“How do you know when it’s spring in Utah?” asked the burly dude astride his ATV. Out of breath from a punchy climb on my bike, I gasped mutely, a fish from sea level caught at 8,000 feet elevation. “Well, I’ll tell ya,” he said, “all the license plates turn green!” Rollicking laughter and slapping of thighs from my new friend (plus a chortle from me) sealed the comedy hour.
It could not be more true. Starting in March, vehicles sporting trees or mountains on their license plates roll into Utah. They converge from Montana, Oregon, Canadian provinces, catapulting their residents south from anywhere with lots of pines and long winters. Snowbirds looking for adventure in the desert, they roll into Utah with mountain bikes stacked on their cars, vanagons towing rafts, and pickups hauling off-road toys.
A sunset trail run in Capitol Reef NP. The green trees below are part of a 200-year-old orchard in the middle of nowhere! This lesser known park is a hidden gem.
As a member of the forested northern climes, my appreciation for the springtime blue skies, red rock, and vast open spaces of the southern Utah desert grows every time I return. While I feel at home in the mountains, the unexplored, edgy vastness of canyon country is a different terrain. The mountain biking, trail running, hiking, rafting and climbing is enough to keep someone busy for months, and a spring road trip to shake off the winter doldrums is tons of fun too.
Hiking in Bryce Canyon.
Words simply don’t do Utah justice, so this green-plated wanderer will quickly conclude this post with a serenade in photos to this marvelous desert country. However, nothing (other than visiting) captures the true essence of Utah and its eyeball-rattling scenery, rock formations Dr. Seuss on LSD couldn’t even dream up, and an escape from winter’s dreary whip-tail. Point the rig south and head to Utah. If your license plate is green, it will merely add contrast to all the red rock.
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PS: Trip update! After over a month of bachelor life in Utah’s gorgeous country (here’s the map), I’m picking Chelsea up at the Las Vegas airport today and we’re heading north through Death Valley into the Eastern Sierra’s. Back to the pines, granite and cooler temps as May heat rolls into Utah and flushes thin-skinned northerners toward the Arctic Circle like scared caribou. I’m stoked to get my road trip partner back, as five weeks apart = a long time. Onward we go!
End of a mountain bike ride near Canyonlands.
Can’t always avoid bad weather! A snowstorm hits on the way over the 9,600′ pass near Escalante, Utah.
Bryce Canyon is just otherworldly.
Hanging with the Keys to Freeze bike touring crew in Bryce. 23 degrees overnight calls for a campfire!
https://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/13-DSC05479.jpg10651600Dakotahttps://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Traipsing-About-logo-white-background-450x156.pngDakota2015-04-29 10:54:202015-04-29 10:54:20Seven Photos to Whet Your Appetite for Southern Utah
Unless we condemn ourselves to a safe, boring bubble, life can be dangerous. And if we get out and live, it’s inevitable that we will have close calls, whether it’s hucking off boulders on a bike or dodging the Snapchatting teenager as she turns a corner through a crosswalk. Or maybe just climbing a tippy ladder like a circus acrobat for a weekend-warrior home project.
Risk is simply part of living, like it or not. But as advanced primates, we luckily can hedge our risks with easy legal tools that all of us with a developed prefrontal cortex should know about. Similar to my write-up on managing property using Cozy, this post takes something I recently learned, shares the experience, and hopefully helps you out. I’ll be talking about the scintillating topics of:
The harsh reality is that even intentional wanderers like us deal with humdrum things like insurance, food shopping, taxes, and even wills. Long-term travel requires most of the same logistics as home; it’s not all making snow angels or standing on a cliff with a sunset vista, as much as I’d like to insinuate that it is, and Instagram shots of washing dishes are boring.
Watching a sunset in Indian Creek, Utah? Not boring.
I “knew” about wills, as most of us do, but had not done much (anything) until I found the website Get Your Shit Together. The creator is a woman whose husband died in a terrible accident, leaving her behind with young kids. That was bad enough; then she realized their financial and legal lives were a tangled mess. In the midst of grieving, she wound up in bureaucratic battles that make Frodo’s quest to Mordor look like playing Candyland while sipping hot cocoa. Her site lists the things she wished she and her husband had handled prior to his tragic death, all offered for free to prevent this happening to other people.
I came upon that website and immediately added the items to my brilliant task-management system in Evernote. I then promptly ignored those to-dos long enough that if they’d been a kid, I’d be in jail for abandonment. (This is a perfect example of what Gretchen Rubin means when she says, “nothing is more exhausting than the task that is never started.”) Then, in a recent bout with responsibility triggered by waiting in a Moab laundromat – another boring thing not pictured on this blog – I seized opportunity’s arm and wrestled it into submission.
Living wills are your chance to designate someone to make decisions on your behalf if something bad happens and you’re comatose. Your partner, parents or favorite pet (not recommended) can’t act on your pre-determined desires regarding your care (e.g. using a feeding tube) unless you have a living will in place. This may result in keeping you on life support forever like the world’s most expensive zucchini. I don’t know about you, but that sounds terrible for me and for my family. In fact (according to Wikipedia) “studies indicate that 70-95% of people would rather refuse aggressive medical treatment than have their lives medically prolonged in incompetent or other poor prognosis states.” Get a living will – ‘nuf said.
The other two are even more straight forward. A power of attorney empowers your designated authority to make legal moves with your assets, signing documents on your behalf and taking care of things while you recuperate. A final will takes out the headache of probate and assets being left in limbo if you keel over while laughing at old reruns of Friends. This isn’t just about you. It’s assuring the lives of people you love aren’t turned even more upside down in case you have an accident.
The internet makes this incredibly easy – no attorney visit in an office plastered with expensive landscape photos and no waiting on hold while a secretary files her nails, just a series of easy online questions. After getting started, I had a living will in 20 minutes. Five more and a power of attorney form was locked and loaded. Chelsea can now shepard our finances and sell my favorite T-shirts (don’t you dare!) with just a few flicks of a pen, and I have a sense of security and relief knowing it’s handled.
Where’s the best place to get ‘er dun? I used LegalZoom.com because their reviews seemed to be the most solid. Here’s a link to the living will section, and the regular wills and power of attorney are on the main page in the bottom middle section under personal services.
If you’re in a relationship, you’ll need your partner to fill out the info too, but you can do it at different times. (Single people, choose a parent, sibling or a close friend.) In 30 minutes, you’re dialed. Instead of paying hefty attorney fees, we each got three sets of legal docs – power of attorney, will, and living will – for less than $300. Compared to working directly with a lawyer, it’s a smoking deal. That said, talk to an attorney if you have a complicated situation or want professional advice, but do something!
I share all this to help you build a strong foundation for living an unfettered, fun life. These niggling puzzle pieces create a structure from which to launch and go on adventures, whether they’re in your backyard or on a big trip. And now, feeling lighter and uber-responsible with this task (and my laundry!) handled, and I’m going to shake off all this serious talk with a mountain bike ride in the desert.
Riding a couple thousand feet up on the burly fun of scenic Gold Bar Rim as part of the Magnificent 7 trail system near Moab.
https://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/1-IMG_7979.jpg6401024Dakotahttps://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Traipsing-About-logo-white-background-450x156.pngDakota2015-04-23 12:59:392019-06-10 16:10:16Protecting Your Ass(ets)
“This is the most beautiful place on Earth,” says Edward Abbey of Arches National Park at the start of the book Desert Solitaire. It is truly a stunning place. Spring wind rips over red sandstone; the La Sal Mountains tip their white hats in the early morning glow. In the distance, sky rolls on forever from cliff edges until your eyes can only focus on a juniper close by or risk being swallowed by the expanse.
My experience of the far-flung southwest lands is admittedly different than Abbey’s. The foreword is penned in 1967 and laments the development of the park and the hordes of people descending to snap sunset pictures of Delicate Arch. In his day, dirt roads – impassable in heavy rain – zagged across the park and you were more likely to see a gopher snake than an SLR camera slung around a tourist’s neck. In his work as a park ranger, there were days when not a single visitor would drift into the park.
Taking in a sunset on the rocks in Arches. Photo credit Michael Ambrose.
And yet, even 50 years later, a connection to wild and uninhabited nature remains in this land. Away from ATV’s roaring like little dinosaurs, there are vistas in Arches and the surrounding areas where only a chubby marmots skittering on rocks can be heard. Sitting on the edge of a view where I’m torn between pulling my camera out to frame a shot or chucking it off the ledge in defiance of civilization, I feel centered, alive, and yet drawn to check in on Instagram, to share the moment. So different than Abbey’s world where a trip cut off social contact to an extent many people younger than 40 can’t even fathom.
That connection, as much as I seek (and enjoy) escaping it some days, spawns opportunities to meet people I’d otherwise never cross paths with. Take yesterday, a day kicked off at a brisk 21 degrees in Durango, Colorado.
I’d started following the Keys to Freeze crew on Instagram when they’d liked one of my photos back in January. They’re a group of six adventurous people bicycle touring from the Florida Keys to Alaska, a 9,000 mile jaunt to raise money for national parks and have a hell of a journey together. Since the end of February, they’ve pedaled like a pack of rocket ships and happened to be rolling into Durango right when I was there.
Over bagels, I met two of the crew, Rachel and Brady, a cheery couple. Rachel had never toured at all – hats off, my friend! – and Brady was filming a documentary about their trip. I bade them farewell as they pedaled west…and then I caught them at the top of the 10 mile climb out of town, slid open the door to the van at a pullout and proclaimed, “Hot tea, Annie’s animal crackers, and chocolate, anyone?” No turning that down in the frosty mountain air.
Next up, on a whim, I called and booked motel rooms in a tiny town 50 miles ahead for the crew of six. In 51 days, they hadn’t slept a single night in a motel, and the weather was calling for rain, sleet, or snow. Unacceptable! As it always does, giving back and helping others made my heart swell. The shocked looks on their faces when I let them know (at another pullout) that they had a place to recuperate after some tough days in the Rockies let me know I’d done something they appreciated.
I snuck in a mountain bike ride, ripping along sweet singletrack at Phil’s World (put it on your list), and then decided to reroute my route to Zion. Forget my visit to Four Corners (it’s arbitrary anyway, right?). I opted to go hang with my new buddies. Slightly out of my way, exactly as a fresh adventure should be.
Enjoying a campfire under a bright moon in Arches.
I left something out. Abbey follows his opening line about the most beautiful place on Earth with, “There are many such places.” Last night, this was in tiny Dove Creek, Colorado, where the sign into town proclaimed it “A Special Place.” Not that there were scenic vistas – this was a different kind of scenery and experience. In a down-home country diner, I sat at a big table with my new friends and enjoyed the connection made possible by the internet. Later, we swapped stories late into the night in the “Presidential Suite” (as we dubbed it) at the motel. Total strangers united through a few hashtags, buddies born of a swipe on a phone.
I love my long solo bike rides and the thrill of the middle of nowhere, but there’s a place for everything. Tonight, I’m lucky enough to be headed to the mountains of Zion National Park for a little of both. For the next few days, I’ll be hanging with friends I met through our blog and getting outside for hiking and canyoneering. My company won’t be only the rattlesnakes and winds bearing soft voices from far away, and that’s the way I like it.
New friends! Snow on the motel roof and more flurries signal the start of the Keys to Freeze crew heading toward Moab, UT.
My friend Michael shows proper pro photographer form.
https://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/8-Dakota-Arches.jpg577864Dakotahttps://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Traipsing-About-logo-white-background-450x156.pngDakota2015-04-17 09:42:522017-11-05 16:49:49The Beauty of #Connection
I found it impossible to avoid thinking about the source of our food while pedaling through a town in Iowa carpeted with downy feathers. The 20,000 turkeys a day killed there provide 80% of the turkey for Subway’s sandwich artists to slap into lunches. There is also no way to turn a blind eye when giant trucks packed with terrified cows buzz by on Nebraska highways, pulling into slaughterhouses while refrigerated trucks packed with meat disembark from the other side.
I’d never seen our food system up close and personal until we bicycled 4,000 miles across the U.S. last year. Not that I should be surprised: we live in a world where we are disconnected from our food and where the impact of our choices about what we eat is hidden. Starting in Montana and extending all the way to New York, a million pedal strokes took me past corn, soy and hay fields, most destined for animals in the feedlots we passed.
As part of our tour, we cranked out a 200 mile detour through the gorgeous Finger Lakes region of New York. The crystal lakes, carved by fitness-loving glaciers, feature terrain steeper than the price of a martini in Manhattan, and I worried my tongue would snag in my spokes while I panted uphill. It was all worth it. For three days, we rested in Farm Sanctuary’s picturesque red cabins and explored the property, hanging out with rescued farm animals. I didn’t write about it then, but found inspiration after watching a recent The Daily Show interview with the sanctuary’s founder, Gene Baur, about his new book, Living the Farm Sanctuary Life.
Farm Sanctuary’s goal is to “protect farm animals from cruelty, inspire change in the way society views and treats farm animals, and promote compassionate vegan living.” With supporters like Ellen DeGeneres, Alicia Silverstone, and Biz Stone (co-founder of Twitter), the farm operates three different sanctuaries (one in NY, two in CA) and is the largest refuge for farm animals in the U.S. During our visit, we stayed on site, toured the farm, heard stories about the animals and their journey there, and watched happy, bouncy creatures enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, so different from their former lives.
As Jon Stewart quipped in the interview, “It’s harder to eat meat when you know the animal’s name.” Farm Sanctuary matters because they put a face and a name to one of the billions of animals that are killed for food each year in this country. The goal is not to rescue each and every farm animal in the country. In the same way journalists focus on personal stories that are easier to connect to than overwhelming statistics (“12,000 people died today when a bomb exploded”), the farm showcases individual animals and their touching or heartbreaking stories.
For years, I found it easier to bury my head in the muck of animal feedlots rather than learn about the genesis of my food. The $4 Wendy’s lunch was my go-to in high school: two cheeseburgers, a large Frosty, and fries. Reading the books Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore’s Dilemma in college pulled back the curtain on that ugly scene and killed my cravings for fast food … but I still ate meat. I came to veganism years later through badass athletes who were crushing barriers not in spite of being vegan, but because of it. Fierce UFC fighters like Mac Danzig, ultra-marathoners like Scott Jurek, and triathletes like Rich Roll, who did incredible feats like Epic 5 (five Ironman races – 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run) in a week. Just typing that last sentence makes me tired. I figured that if they could push the limits of physicality, I could at least turn off cat videos on YouTube and learn more about being vegan.
His name is Thunder. For good reason!
The engineer in me requires data before I make a lifestyle change; I can’t just accept claims made by others. To educate myself on a vegan lifestyle, I read reams of literature and watched videos of compiled and condensed research at NutritionFacts.org that challenged my deeply ingrained beliefs about food (two that surprised me: milk doesn’t always do the body good, and that we need more fiber, not protein). Transitioning my diet intimidated me until my friend Martin demonstrated that veganism is not about perfection. Instead, he showed me a middle path for adopting this change: rather than jumping in 100% overnight and disavowing all animal products, over the span of a year I cut out dairy milk, then pork and beef, and then all the rest of it in quick succession once I realized how healthy I felt. My persistently congested sinuses cleared, a lingering twinge in my knee finally went away, and I was pushing ever harder on the bike rides and trail runs I enjoy so much.
My path initially revolved around my personal health, not animal welfare. Once I cut out animal products, a strange thing happened – the walls I’d built to distance myself from the truth about using animals for food started to break down. I felt fit and strong, our friends were supporting our decisions without judgment, and restaurants provided amazing food catering to our requests. The final push to being an ethical as well as a dietary vegan was exposure to animal agriculture as we traversed the country on our bikes. The nose-curdling stench of feedlots, the glare of veal crates baking in the sun on dairy farms (I learned they take all the male calves away at birth), dropped a deep anchor of resolve within me to stick to a vegan lifestyle.
As Gene says, “this lifestyle is not about deprivation, it’s about living inspired.” Change is hard, and intentional inquest creates questions and doubt. However, unlike politics, where pivoting your stance on a topic ousts you from office as fast as sleeping with hookers, we regular folk can take in new information and update our beliefs without penalties, casting an important vote with our purchasing decisions. Why do you think there are so many plant-based alternatives out there these days? Consumer demand! You wouldn’t run the same operating system on your computer for 15 years (call me out, ye Luddites out there), and what’s wrong with opening yourself to new thought patterns to update your personal OS?
The process of diving into learning about animal agriculture and its impact on our health and the environment was eye-opening. When I questioned what a “sustainable,” “humane” or “free-range” beef or egg operation meant, I learned there are inconsistencies and varying definitions. Watching documentaries like Cowspiracy or Forks Over Knives taught me about the dire environmental impacts of eating meat and the stunning health benefits of stopping.
I also discovered that tracking the money flow is a good way to see who the vested interests are in animal exploitation. The dairy industry is clearly biased when defending its practices, whereas I found it fascinating that the health insurance giant Kaiser is now recommending a plant-based diet for maximal health (the data convinced them it reduces insurance claims!). I’ve gifted friends the 30-day vegan challenge and seen them thrive. You can approach this topic from many directions, and being vegan isn’t about being perfect. It’s a process where it’s okay to dip your toe in and see how it feels.
Ducking the truth about our animal-based food system is no longer something I can do. Farm Sanctuary taught me that farm animals want (and deserve) to live just as much as our cuddly cat Oliver or your beloved Frisbee-catching dog. A pig and a Boston terrier both want to thrive and feel love, and turkeys are so friendly they’ll follow you around and sit in your lap like a first grader meeting Santa. Because we can weigh in with our cold, hard cash, we consumers don’t need the government to create this change. With so many companies thriving by selling delicious alternatives to animal products, tasty restaurants opening all the time, books like Gene’s, podcasts like vegan athlete Rich Roll’s, and websites dedicated to helping us make educated choices, it is easy to decrease our reliance on animals.
I’ve found living a vegan lifestyle to be empowering beyond anything I expected, and encourage you to take an honest look at the source of your food and make sure it aligns with your beliefs. Look behind the curtain and see what’s there and how it makes you feel. I’ve found my visit to Farm Sanctuary to be a launch pad for living a more compassionate, thoughtful life, both toward animals and humans. And that is a gift worth pedaling up all those lung-searing hills in New York.
https://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/DSC02985.jpg13632048Dakotahttps://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Traipsing-About-logo-white-background-450x156.pngDakota2015-04-14 11:59:382019-06-10 16:09:06Waking Up at Farm Sanctuary
Hidden in the southeastern corner of Oregon, the Steens Mountains Wilderness is a place where echoes bounce off open sky. The landscape is beautiful and isolating, the mountains striking. It’s a place to wander and not see much civilization beyond a subtle wave from a rancher’s hand in the cab of a speeding ranch truck. The humor is as dry as the desert flats: “Road to Hell: Private Lane,” declared a sign. (I kept driving.)
The Steens are a leg-cramping eight hour drive from Portland, and about the same trek from another city with any stoplights. I’d always wanted to visit, and this latest road trip presented the ideal opportunity.
On the open road in the Steens Mountains.
Another trip?! Yep, that’s right, we made it two entire months at home before playing the location arbitrage game (i.e. renting out our house) and heading out again. Hanging in Portland, Chelsea was fine, but I felt trapped, hemmed in by the city and the maintenance of being home. My wanderlust isn’t satiated yet, and I luckily married a supportive woman who is as adventurous as I am. (She’s currently up in Idaho house-sitting for her folks – and our cat – and then she’ll fly to join me after this bachelor trip.)
I dissected the dissatisfaction bubbling to the surface and realized my creativity felt whomped like a two-bit prizefighter in the fifth round. A quote in Amanda Palmer’s insightful book, “The Art of Asking,” says it all for me: “Staying in your own home can be corrosive and stifling, especially for creative work. The surroundings can smother you with the baggage of your past and the History of You.” In the same way writers seek a retreat or a painter needs a separate studio, I need to get out to think. Somehow, the four walls of our home summons a vacuum that drains me of creative spirit.
Taking in a view of the Alvord Desert as the sun gets low.
There aren’t any corners or walls in the Steens! A few days into the road trip, I camped on the west side of the mountains at Page Springs. A balmy 22 degree overnight temp grudgingly ceded to warmer weather the next day. Inspired, I ignored a “Gate Closed” sign and pedaled uphill on the Steens Mountain Loop Road on the west side of the range. Snow flurries dusted the ground. No planes droned overhead; the only sound was wind from the valley below and the crunch of bike tires on the soft gravel. Starting at 4,000’ elevation, I climbed to 8,000’ and a snowy impasse. I hadn’t seen a sign of life except my breath fogging the air. It felt good to be back in nature, even as my face smacked of ice crystals on the fast descent.
If you visit the Steens, hot springs are a must-visit. I drove around the southern end until I hit the Alvord Desert, a miles-long expense of cracked clay. The full moon framed the Steens to the west as I soaked in the hot springs and relaxed, then pulled the van onto the wide playa and drove into the darkness. The night was still, cell reception as extinct as the passenger pigeon, and the road trip was underway.
Alvord Hot Springs.
Full moon on the Alvord Desert.
Room with a view.
https://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/07-DSC05182.jpg10651600Dakotahttps://www.traipsingabout.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Traipsing-About-logo-white-background-450x156.pngDakota2015-04-07 08:24:202015-04-07 16:59:27Solitude in the Steens Mountains
