Paying It Forward, Van Style (Video)

Road Angel Keys to Freeze

Kindness from strangers is a side to travel that frequently surprises and humbles me. From help with directions to an unexpected offer of a place to stay, I’ve received gracious treatment dozens of time. Having the opportunity to pass along the goodwill is just as much fun.

I missed the publication of this short video called Road Angel while we were biking in Europe, so I wanted to share it now. It’s a snippet with me in front of the camera instead of behind it (for a change). I love that a meetup at a Colorado bagel shop turned into a chance to give back, not to mention created some enduring friendships.

The back story: I met the Keys to Freeze crew this April in Durango during their 8,500 mile cycling trip from Key West, Florida to Deadhorse, Alaska. Over the next month, we crossed paths in Utah’s national parks, Yosemite, the coastal redwoods, and Portland. They pedaled as I road tripped in the van, our trips diverging for days or weeks at a time, then re-intersecting as we all explored the famous sites in the southwest and California.

Here’s to new friends and paying forward road trip karma!

New friends! Snow on the motel roof and flurries signal the start of Keys to Freeze heading from Dove Creek, CO to Moab, UT.

Hanging with Keys to Freeze on a sub-freezing morning near Moab.

Five Rad Mountain Bike Rides in Southern Utah

Porcupine Rim above Moab

The spring pilgrimage to Utah is a common trek for avid mountain bikers. They flock to the southern part of the state in search of dry trails and to avoid nasty east coast weather or the rainy Northwest. Moab is the well-known Mecca of Fat Tired Fun, but there are two-wheeled adventures splashed from there all the way to Las Vegas.

In April, I was lucky enough to spend a few weeks romping around on the splendid singletrack in southern Utah. Under blue skies, my tires crunched and whirred over miles of red rock until my legs burned from climbing and my neck creaked from rocky descents. Some days I rode solo, hours in the middle of nowhere where I could stop on a bluff and enjoy a solitary lunch. I also met up with friends from Oregon, Colorado, and California to form biker gangs bandying about enough acronyms to make a newbie rider’s brain bulge.

Group ride on Magnificent 7 in Moab

We rode singletrack, not fire roads… This is a connector section on the Mag 7 trail.

Here are the trails I’ll ride again when I return to Utah…which I certainly plan on doing! Even if you’re on a family trip or are cruising with a partner who doesn’t ride, I suggest that any mountain biker driving through the five national parks of Utah should bring a (full-suspension) bike with them to fully enjoy the fun.

  1.  Porcupine Rim (Moab, UT) – first up, any mountain biker visiting Moab needs to shred down Porcupine. It’s one of the most famous trails in the U.S. (world?), and for good reason. The trail is miles of downhill fun that, depending on snow levels, starts as high as 11,000’ elevation and finishes at 4,000’ at the Colorado River. Along the way, the action heats up from silky singletrack into rockier terrain, finishing with riding to test the best riders. All the while, you’ll be craning your neck to catch views of the red rock valleys that make Utah famous.A tip: don’t be a Roadie Punk – pay $25 for a shuttle from one of the bros in town (Porcupine Shuttle is great, as is Coyote Shuttle) and let them drive your lazy butt to the bottom of the snowline. You’re going to have 20+ miles of downhill; save the vertical gain for your commute and weekly ride back home! You came to Moab to shred the GNAR, bro.
  1. JEM/Goulds Loop (Hurricane, UT) – sick of rocky drops and full-face helmets, and simply want to grin your face off? If JEM were a song, it would be a Green Day jam cranked to full volume. Pedal as hard as you can on this IMBA Epic and live it up! The trailhead is right outside Zion National Park, an easy hop free of tourist throngs in the park. Add Goulds/Hurricane Rim to the mix if you want a big (and very fun) day on the bike.

    Hurricane Rim

  1. Thunder Mountain (Bryce Canyon NP) – hoodoo rock spires, backcountry riding, and solitude are the name of the game on Thunder Mountain. Just a few minutes from the entrance to Bryce Canyon, this ride is a remote ride to a lunch spot overlooking the valley. If you see another person on the trail, I’d be surprised.

    Hoodoos! Please excuse the poor quality iPhone shot...

    Hoodoos! 

  1. Gooseberry Mesa (Hurricane, UT) – bikers rave about Slickrock Trail in Moab, but I’d rather ride the mesas around Zion National Park any day of the week. Why? Gooseberry is the same style of riding (up and down on grippy, rolling rock), but is more technical and fun, especially the South Rim trail. The mesa is accessed via a rough road that results in empty trails and solitude any hermit worth his bushy beard would enjoy, plus free camping. Did I mention sweeping views of the valley outside of Zion National Park? Gooseberry is the well-known mesa, but there are others, such as Guacamole Mesa, that are good fun as well.

    Gooseberry Mesa

  1. Magnificent 7 to Portal Trail (Moab, UT) – there’s a sign near a cliff edge on the Portal Trail that intones, “Walk your bike. People have died here. People like you. GET OFF YOUR BIKE.” Signs leading to Portal encourage turning around while you still can, shrilly proclaiming that you are approaching trails best ridden by <25 year old males with GoPros strapped to their heads. Don’t listen to them – Mag 7 through Portal is one of the most fun, physical and view-laced trails you’ll ever ride. Use your brain and walk the cliffs marked by warning signs, bring plenty of grub and water, and make this a must-do if you’re an advanced rider looking for an adventure around Moab. Shuttling to the top of Mag 7 (as they call it)  and riding all the way out is a 20+ mile, all-day adventure through the rocky terrain around Moab that you won’t forget.

    Portal Trail Moab

  2. Durango, CO trail systems. I enjoyed a week of exploring this high-altitude mountain biking destination while local riders I met showed my lungs who was boss. All the trails are accessed right from downtown; this is another IMBA Epic that anyone who enjoys biking will dig. Phil’s World, right across from Mesa Verde National Park (about 40 miles west of Durango), is another stellar area developed by local trail builders.

    Telegraph Trails in Durango

For trail guides, I recommend picking up maps at any of the bike shops in Moab. For the other rides, the Singletracks.com or Maplets app are great resources. Even without a map, you’ll figure it out…and if you don’t, then you’ll get to do a longer (if unplanned) ride! Bonus miles are the best. Take a picture of the trail head map and head out.

Here’s to two-wheeled fun in the wilds of Utah. Snag a spring break from the cold and wet; head to the red rock! Ride on, amigos.

My buddy John B. riding a ridge on Amasa Back in Moab.

My buddy John riding a ridge on Amasa Back in Moab.

Cards Against Humanity game night in Moab

A post-ride session of Cards Against Humanity. John, you know I deserved the win on this round!

Camping in Yosemite Without Advance Reservations

Top of Yosemite Point

Yosemite National Park is famous for granite peaks, huge waterfalls and scenic open meadows. It’s a place that inspired John Muir, the famous naturalist and author, to muse, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike.” For decades, the park has dropped jaws with its stunning vistas.

Chelsea had never experienced the magic of Yosemite Valley, so it featured high on the destination list for this road trip. However, the park’s popularity makes finding a campsite quite difficult, especially before summer-only Tuolumne Meadows opens up at higher elevations in the park. For instance, not a single site was available in the Valley when we checked a couple weeks before our visit, even with hundreds of campsites in the park. And then, through the process of trial and error, we figured a few things out.

Yosemite Falls looking good with a view across the valley at Half Dome.

Yosemite Falls looking good with a view across the valley at Half Dome.

In case you didn’t know, many state and national parks have first-come, first-served campsites, a nice feature for those of us who prefer leaving things open and serendipitous (*cough* don’t like to plan ahead). If you get in early enough (usually 9 a.m.), almost any campground has space for last-minute visitors. Once you snag a spot, it’s yours as long as you want it. Even busy parks like Zion utilize this system, which makes it easy enough to slip in an impromptu visit.

Not Yosemite. The main campgrounds – Upper, Lower and North Pines – are reserved months in advance within minutes of the reservation system opening for specific dates. Millions of people per year stream through the park, most of them with specific vacation dates in mind. For people like us with Gumby-flexible schedules, it is hard to plan that far in advance. When we’ve tried, being tied to a schedule often generates more headaches and missed opportunities than it creates.

Clouds form around Half Dome at sunset.

Clouds form around Half Dome at sunset.

Fear not, weary traveler. Even without advance reservations, you can camp in the Yosemite Valley. Without any prior reservations, we strung together almost two weeks of camping, no problemo. Luckily, our time intersected with three sets of friends, including new friends Michael and Kristin (he’s an amazing pro photographer), plus finally meeting (in-person!) our buddies from Nomadly In Love, who just finished four years driving around South America. The cycle tourists riding from Key West to Alaska, Keys to Freeze, also caught up with us again after biking through Death Valley (mad props, team).

Our buddy Stevie from SprinterLife.com at the foot of Vernal Falls.

Our buddy Stevie from Nomadly In Love and her friend Ariana at the base of Vernal Falls.

Without further ado, here’s what you can do to snag last-minute reservations in Yosemite:

Reserve a site through Reservations.gov as near as one day prior to your arrival.

Recreation.gov processes cancellations all the time for travelers who decide not to go, or who choose to leave the park prior to their reservation ending. Before we drove west over Tioga Pass into Yosemite (check to see if it’s open!), we stopped at a pullout, fired up the wifi hotspot and scored six nights. It won’t get you a same-day site, however (see below).

Arriving without a reservation?

There is a walk-in, tent-only campground at Camp 4 that rock climbers in the park tend to frequent. This campground doesn’t fill up the way car camping/RV slots do. The day we arrived, there was tons of room, even at 4 p.m. At $6/person, it’s a bargain relative to the $26/night for car camping. So long as you’re fine with communal camping with lots of tents around, this is a great option.

Snagged a night already, but want to stay longer?

Go to the park reservation desk in Curry Village (toward the rear of the park near the campgrounds) and put your name on the waiting list at 8 a.m. to get a site. During the day, the park processes cancellations and holds them for people on the waiting list. Go take a hike, then return at 3 p.m. that day when park rangers allocate the sites based on the order you signed up for the list.

According to the ranger I spoke with, typically there are 10-15 sites that cancel. While the waiting list area seemed like a tank full of hungry piranhas circling a morsel of food, everyone was in high spirits. P.S. Curry Village has great free showers – don’t pay $5 each at Housekeeping Camp!

Nevada Falls in the foreground of Liberty Cap and Half Dome.Nevada Falls in the foreground of Liberty Cap and Half Dome.

No luck with any of that?

While often we camp in the middle of nowhere, my favorite move in any busy area is to simply call on the kindness of other travelers. Since we’re rolling in a self-contained van, I simply pull up to a site with a single car and a tent and ask the occupants if they mind if I park out of the way. This has (surprisingly) always worked! I offer money for splitting the site, but of the half dozen times I’ve used this last-ditch move, nobody has ever accepted. One guy did jokingly talk me up from $10 to $15 before refusing any payment at all.

Still no luck?!

Get a hard-sided tent or hotel room in the valley. These also book up in advance, and are (in my opinion) expensive at over $100/night, all the way up to the bargain price of $460/night at the Awahnee Hotel (lowest price). However, I should note that the huge fireplaces at the Awahnee are the best place to hang on a cold day in the park.

Ok camping outside the park?

If you don’t mind driving 30-60 minutes each way, you can head to Wawona and Hodgon Meadows campgrounds outside of Yosemite Valley. These have much more availability relative to the three (Upper, Lower and North Pines) that are in the valley proper and had availability every day we were in Yosemite.

So there you have it! The next time you are craving an impromptu trip to Yosemite, give it a shot. No guarantees, but I think the odds are in your favor that you’ll snag a spot. While you’re there, I highly recommend one of John Muir’s favorite day hikes in the park, which scurries up to Glacier Point, meanders down Panorama Trail, up to Nevada Falls, and then down to the valley. Good luck, and enjoy!

Panorama Trail in Yosemite

Panorama Trail in Yosemite with a cloud-covered Half Dome in the distance.

Flora and fauna

Keys to Freeze! Crazy that I met up with them April 16th in Durango and we have intersected paths a half dozen times since. Such a great crew - buen viaje, amigos!

Half of Keys to Freeze! Crazy that I met up with them April 16th in Durango and we have intersected paths a half dozen times since. Such a great crew – buen viaje, amigos!

Seven Photos to Whet Your Appetite for Southern Utah

Pausing for a moment in Bryce Canyon

“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.

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.

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.

——

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 Arches NP.

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.

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.

Bryce Canyon is just otherworldly.

23 degrees overnight calls for a campfire!

Hanging with the Keys to Freeze bike touring crew in Bryce. 23 degrees overnight calls for a campfire!

 

The Beauty of #Connection

Sunset sandstone

“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.

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.

Sunset handstand

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.

A view of the desert through an arch.

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.

Arches campfire

Enjoying a campfire under a bright moon in Arches.

Fiery Furnace sunset

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 flurries signal the start of Keys to Freeze heading from Dove Creek, CO to Moab, UT.

New friends! Snow on the motel roof and more flurries signal the start of the Keys to Freeze crew heading toward Moab, UT.

Michael shows proper pro photographer form.

My friend Michael shows proper pro photographer form.

Gnarled trees

Solitude in the Steens Mountains

Sunrise on the Steens Mountains

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.

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.

The van taking in a view of the Alvord Desert.

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

Alvord Hot Springs.

 

Full moon on the Alvord Desert.

Full moon on the Alvord Desert.

Van with a view

Room with a view.

Steens Mountains panorama Cracked Alvord Desert

Happy Wife, Happy Life – Keeping It Together On the Road

Columbia River Gorge in the fog

Some people get cranky when they’re hungry. I summon NARG.

NARG is an ugly, surly monster. He lacks empathy or logic and excels at blaming. Slumbering most of the time, this Creature From the A-Hole Lagoon climbs out of the depths and controls my being when my stomach grumbles too long.

Chelsea created this all-caps creation to separate the venomous devil of a cranky person from her usual (awesome, sweet, playful…HA) husband. That raging maniac telling her she’s the hungry one? That’s just NARG, not her husband. Feed the slavering beast and I return to Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde’s shadow disappearing into the foggy swamp.

Along with keeping me fed and subduing my alter-ego, we have a few other coping mechanisms for traveling together. You might wonder how our marriage survived eight months in 75 square feet of a camper van, not to mention weathered the 4,000 mile bike tour last summer without the van. It’s a good question, as I seldom write about our travel ethos or discuss practical advice regarding surviving (enjoying!) our travels.

Well, I’ll say this: there were no pre-established ground rules. They evolved. Slowly, in some cases, and immediately in others, usually after I was overly controlling and tried to tell my (always stubborn) wife what to do. Some practices evolved via discussion, others from necessity. It’s still a work in progress.

It's all about balance!

It’s all about balance! Chelsea and our friend Brooke demonstrating perfect form on a hike in the mossy Oregon coast range.

 

To wit (I’ve always wanted to write that): we recently did an excellent interview over lunch with my friend J.D. Roth, founder of the popular finance site Get Rich Slowly. The interview discusses many of our thoughts and philosophies related to staying sane and happy while exploring the world together, with ideas that apply to any kind of travel, whether by van, plane or bicycle. The discussion began because J.D. is about to launch on a long RV trip around the U.S. and is interviewing inspiring people along the way. I’m honored to be included.

We talked about many things, but one of my favorite quotes from our chat came from Chelsea. It totally sums up our current approach to travel (and life, for that matter). “I guess the bottom line is to be easy-going and adaptable,” she said. “When you’re nomadic, you’re open to serendipity. It permeates your whole life. You find yourself saying ‘yes’ a lot more. It’s a very ‘yes’ experience.”

When NARG isn't around, C and I get along. :) Here we're enjoying a walk on the Oregon beach. Always sunny in the NW!

When NARG isn’t around, C and I get along. Here we’re enjoying a walk on the Oregon beach. Always sunny in the NW! (Photo courtesy of Nicole B.)

On the Run in Arizona

Arizona vista

The gunshot froze me in my tracks, instantly changing me from fleeing runner to mannequin in tech fiber. A towering rancher in a Stetson yelled “Stop!” in Spanish and English, then, “put your hands up!” He pointed a cannon-sized pistol at me.

“It’s ok,” I called, “I’m…”

“SIT down in the fucking dirt with your hands UP!” he boomed back. I shut up and did what he said.

In every new place we explore, I try to learn the local landscape by going for a long run. On this December day, we’d awoke in southern Arizona, a vast expanse of wind-swept plateaus stretching into Mexico. It was beautiful and quiet—at least until the gunfire started.

I’d set off on a dirt trail on public land that wrapped around a small mountain. As I scampered up the mountain’s slopes I could enjoy sweeping views of open land speckled with cattle and an occasional house below. And I could see a Border Patrol balloon floating to the south.

Eventually, the terrain became tenuous and steep. The run became more of a jog-climb, with my hands hanging onto scrub brush while my legs tried to dodge cactus spikes. Cold, scratched and ready to get indoors, I decided backtracking was a bad option.

I could see a more direct path down that cut through a ranch. While trespassing is rarely a smart option, I spotted a truck kicking up dirt as it headed toward the ranch’s house. I ran toward the truck and waved both arms to try and get the driver’s attention.

He didn’t appear to notice me. Instead, the hulking rancher parked his vehicle by the house, stepped from the truck, and peed into the bushes. Great. Now I wasn’t just a trespasser; I was a peeping tom. I saw the newspaper headline in my mind: “Idiot trespassing tourist buried after being repeatedly run over by rancher.” I decided to sneak off. Staying low to the fence, I’d taken a few strides away from the driveway when—bang!—the shot rang out.

As this was my first time being held at gunpoint, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. The rancher, who looked like late-career Marlon Brando wearing a 10-gallon hat, walked toward me, his hand-cannon trained on me with every step. Time to talk fast.

A thorny situation

A *cough* thorny situation.

“Hey, I’m Dakota from Portland and I think we’ve got a mix up here,” I said, explaining as quickly as I could that I was just a tourist out for a run.

Maybe I was very convincing, or maybe the rancher assessed that a yellow windbreaker and short-shorts were an unlikely outfit for a drug mule, but either way his eyes softened. He stuck out a giant, calloused hand, shook my shoulder out of the socket, and said, “Howdy, I’m Jim. Come on in. I’ll introduce you to the wife. And get you a clean pair of drawers.”

Over lunch and a subsequent tour of his ranching operation, Jim told me about his life. After completing several tours in Vietnam, Jim directed a pearl farm in the South Pacific and eventually became head of production at Gallo wines. He’d since retired to this ranch along the border—a beautiful place, but one where he regularly encounters wanderers carrying backpacks stuffed with cocaine, and has come face-to-face with drug runners brandishing AK-47s. He’s lost friends to the traffickers, he said.

But Jim’s outlook surprised me. Instead of cracking down, he said, “We need to legalize drugs in this country. It’s impossible to keep the stuff out.” On immigration: “When I was a kid, there was a work exchange program where people came from Mexico every year and worked for ranchers for six months, then headed back to their families. No visas, no headaches. Those guys were like family.”

I found the conversation fascinating, and Jim must’ve decided he liked me because the next night, he and his wife treated my wife and me to dinner. We talked for hours—us, the liberals from the Pacific Northwest, them, the conservative ranchers with a surprising outlook—and left false assumptions behind us.

Later, when we said goodbye to our new friends, Jim invited me to run on his ranch anytime. “But next time, call first.” And you know I will.

Arizona panorama

You CAN Go Home Again

Empty chairs in the Adirondacks

You can’t go home again, wrote Thomas Wolfe. He means we can’t return to “the escapes of time and memory,” those days of youth we reminisce about, a happily tinted past filled with cotton candy and water slides. I think he’s right.

After 15 months on the road, we scooped up the van from its summer parking spot in Idaho and drove to Portland, pulling in for landing earlier this week. Our trip, initially planned as a four month jaunt, finally hit a juncture where no location beckoned us more than planting our feet back home…so here we are. Our tenants’ lease was conveniently up, so we don’t even have to park the van down by the river!

The map! Starting in Portland in the top left, we headed south...and just kept going.

The map! Starting in Portland in the top left, we headed south…and just kept going. Each dot represents a place we stayed the night. The part along the top was our bike tour, and I ended it with our flight from Mexico to San Diego.

In a way, it feels like giving up. The traveler ego inside claws at my logical, time-for-a-break side and yells at me to not hang up the cleats, to keep going because we can! Well, shut yer stinkin’ yapper, ego. It’s time to rest up, wash off the dirt, and lace back up for the next run.

Part of pausing is to reflect. We’re both different people compared to when we left at the end of 2013, and we want to see how it feels to be home. Pre-trip slashing through the jungle of possessions and obligations and the subsequent travel afforded us the opportunity to be emotionally light, grow bedrock-strong in our relationship, and cultivate a sense of inner confidence that we can accomplish whatever we put our minds to. Rather than cement blocks of comfort solidified around our feet, there’s a fresh foundation under us that feels steady yet springy, a launch pad for whatever we aim for next.

Stepping over the threshold of our house made us feel like honeymooners moving into our first home. After three sets of tenants during our absence, it was a pleasant surprise to not see punched-in walls and broken windows, just spotless floors and gleaming glass. We left the house furnished, so the move was easy. Hauling a few armloads of gear and clothes in from the van, plus all the bikes, felt like a fresh slate and a new beginning. I’ll say this much: simple amenities of home attain a fresh sparkle when you’re on the road a long time, that’s for sure. Hooray for washing machines and dishwashers!

Honeymooners

A fun number that I calculated was that the rent from our house during our time away more than paid for the Sprinter van. Considering my company allowed us to save money AND our tenants paid for our van, I’d say the “four month winter getaway” worked out nicely. Maybe we should do more of them? Twist my arm…

It’s only been two days, but I already am glad to be landed. I’ve only had one short freakout (while setting up internet, but who doesn’t hate talking to CenturyLink?) that I quickly solved by going for a run up a local mountain. Missed you, Mt. Tabor. More importantly, I’ve connected with a number of close friends and it feels like no time at all has passed, a mark of a great relationship. Seeing them reinforces why we invest so much into our community and friendships. Heck, I ran into three friends just on a walk to lunch on our first day back – it was practically an episode of Cheers!

On top of the memories of this trip, I’m grateful to call many places across the U.S. home. Comfortable friendships and feeling at home in cities all over the place is a gift we are lucky to have received. So while you can’t go “home” to a place the way it thrives in your memories, we can cultivate new homes, even in places we’ve lived before, and I’m finding a new appreciation for old haunts as we touched down during January in San Diego and Idaho before picking up the van.

It will be exciting to hit the road for another adventure when we do. (Utah in April, anyone?) In the meantime, our schedule is filled with time with friends, a plant-based nutrition course for Chelsea, short trips to the mountains and coast, volunteering, yoga, and making sure my employees still know what I look like. Life is busy, but totally on our terms these days, and we’re going to make the most of it.

As a framed print on our dining room wall says, “Wherever we are together, that is home.” It’s great to be here.

Dakota

P.S. The blog doesn’t die here, don’t worry!

Rolling toward Portland after our reunion with the Sprinter!

Rolling toward Portland on a foggy day after our reunion with the Sprinter! Seven months away from my buddy the van is just too long.

NYC’s Pulse and Beat – A Time Lapse Video

A still photo misses the pulse of New York City. It singles out a tender moment or shows the scale of skyscrapers, but the heartbeat and energy flow too fast for a static shot.

Nine million people live in NYC, and sometimes it feels as if all of them are in one subway car or crosswalk with you. Time lapse photograph takes scenes and encapsulates them nicely into a few seconds. Packaged together, those brief moments are a quick glimpse into what makes the city so fun, intimidating and full of life.

This video is a compilation of scenes from our five weeks exploring the city. Central Park, Times Square and other iconic areas appear, along with random moments from our wandering about. I’d never played around with time lapses before – it’s quite fun! I parked my SLR camera the entire visit and shot everything (photos and time lapses) on my iPhone 5.

Without further ado, enjoy! Here’s the link to the short video on YouTube, or just click play below in the embedded version.

On to the next adventure,

Dakota

New York City, Straight Up

NYC marathon

New York City is a potent, fully-stocked bar. And, in five weeks here, I’ve enjoyed it straight up via rocking musicals on Broadway, on the rocks with a singer strumming tunes in a dark bar, or sipping the club soda of an indie movie night.

Other giant cities pack a punch too, but are grape juice compared to NYC’s deep red wine rush and sheer intensity. That crush of orderly mayhem turns ripples from New York’s art, finance and fashion morph into waves as they crash around the world.

Times Square and its insane advertising barrage.

Times Square and its insane advertising barrage.

In one run-on sentence, life here forces me to marvel at bike delivery guys zipping between taxis that are dodging delivery trucks unloading pallets of food into basements of billion dollar buildings as pedestrians zip by texting and eating lunch at the same time. I’d rather take a gut punch from Mike Tyson than pay rent for a studio apartment in midtown, yet people do it. Forget the yellow bus to get to school; throngs of youngsters navigating subway turnstiles with their moms are the norm.

Rather than shell out big cash for plays, we hit up rush, standing and lottery tickets. Here, we're crossing fingers to get into Wicked. Third time was the charm!

Rather than shell out big cash for plays, we hit up rush, standing and lottery tickets. Here, we’re crossing fingers to get into Wicked. Third time was the charm!

Mainlining culture in MOMA in front of a Rothko piece.

Calming down in MOMA in front of a Rothko piece.

Small niceties disappear as well. Take the driver of an armored truck leaning on a blasting horn for a solid minute at a stopped taxi. Few people appear to think outside themselves—“oh, the taxi is picking up a customer.” Eye contact is a foregone conclusion; agendas and destinations trump all. Summing it up perfectly: a guy in a suit shoulder-checked while crossing a busy street. In a high-pitched voice, he cried out for all to hear (but none to care), “Can’t you even say SORRY? I’m so SICK of it. Where are the manners, people?”

Logistics for simple things are daunting in NYC. I balk at exorbitant prices in restaurants (but wow the food is good) and sigh at the snaking lines in grocery stores (Whole Foods has an automated voice and TV screen directing traffic to 35 registers.) I’ve learned to be careful buying stuff from bodegas because the expiration date may be the previous decade (record so far: raisins from 2006. Mmm, dried gravel). And shouldering through Saturday night traffic in subways after a long day in the city tries my patience. It makes me dream of a quick bike ride home or a run in Central Park, which (surprisingly) has quiet winding paths away from the crowds.

The end of a pier on the Hudson River during a run through Riverside Park.

The end of a pier on the Hudson River during a run through Riverside Park.

Other than devouring the city’s offerings, my goals for New York were deliberately few. A writing class. Running in various parks and attending butt-kicking spin classes. And plenty of space for reading, writing and reflection on the past year. (Meanwhile, go-getter Chelsea is rocking frequent yoga and volunteering at Wild Bird Fund, a wild bird rehab center). After traveling for a year straight, decompressing in our own place feels great (thanks Erin!). The luxury of a couch and *gasp* sleeping in the same bed (and zip code) nightly. The small things make nomads happy.

Not that we’re sitting around. After all, the best – and most intimidating – thing about New York are the endless activities. Broadway shows are a new-found pleasure – the stunning, intricate sets coupled with star performers is so entertaining (we’ve seen seven musicals and are pro at scoring cheap tickets at this point). Fantastic plant-based restaurants abound (most memorable: Beyond Sushi, a delicious vegan take on sushi). Events like the NYC marathon, free art exhibits, concerts, indie movies and dance performances fill the hours and getting to sleep before midnight is a rarity. It’s a menagerie of entertainment into which we dived. So. Much. Fun. We logged the first ten days at Mach 3 explore mode and then realized our feet, minds and pocketbooks could crack into 12 million frayed pieces if we didn’t slow down. Quiet mornings followed by time for exploring provide a good middle ground.

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When we are out in the flow of the city, I watch people with fascination. They jaywalk, whistle for cabs and non-stop hustle. They’re pushing hard, often with tense faces and quick strides. I get it – in a place where a hot dog stand permit to sell $2 franks costs $289,000, I feel a jagged, angry edge in my personality at times too.

Still, we see glimmers of humanity shine. A homeless woman brought in an injured bird to Wild Bird Fund and donated $10 in crumpled, panhandled dollar bills to help out. A different homeless woman with white hair shivered in her thin blanket on a freezing day. We bought her a hat, which she refused. Startled by that, we watched two other people offer her money; she denied them too. On a Park Avenue street corner in the blasting wind, we four strangers bonded over the plight of another, put aside our schedules and discussed how we could help someone in need. I suspect this happens all the time on a variety of levels, from individuals to nonprofits to huge contributions from businesses.

NYC marathoners heading toward the finish at the southern end of Central Park. 60,000 people ran this year!

NYC marathoners heading toward the finish at the southern end of Central Park. 60,000 people ran this year!

Beneath it all, people make New York City a magic place. It’s not the rules, population stats, expensive permits or the billions in revenue on Wall Street. The individuals make the city sing (there’s a reason “Humans of New York” is so popular – it puts a face to the madness). Their unique labor cranks out world-class art, business, and food mixed into an ocean of chaotic energy that is as overwhelming as it is fantastic.

And now, even as I’m dreaming of a shifting balance in the form of quiet waves on a warm beach or the crunch of a mountain bike trail under my tires (with no sirens to be heard), this stay indelibly etched the pulse and beat of NYC into my chest. I feel most content in nature, but have loved basking in the brilliance of the city’s offerings. Whether sipping a walk through Central Park or a downing a shot of an energizing theater performance, fond memories abound. I can’t wait to come back.

Onward!

Dakota

Backstage at the Broadway performance of Wicked with a cast member. Thanks for the tour Betsy!

Backstage and blurry at the Broadway performance of Wicked with a cast member. Thanks to Merideth for introducing us to her friend Betsy!

Enjoying a walk in Central Park.

Enjoying a walk in Central Park.

Chelsea's wildlife rehab skills helping out an injured pigeon.

Chelsea’s wildlife rehab skills helping out an injured pigeon.

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When in Rome, Wave at the Pillsbury Doughboy

The Pillsbury Doughboy

I wonder how foreign tourists feel in the U.S. on Thanksgiving Day. Do they search for “local” flavor the same way backpackers clamor for an obscure, off the beaten path scene during an overseas festival? Fireworks and tango in Spain; paint-throwing in India. Here, it’s “We need to find a down-home American family cooking turkey, cranberries and potatoes. We’ll watch football and gorge ourselves. It’s a tradition!”

Even living here for five weeks, we remain tourists in NYC. So, waking to falling snowflakes on Thanksgiving Day, we did what any red-blooded New York visitor does: shouldered through crowds to watch the Macy’s Parade. And as Spiderman, the Pillsbury Doughboy and Sponge Bob Square Pants floated by on Central Park West, we mashed in with everyone and laughed at the scene, chatting amiably with people.

A little girl watches in delight as Sponge Bob Square Pants floats on by.

A little girl watches in delight as Sponge Bob Square Pants floats on by.

Stomping our feet to stay warm, holiday cheer jingled in the air. Balloon sellers hawked replicas of the floats; kids perched on police car roofs, gaping at the floats and cheering at marching bands. Eventually, Santa’s sleigh slid by followed by giant red stars proclaiming “Believe” and the holiday tradition finished. Sporting smiles, the crowd dispersed to watch the Bears and Lions face off and roll their eyes during drunk uncle Henry’s rants about how the Democrats are screwing everything up.

Kids snag a better view of the parade. (C photo credit)

Kids snag a better view of the parade. (C photo credit)

Last year, we spent Thanksgiving hiking and camping in California redwood groves. Enjoying it with a million people in Manhattan is 180 degrees (and a lot of biking) away. And it’s all good! Because even as a tourist, when you’re in the middle of a country’s tradition, holidays knock down walls. People are more gracious when lights twinkle in storefront windows. Everybody says “happy holidays” after a short conversation with the restaurant table next to them. And if a parade of inflated icons facilitates that in a busy city like New York, sign me up.

Hope you had an awesome Thanksgiving!

Dakota

P.S. Join us in celebrating Buy Nothing Day today on Black Friday to focus on friends, family and experiences instead. Here’s the Minimalists’ great post about it.

Papa Smurf rolls on by as kids watch from the top of a police van (C photo credit)

Papa Smurf rolls on by as kids watch from the top of a police van (C photo credit)

Abandoned Bikes of NYC

Forgotten bikes of NYC

We are abandoned bicycles. If you look, we pop up everywhere in New York City, chained and left behind. Bike vultures pick clean our cruisers and svelte carbon racers. Sometimes just a front a wheel remains locked to a rack; other times, only our skeleton frames, with seat, handlebars and components stripped. Or you might spot an elder, complete with rusting chain, bent rims and flat tires, eyeing strangers as they pass.

We live in every big city. Lonely and sad, we linger on street corners and lean against railings. Once loved, now forgotten and left behind by a busy world. No longer a part of anyone’s life, we’re a disappearing memory.

Take a minute from your busy day. We don’t need a dollar bill handout. A simple smile will do.

Note: Taking shots of abandoned bikes was a random and fun little project of mine in New York. (Click the above photo for a bigger image.) I took a blogging break during November and focused on exploring the city during our stay. Back shortly to writing with a post about my experience here. Then we’re off on another, different adventure…without bikes.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Dakota

Gearing Down on the Maine Hut Trails

Flagstaff Lake backpacking

Two weeks, no touring bikes. My metabolism, inspired by three months of biking, rages on like a hungry teenager. It’s as if my stomach frequently yells, “Hey, we’re starving down here!” I’m striking a balance between eating everything in sight and knowing that I’ll turn into Dakota the Puffy Balloon Kid if I do, which means sometimes I have to put my adolescent stomach in detention and let it grumble at me.

Not that we’ve been sitting around eating bon bons and drinking chai all day. Quite the contrary. Since we unclipped our cycling shoes on October 6th, I’ve had a grand total of two days lounging. As my friend Eric said recently, “Good God! Will the two of you just sit down and watch some television?”

No way. Instead, the day after finishing our bike tour found us gearing up for a four-day backpacking trip in Maine. Chelsea’s fabulous mother planned the expedition for us and her parents flew out to celebrate the bike tour’s end the best way I know: tromping through the woods beneath eye-popping fall foliage.

Perfect fall colors on the MHT amid the poplars.

Perfect fall colors on the MHT amid the poplars.

The huts are three hours north of Portland in a tiny town called Carrabassett Valley. Sugarloaf, a ski resort, sits high above the valley. The Appalachian Trail cuts through during its final legs less than five miles away. And over the last six years, a 35 year dream of a local finally happened. It’s called the Maine Hut Trails (MHT) and you need to check it out if you’re ever in this area!

In total, it’s a network of 12 planned huts, 4 currently built and operating, that will connect 180 miles of gorgeous trails. Planned as a cross-country ski destination, it also is great for backpacking and exploring fall colors, which is what brought us there. Picture gleaming log lodges about 10 miles apart with big windows looking out at trees, lakes or over a valley. Throw in three meals a day cooked for us (they easily accommodate special diets too) and the experience was one I highly recommend. All day outside in the trees plus a warm meal at the end of the day is our version of kicking back on a beach.

Our favorite hut during the hike, Stratton Brook. Huge windows overlooking the valley and a nice seating area by the fire.

Our favorite hut during the hike, Stratton Brook. Huge windows overlooking the valley and a nice seating area by the fire.

Fallen leaves in a poplar grove during the hike.

Fallen leaves in a poplar grove during the hike.

I perform some of my clearest thinking when I’m in the woods. (I suspect I’m not alone in that.) Just me and one foot in front of the other. Striding through fall leaves with a pack on my back felt steady and good, even as my feet and shoulder muscles discussed the fact that bike touring didn’t prep them for this activity. And without needing to worry about logistics and where we were going to stay that night, I could reflect on our bike trip. No cell phone, no computer, just nature on full power for four days of unplugged tromping about.

I am letting the full experience of touring marinate before writing a reflections post (if I do one at all). While I’m relaxed post-tour and enjoyed our time in Maine, an unsettled feeling occasionally pops into my consciousness now that we’re without bikes. Time for a new project or goal to engage my compass. I’ve felt this before after achieving significant milestones in my life and I think we all run into it at junctures in our personal journey. (It’s that moment when you submit a big report or watch empty Dixie cups kick around in the wind after a race.) I suspect it would mean I’m not challenging myself enough if I didn’t have moments like this, so I’m just going with it.

An evening canoe on Flagstaff Lake, the first hut we stayed in.

An evening canoe on Flagstaff Lake, the first hut we stayed in.

It’s not a let down or disappointment to be transitioning off the bikes, which we shipped home in a zero-fanfare moment. (I didn’t even tear up, though Chelsea curbed the urge to run back and hug her bike.) It’s just a different phase to which I need to adjust. The hard part will be not bringing it up in every conversation for awhile. Maybe I’ll wear my cycling shorts and jersey a couple days a week and pretend we’re still touring.

Engaging my body while my mind whirs away always works for me. So while I mulled over various ideas the last few weeks, we backpacked on the MHT, hiked granite outcroppings on the coast of Maine near Acadia, and soaked up the final gasps of New England’s leaf show. If nothing else, it was a splendid ramp down for the gnawing beast that is my metabolism as we transition into the winter and not biking every day. From here, feeding my insatiable desire to learn, grow and be challenged will take the place of cycling for awhile. Even if I already miss my bike, I’m looking forward to it.

Headed to Boston today! Ciao for now.

Dakota

A break on the trail.

A break on the trail.

Chelsea near the end of the MHT trail.

Chelsea near the end of the MHT trail.

The Narrow Gauge Rail Trail finish line near where we parked the car. Note for mountain bikers: there are NICE gravity trails in the area built by MTBers for MTBers. Worth a visit!

The Narrow Gauge Rail Trail finish line near where we parked the car. Note for mountain bikers: there are NICE gravity trails in the area built by MTBers for MTBers. Worth a visit!

This young lad was the host of the final MHT hut. His name ?Dakota James...Just. Like. Mine. Whaaaaat are the chances?!

This young lad was the host of the final MHT hut. His name? Dakota James…Just. Like. Mine. Whaaaaat are the chances?!

Dozens of planks spanned creeks during our hike.

Dozens of planks spanned creeks during our hike.

 

C and parents on the MHT.

C and parents on the MHT.

The Yellowstone Peace Protocol

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Two mother bison and their calves. Notice how close they are to keep their offspring safe from wolves. (They are shedding winter coats, not dying of some horrible disease.)

I have a theory. Call it the Yellowstone Peace Protocol, or YPP for short.

It’s simple: take people from all over the world who can’t agree on anything or are fighting over an age-old conflict. Place them together in a beautiful landscape populated with majestic animals in a sort of wildlife pilgrimage. Humans of all colors, shapes, nationalities and languages, all inspired by nature. Now make sure the ratio of people to binoculars and spotting scopes is skewed. Say, 20 people for every five pairs of binoculars and two spotting scopes.

Now stand back. I don’t care if there is a staunch Republican next to a Democrat, or a Palestinian next to a Jew, or a Michigan State fan next to an Ohio State alumnus (am I pushing it with that one?). They’re going to start talking about wolves, bison and bears, not some other age-old conflict. Next thing you know, they’re sharing the spotting scopes and binoculars and sharing cold brews from a cooler. Agendas and nationalities melt away in the face of the YPP and all you’re left with is the fact that all of us are human.

A rather large elk that meandered through our campsite in Grand Teton about five feet from the van. We watched him for quite awhile.

A rather large elk that meandered through our campsite in Grand Teton about five feet from the van. We watched him for quite awhile.

French, Czech, Dutch, British, Texan, New Joy-sey, or Aussie. Talking to a fellow animal watcher in a National Park for the first time, you never know what their accent will be, so it would be a level playing ground to get started. With a thread weaving us all together, our eyes and intention are trained on the mama grizzly bear and her cubs bouncing in the tall grass, not the differences that “separate” us.

A dusk shot (not so good, sorry) of a mama grizzly and her tiny little cub. I didn't want to get any closer than this for the shot!

A dusk shot (not so good, sorry) of a mama grizzly and her tiny little cub. I didn’t want to get any closer than this for the shot!

I think this would trump the effectiveness of any UN meeting or mediation. Find a calming common ground and resolution lies just beyond that boundary. A clean, easy solution! Leaders of the World, feel free to borrow this anytime you’d like.

Sincerely,

Dakota

P.S. Yellowstone and Grand Teton are just amazing. We can’t wait to get back there. Here are a fair number of other pictures that I haven’t had a chance to share. Plus a few fun ones from Colorado and Montana to get these shots out once and for all!

The aptly named Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. Amazing just like its counterpart to the south.

The aptly named Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. Amazing just like its counterpart to the south.

Algae brighten up a geyser pool in Yellowstone.

Multi-colored bacteria brighten up a geyser pool in Yellowstone.

The majestic, old-timber lodge near Old Faithful. A great dinner in a cool rustic space that reminded me of Timberline near Mt. Hood.

The majestic, old-timber lodge near Old Faithful. A great dinner in a cool rustic space that reminded me of Timberline near Mt. Hood.

Tent caterpillars building their homes in Yellowstone.

Tent caterpillars lounging in Yellowstone.

Bubbling pools of hot water and the colorful algae that live on them.

Bubbling pools of hot water and the colorful bacteria that live on them.

I know, I know, you've seen it...but it's just so pretty with flowers and mountains! (Grand Teton)

I know, I know, you’ve seen it…but it’s just so pretty with flowers and mountains! (Grand Teton)

Oh give me a hommmme, where the buffalo roooam... (Grand Teton rocks.)

Oh give me a hommmme, where the buffalo roooam… (Grand Teton rocks.)

A big ol' bison munching away in the fields.

A big ol’ bison munching away in the fields.

Cows under an incoming storm in the middle of nowhere Wyoming.

Cows under an incoming storm in the middle of nowhere Wyoming.

A lizard keeps an eye on the scene in Fruita, Colorado.

A lizard keeps an eye on the scene in Fruita, Colorado.

Assisting with a friend's move near Boulder, CO by holding down roof freight while also wielding his favorite trident (we don't have one of those in the van). Got a few odd looks on the drive over. :)

Assisting with a friend’s move near Boulder, CO by holding down roof freight while also wielding his favorite trident (we don’t have one of those in the van). Got a few odd looks on the drive over. 🙂

Lewis and Clark Caverns near the North Entrance to Yellowstone.

Lewis and Clark Caverns near the North Entrance to Yellowstone.

Lewis and Clark Caverns near the North Entrance to Yellowstone.

The tunnel out of Lewis and Clark Caverns. You start way up at the top and descend wayyyyy down before exiting through this tunnel.

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.

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!

A Spring Visit to Idaho – Photo Essay

Farmland and tractors. Welcome to the Palouse, the rolling hills of Northern Idaho.

Farmland and tractors. Welcome to the Palouse, the rolling hills of Northern Idaho.

Right after my brother’s baby Sam was born in mid-April, Chelsea and I flew north to Moscow, Idaho to meet the new addition to the family and visit everyone. It was a couple weeks filled with dinners, walks, hikes and bike rides, and plenty of oohing at the newborn. The perfect family visit.

I’m experimenting with shorter, photo-heavy posts on a more frequent basis with my usual posts mixed in. Let me know what you think! Quite the backlog of shots from our travels to work through still since I’ve been so busy. Here are a few pictures from this visit!

Dakota

Cruising a rails-to-trails with dad, bro and Chelsea.

Cruising a rails-to-trails with dad, bro and Chelsea.

Chelsea feeding the wildlife during a bike ride.

Chelsea feeding the wildlife during a bike ride.

Some acroyoga in the arboretum. (Photo credit Chelsea, taken last fall just before our trip started.)

Some acroyoga in the arboretum. (Photo credit Chelsea.)

My cheery aunt Angie. Don't know her that well, but she is awesome!

My cheery aunt, Angie. (Wow, my hair was getting long.)

A little acroyoga, which my brother teaches.

A little more acroyoga (my brother teaches it).

The classic (to me) Idaho symbol: the silo.

The classic (to me) Idaho symbol: the silo. Next to a great rails-to-trails bike path (you can see Chelsea and my dad cruising).

The University of Idaho arboretum with the big I on the water tower.

The University of Idaho arboretum with the big I on the water tower.

Chelsea's snow hat.

Chelsea’s Snow Princess cold weather hat. (Borrowed from Chelsea’s mom.)

Patchwork quilt of the Palouse, the area around our home town.

Patchwork quilt of the Palouse, as the area around our home town is known. (Airplane shot!)

 

Utah Snapshot – Porcupine Rim

Porcupine Rim

Utah is a land of big views and subtle sounds. Huge red rock bluffs, valleys spackled in green, blue skies soaring above. Wind whispering through pines or roaring over ridges. Mountain bike tires crunching over sand or scratching up slickrock. Rabbits hopping across the trail, lizards skittering up rocks, and birds whipping past. Flip flops snapping during a hike. Waterfalls pouring off canyon walls and birds warbling away in a desert oasis. Utter silence as night falls high on a mesa and the stars twinkle in some of the darkest skies in the world.

To me, the above picture (iPhone shot!) sums up Utah. I took it high on Porcupine Rim near the city of Moab. Porcupine is a mountain bike ride starting at 8,000′ and descending 4,000′ along the edge of a rim all the way down to the mighty Colorado River, which we camped along. It was the perfect day: Up early to ride world-famous terrain, then a nice afternoon relaxing and hanging with other travelers, followed by evening hiking in Arches National Park with a sunset capstone of a deep red glow on Delicate Arch.

The journey continues! More pictures soon.

Dakota