us along the Canadian border. We’ll pedal north through eastern Washington, then turn east to cross Idaho, Montana, the Great Plains and Great Lakes, then meander all the way to Bar Harbor, Maine (Acadia National Park).

Waiiiit a second Dakota, you’re thinking. Why the HECK are you trading the fun of mountain biking for cruising slowly along on a loaded touring bike all the way across the country this summer? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! You’re the guy in a van, don’t change things up on us. Not fair!

Pretending I know how to ride in Fruita, Colorado. GO here.

Pretending I know how to ride in Fruita, Colorado. GO here.

Frankly, life being so good is exactly why I’m down for a new course. As I’ve alluded to in past writing, anything great will eventually grow stale without introducing new challenge to the mix. Whether that’s a shift in careers, a fresh hobby or a challenge like this one (totally Chelsea’s idea, by the way), leaning into the unknown creates that adrenaline-fueled excitement. Everything and everyone has New Relationship Energy when you’re just getting started.

What to expect of the ride? Neither of us has toured longer than five days straight! Thousands of miles is a LONG way to ride a bicycle, and my mind, body, soul and relationship will be tested along the way. Even at 50 miles a day, 4,500 miles is three months straight pedaling up mountains, across plains and through forests hauling all our gear. And the bad stuff! What if we get hit by a drunk oil truck driver in North Dakota? What if bears eat our food, then our bikes and tents with us inside? What if this is the hottest, craziest tornado summer of the last 100 years?! A bike helmet doesn’t save you when a giant Walmart truck drops from the sky.

Cruising the bike-only path (20 miles!) in Grand Teton National Park. Best backdrop for a ride I've seen on this trip.

Cruising the bike-only path (20 miles!) in Grand Teton National Park. Best backdrop for a ride I’ve seen on this trip.

Ohhhh, the bad stuff, that indistinct terror of the unknown. Often, we fear anything new, jumping to the worst case in our mind first instead of the best case. Think of anytime you’ve told family and friends about a big undertaking. A few will celebrate the new journey – “wow, that’s amazing!” And the majority will dig through every anecdote and news story that they’ve ever encountered to offer words of warning. “My cousin Rick tried that and barely survived,” or “My buddy’s uncle’s co-worker just sits in a corner staring blankly after a trip like yours.”

I can’t imagine what early settler’s heard from their safety-minded friends. I’m exaggerating…but you know what I’m saying. Everyone in your life cares about keeping you safe and away from harm and often the first response is one of concern and cautionary tales, however far-fetched. Rather than “have fun!” it’s “be safe.” Perhaps it stems from bygone days when our ancestors could only pass down wisdom via stories, and so warnings like that literally could save lives. “Thag, you steer clear of those TrampleYourAssasauruses in the summer, your uncle SlagHeap was mashed by one.”

Well, I have news. These days, life is safe! We in developed countries live in a world so ridiculously luxurious that people run 100 miles for fun and can fly (safely) around the planet on a whim for an insanely low price relative to bygone days. A hailstorm or flat tire in the middle of nowhere is a test, yet certainly not the end of our existence.

Cruising the most-excellent trail in Dixie Canyon near Bryce Canyon National Park.

Cruising the excellent car-free trail in Dixie Canyon near Bryce Canyon National Park.

None of this is to say that I’m tough. I’m totally leery of the negative things that could happen; they crop up in my mind on an hourly basis. Testing our new tent on the back deck at C’s parent’s house in the country, the sound of a bear roaring nearby at midnight transfixed us in our sleeping bags for a couple minutes as we pictured the headline: “Dumb city slicker couple mauled in tent ten feet from house.” Mild terror until C’s dad starting laughing and turned off the iPad nature app featuring grizzly growls. Ohhh he’s quite the joker, her dad. Now I have to wash my sleeping bag!

Really though, we shall see how this goes. Dude, I’ve been driving around the country in my luxury German vehicle with a fridge and hot water boiler. I have wireless internet everywhere I go, and my favorite Synergy kombucha is almost always available. Our biggest roadblock, finding healthy plant-based food, is entirely a personal choice. Hmmm, can I actually do this?! Trading my comfy Sprinter van and mattress for a tent and sleeping pad? My stereo system for headphones? Accelerator for a pair of pedals and a bike seat? This sounds like a serious pain in the butt (literally, I’m sure).

And that’s why I’m game. I can always return to the van, or our house, to be coddled by the comforts of modern society. I can hop on a plane to Hawaii for a week in the sun, or drive to the beach for a weekend out of the city. But first, I’m spinning off into the Rocky Mountains to find some tent-eating bears. There will be trials of logistics and weather, plus the hangry (hungry+angry) moments when I don’t eat enough and Chelsea has to fend me off with a bike pump. (She calls that alter-ego NARG. Picture an ugly, surly monster with no logic or empathy.) Headwinds will batter the core of my convictions in the Great Plains and afternoon rain will perhaps dampen my spirits. It’s going to be hard…and so bodaciously rad! (The 80s live on.)

Totally unrelated to bike touring... Just a pretty shot from Grand Teton!

Totally unrelated to bike touring… Just a pretty shot from Grand Teton!

I know this: I’m going to emerge a stronger person with a new sense of what our bodies and minds can accomplish when we say “DO THIS” and set off on a big adventure. The best case is more confidence in the reality that testing our limits results in growth in directions we never expect. (Certainly in my quads.) And I suspect seeing new territory at bike-touring speed, and meeting kind, amazing people along the way, will light me up and crack my face into a big grin just like when I’m mountain biking.

Right now, it feels riskier to not keep mixing fresh horizons and new adventures into our lives, and this is simply the newest escapade. Living a life of no regrets is my guiding star, and so I grab my bike and point the front tire east. To Maine, I say! As a wise world traveler we met in Yellowstone told us, ““Be good, and if you can’t be good, be careful, and if you can’t do that, be really good!”

Getting our respective skips on outside the Adventure Cycling Association in Missoula (they have maps and bike touring gear and hey, we were in the area). Yes, Chelsea will always be more graceful and less nerdy than I could ever hope to be. And she has cool colored cycling socks.

Getting our respective skips on outside the Adventure Cycling Association in Missoula (they have maps and bike touring gear and hey, we were in the area). Yes, Chelsea will always be more graceful and less nerdy than I could ever hope to be. And she has cool colored cycling socks.

Friends and blog readers (one and the same): Drop us a line with your favorite places across the northern U.S.! If you have family or buddies anywhere along our route, please put us in touch. Meeting people during our travels is absolutely our favorite part of being vagabonds. I’ll be updating the trip map along the way, so follow along to see if we accidentally wander into the Arctic Circle (not part of the plan).

Pedal on,

Dakota & Chelsea


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We'll see lots of wheat waving under sunsets on our trip!

We’ll see lots of wheat waving under sunsets on our trip!

Hero in a Half-Shell, Tortoise Power

Mr. Tortoise hangs out in the road.

Mr. Tortoise hangs out in the road where we initially saw him.

The below one-page article appears in the June issue of Natural History Magazine. My first piece of writing published in hard copy! Extra points if you caught the oh-so-nerdy reference in the title.

Gusts of wind were slapping our camper van when my eagle-eyed wife cried “Watch out!” and I swerved around the desert tortoise on a road in the Mojave National Preserve. We jumped out next to a spiny cholla cactus to make sure no cars rocketed over its shell. Driving east from Los Angeles, we had been greeted by hundreds of spinning wind turbines in the western Mojave Desert. Now came the solar arrays, with swaths of panels and tall fences, where the desert tortoise carves out a delicate existence.

Collateral damage often comes up in discussions of alternative energy sources such as solar and wind. The effect of wind turbines on avian populations has enraged many a bird lover; giant solar farms, being installed on federal lands by the thousands of acres, take their toll, too. The $2.2 billion Bright-Source installation in the Ivanpah Valley east of L.A., which we drove past, was the first largescale solar project to colonize a tortoise habitat, and more are coming—such as the 3,000-acre Stateline Solar Farm. Desert biologists have been factored into the budget to tag, track, count, and preserve the tortoises. Yet I wonder if tortoises have much chance of survival in the transformed western Mojave.

Female tortoises start breeding at around fifteen to twenty years of age. Only an estimated 2 percent to 5 percent of all hatchlings survive to reach adulthood. Add to the gauntlet of birds, foxes, and other natural hazards in their path, human obstacles—from roads and off-road vehicles to habitat loss and fragmentation. According to Defenders of Wildlife, population decrease is most severe in the western Mojave, where tortoise numbers have declined by as much as 90 percent. Efforts are made to relocate tortoises six inches or larger found inside the solar farms to avoid harm from trucks—or starvation, since many installations scrape the ground clear of vegetation the animals need for shade and food. However, when I contacted Bureau of Land Management (BLM) biologist Larry LaPre, he said, “It is nearly impossible to find and locate the smaller juvenile tortoises, so many aren’t relocated.”

 Desert tortoises played a role in the brief celebrity of Cliven Bundy, the militant Nevada rancher whose clash with the BLM was not only over twenty years of unpaid grazing fees, but also over his incursion into tortoise habitat. On that score, the BLM’s treatment of Bundy’s ranch and of Nevada’s new solar farms betrays a double standard. Cattle do damage to tortoises, but solar farms also disrupt their habitat. For a final irony, Bundy’s ranch is right in the middle of a proposed solar farm, so large it could provide enough energy for 30 percent of California. For now, the solar projects proliferate and the desert tortoise’s survival, any way you cut it, rides entirely on how willing we are to slow down, swerve, or double back.

Dakota

Lounging in the desert after a nice meal of flowers. (You can see them on his mouth.)

Lounging in the desert after a nice meal of flowers. (You can see them on his mouth.)

The desert backdrop that our tortoise friend lives in.

The desert backdrop that our tortoise friend lives in.

Exploring the Southern Utah Wonderland

Viewpoint from the famous Angel's Landing in Zion National Park.

Viewpoint from the famous Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park.

Utah is a magical playground. There is a reason Edward Abbey loved to escape into its hallowed hills on a road trip. Between giant rock columns, sweeping vistas and solitude for miles around, it also carved out a spot as one of my new favorite states. Wandering through with my mouth ajar at each new view, or grinning on yet another awesome bike ride, I was already making a list of places to visit again!

Our route took us from the SW corner, coming in from Las Vegas to Gooseberry Mesa, then NE through the five major national parks in the state: Zion, Bryce, Capital Reef, Arches and Canyonlands, plus some fun in Moab. In between, we free camped high on mesas overlooking valleys (Gooseberry is seriously amazing), on ridges over canyons in the Grand Staircase – Escalante, along rivers, among pine trees at 8,500 feet near Bryce Canyon, and even braved a night in fight-for-a-campsite Zion National Park, perhaps the busiest place on earth in the late spring.

The mountain biking trails were fantastic (I’ll write a summary post about that sometime) and the hiking was equally scenic. Waterfalls in hidden canyons and hoodoo rock formations lined trails and vistas were point-your-camera-anywhere pretty for photos. Even though it was late May, the high elevation kept the weather crisp and perfect under a clear blue sky.

Enough chit chat. Let’s see some pictures, because that is the best way I have to convey the Wonderland of Utah. Get here when you can! You won’t be disappointed.

Onward!

Dakota

Chelsea takes in the view from Gooseberry Mesa.

Chelsea takes in the view from Gooseberry Mesa during a ride.

Thick chains assist hikers during the last, tenuous ascent to Angel's Landing. Thousands of people grabbing this one cut a groove in the sandstone.

Thick chains assist hikers during the last, tenuous ascent to Angel’s Landing. Thousands of people grabbing this one cut a groove in the sandstone.

Hoodoos in Bryce Canyon.

Hoodoos in Bryce Canyon.

The many fans of Delicate Arch at sunset.

The many fans of Delicate Arch at sunset.

One leg of Delicate Arch in Arches NP glowing at sunset.

One leg of Delicate Arch in Arches NP glowing in the late evening light.

Sunset on thousands of Bryce Canyon hoodoos.

Sunset on thousands of Bryce Canyon hoodoos.

A lovely hike to Calf Creek falls somewhere in the Grand Staircase - Escalante between Bryce Canyon and Arches.

A lovely hike to Calf Creek falls somewhere in the Grand Staircase – Escalante between Bryce Canyon and Arches.

Chelsea slicing along the edge of Hurricane Rim near Zion.

Chelsea slicing along the edge of Hurricane Rim near Zion.

A 5" moth in Bryce Canyon!

A 5″ moth in Bryce Canyon!

Slot canyon hike in Goblin Valley State Park.

Slot canyon hike in Goblin Valley State Park.

More hoodoos from Bryce Canyon.

More hoodoos from Bryce Canyon.

Dakota taking a break in a canyon in Zion.

Dakota taking a break in a canyon in Zion.

Fairyland Loop in Bryce Canyon.

Fairyland Loop in Bryce Canyon.

Hanging out in Canyonlands.

Hanging out in Canyonlands with views of the Green River below. There is a 110-mile fire road ride, White Rim Road, that circles Canyonlands. You can camp all the way around…next time!

A famous arch in Canyonlands frames the valley below.

A famous arch in Canyonlands frames the valley below.

A sunset ride in the Valley of Fire State Park (Nevada).

A sunset ride in the Valley of Fire State Park (Nevada).

Fairyland Loop in Bryce Canyon.

Fairyland Loop in Bryce Canyon.

Panorama from the western point of Gooseberry Mesa.

Panorama from the western point of Gooseberry Mesa.

Lessons from Grandma Virginia

A wind gust catches ashes in the Grand Canyon.

A wind gust catches ashes in the Grand Canyon.

I think the conclusion of a life should be shouted from the rooftops, memories of the departed recounted around a roaring fire with sparks snapping into the night. A celebration of escapades lived true to Hunter S. Thompson’s words: Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

Chelsea’s grandma Virginia was 92 the first time we went to Sedona in 2012. Tiny, wrinkled, and barely able to see or hear, she still hiked close to five miles almost every day we were there. Her limited vision missed details of the landscape, but the giant red towers with names like Cathedral and Bell Rocks framed a horizon for her. She’d grab her trusty binoculars and scope out a singing bird, a pastime that took her around the world on many trips, then holster them and trek on.

Grandma, a constant part of vacations with Chelsea’s family the last eight years, wasn’t with us this April trip. She passed away last winter. Our visit to Arizona was in part to visit some of her favorite locations and join Chelsea’s parents in spreading her ashes. I felt honored to be there, yet was a bystander as they remembered her from years past as a fiery and determined woman fearlessly traversing the world. She was always down for anything we young whipper snappers threw her way, whether kayaking in the ocean or riding a tandem bike down the boardwalk. I recall Chelsea’s brother swamping with her in the kayak coming back in through the surf and she just laughed uproariously.

A wintery family hike in Oak Creek Canyon, north of Sedona. One of Grandma's favorite places.

A wintery family hike in Oak Creek Canyon, north of Sedona. One of Grandma’s favorite places. Grandma is in her trademark yellow jacket.

I find it hard for lessons of my elders to sink in sometimes. Perhaps we all do? It is easy to view their insights as anachronistic and musty, when the reality is likely that we just don’t have the experience to extract the wisdom into our current life’s context. The snapshot of a person is decades of layered travails, discussions, work, love, heart break and joy. How can a conversation or ten transfer that wisdom? It takes something like “Tuesday’s with Morrie” to even come close, and we rarely take the time to make such a thing happen.

Learning from their actions and exploits can be a more accessible way to take in the wisdom. She was only my grandmother via marriage, but I know this: If I’m half the explorer Virginia was when I’m older, I’ll count it a victory. She prioritized travel over all else and was constantly out seeing the world. Her possessions were few, experiences many. These days, it is too easy to fill our lives with stuff and emails and social media and fires “we have to put out now.” None of that crap will matter later, and the huge majority of it doesn’t matter now!

Sending ashes down one of Grandma's favorite rivers.

Sending ashes down one of Grandma’s favorite rivers.

This passing of an elder is a reminder for me to focus on the important things in our lives, not the emergencies that divert energy away from where it belongs. Rest in peace, Virginia. May the end of this part of your journey remind us all to treasure the moments in front of us, to listen to a soaring melody from a bird, and to focus on putting ourselves into the world the way we want to be remembered. I hope that later, many years down the road, there aren’t enough ashes of my physical body to scatter in all the amazing places that I experienced with open eyes, wonderful people and exploring heart in the same way you did.

Exploring the Grand Canyon.

Deep in the western part of the Grand Canyon. I hope Grandma is somewhere like this!

 

Backpacking to the Grand Canyon’s Havasupai Falls

Trek along family!

The colors strike you first. There is nothing like the red rock of the southwest contrasted against clear blue skies. Majestic, sweeping views of the Grand Canyon don’t just take your breath away, they cram air into your lungs like a turbo fan. There is a reason people from around the world flock to this giant rift in the Earth’s surface. In a word, it’s stunning.

We were in Arizona spreading ashes at her grandma’s favorite spots. Along with Chelsea’s parents, we did a two-night backpack (about 12 miles each way) into the canyon from the Hualapai trailhead in the west canyon. (Oh, stop the shocked expression – I don’t JUST bike everywhere.) Rather than describe it, here are some reasons in photos you should visit this area! And a few shots from a glorious week of mountain biking in Sedona following the backpacking trip. That alone deserves a post, but just go there and ride until your legs fall off!

I’m writing this from a lovely coffee shop in Lander, Wyoming, a cool Old-West town where I can picture gunfights at noon and stagecoaches rolling through town in tandem with the Pony Express. Soon, we’ll be somewhere in Grand Teton or Yellowstone National Park…

Onward!

Dakota


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Ready to head into the canyon!

Ready to head into the canyon!

Starting down the trail.

Starting down the trail.

A mule train wends its way out of the canyon.

A mule train wends its way out of the canyon.

Hundreds of little rocks left in a pitted boulder. For good luck, I like to think.

Hundreds of little rocks left in a pitted boulder. For good luck, I like to think.

You can also opt to have your gear hauled in via mule. Pfffft.

You can also opt to have your gear hauled in via mule. Pfffft.

An early morning dip at the bottom of Mooney Falls. We camped at the top of this 15 feet from the edge!

An early morning dip for a camper at the bottom of 200-foot Mooney Falls. We camped at the top of this 15 feet from the edge!

A 200 foot descent on fun (aka sketchy) chains and rebar from Mooney Falls. Chelsea's parents are champs.

A 200 foot descent on fun (aka sketchy) chains and rebar from Mooney Falls. Chelsea’s parents are champs.

Climbing out of the bottom of Mooney Falls.

Climbing out of the bottom of Mooney Falls.

These clear, blue cascading pools reminded me of Plitvice Falls in Croatia.

These clear, blue cascading pools reminded me of Plitvice Falls in Croatia.

There were hundreds of these in the canyon.

There were hundreds of these in the canyon.

A day hike into the canyon below Mooney Falls.

A day hike into the canyon below Mooney Falls.

Under a waterfall in the canyon.

Under a waterfall in the canyon.

A falls along the way to our campsite.

A falls along the way to our campsite.

Heating up water for dinner.

Heating up water for dinner.

The steep switchbacks begin on the long climb out of the canyon. In 100+ degree heat - woooohoooo.

The steep switchbacks begin on the long climb out of the canyon. In 100+ degree heat – woooohoooo.

Rocking my favorite backpacking gear - nerdy hat (found in the canyon) and flipflops.

Rocking my favorite backpacking gear – nerdy hat (found in the canyon) and flipflops.

Throwing rocks with some buddies on the trail. See you guys in Chicago!

Throwing rocks with some buddies on the trail. See you guys in Chicago!

Sedona shot! Jesse cruising the red rock mesas above town.

Sedona shot! Chelsea’s brother Jesse cruising the red rock mesas above town.

Sedona shot! Jesse dropping into a steep slickrock descent on Hi-Line, a FUN trail.

Sedona shot! Jesse dropping into a steep slickrock descent on Hi-Line, a FUN trail.

Sedona shot! Chelsea cruising some red rock trails west of town.

Sedona shot! Chelsea cruising some red rock trails west of town.

Other AZ shot! Out on a great bike ride in the desert near Kingman in the NW corner of the state.

Other AZ shot! Out on a great bike ride in the desert near Kingman in the NW corner of the state.

Strung Along By My Guitar

 

Hanging with my guitar and Chelsea's grandma.

Hanging with my guitar and Chelsea’s grandma.

Do you have an unused possession you love that is tied to past memories and identity? An old cracked baseball glove. An instrument from high school band. Your old Magic: The Gathering playing cards (I know you still have them!). Don’t worry, I won’t bring up the threadbare-yet-awesome T-shirt from long ago…because those are rad!

I find that even as my attention and discipline for music has waxed and waned over the years, I still keep an instrument in my life. I’ve played four (violin, cello, trumpet and guitar) and the latter remains the last man standing. And of course I brought it on this trip. After all, who doesn’t strum a guitar by a campfire on a road trip? Does it even count as a road trip if you don’t play “Fly Like An Eagle” to the beat of a crackling fire?

I sure hope so, because for the last seven months, I’ve moved my guitar from the van’s front seat onto our bed every single morning, and then back to the seat at night. That’s about 200 times. Grand total sessions on said beast: FIVE. Count-on-one-hand lameness, right? It has actually become a joke for us: Dakota the Minimalist and his space-gobbling buddy. The guitar has been a better workout for my upper body than for my fingers or musical side!

I’ve never written my own music, which means I’m always playing songs by Pink Floyd or other famous artists. There’s certainly a creative aspect to it, and covering iconic songs is a great way to practice. At times, it has been fantastic. (Though I think my college roommates just about chopped the strings off my guitar while I was learning the ultra-classic “Stairway to Heaven.”) Lately though, I’ve found covering songs uninspiring, a reworking of already-molded clay in a way that isn’t my own creation.

That’s why I’m writing with my spare time and creative energy. Staring at a blank page – cursor blinking, mind whirring – has proven to be so satisfying for me relative to other creative pursuits. With a written piece, I’m creating something entirely creative by conjuring sentences in a mix never used before. There is something so cool about that. Photography lacks the creativity for me, since even a photo can be similar to others. Take for instance, the below shot of Delicate Arch, which 12 other people took at the same time as me! It’s still beautiful, for sure, yet not one-of-a-kind.

The iconic desert shape, Delicate Arch, in Arches National Park. Sunset with rays moving up the valley.

The iconic desert shape, Delicate Arch, in Arches National Park. Sunset with rays moving up the valley.

My guitar, I’m sad (glad!) to say, will soon be dropped off at our next waypoint. There simply isn’t space in the van, or my life, for my old 6-stringed friend. And while there’s a loss of a small part of my identity, sometime in the future I’ll unzip the case, dust off the glassy front, and strum away. For now, it’s a small exercise in letting go of the past and seizing the future to open the door for fresh aspirations and focused creativity. And that seems like a worthwhile goal for anything in our lives that is stagnant – bring in the fresh, shred the old, and keep growing. We can always pick up whatever discarded remnant of our past we enjoyed and restart, yet sometimes a break is the answer.

Dakota

P.S. I’m trying a new email list manager, MailChimp. Please let me know if formatting is weird, terrible or awesome! Captions on pictures appear to be the same font as the rest of the writing, which is strange. Working on that!