Digging Deep with Happiness Through Subtraction

Columbia Gorge Munra Point View Hike

Ten million self-help books exist, all promising to improve our lives. Many focus on a strict schedule and the addition of various tasks or practices: Meditating, exercising, time scheduling, eating well, always smiling, never complaining, being a perfect person…

Just turn into a robot and BOOM, life becomes easy.

Except it doesn’t work for most of us, including me. Changing multiple variables usually creates overload and a short circuit back to old habits.

A Different Approach

I prefer happiness through subtraction. Cut out the activities and habits that create misery, then add back things that make you grin each day when you open your eyes.

I was introduced to this concept by Nassim Taleb’s book AntifragileHe writes:

Happiness is best dealt with as a negative concept…the pursuit of happiness is not equivalent to the avoidance of unhappiness. Each of us certainly knows not only what makes us unhappy, but what to do about it.

Unfortunately, humans are terrible at guessing what will make us happy. We are great at figuring out what makes us miserable though! As Francis Jourdain said, “One can furnish a room very luxuriously by taking out furniture rather than putting it in.”

A magical spot at the base of Elowah Falls in Oregon.

A magical spot at the base of Elowah Falls in Oregon.

Subtract the Unhappy

Start with basic activities that make you unhappy. Perhaps it’s feeling guilty about a caffeine addiction, loathing daily mind-numbing conference calls, or the overwhelm of emails stacking up like Tetris blocks. What are the root causes of those things, and would eliminating them add considerably to your happiness?

Maybe we need caffeine because we’re exhausted each morning. But why are we tired? (New parents, you know why…sorry, but I can’t help you there!)

Was it from staying up late flipping through social media, or not sleeping well because computer screens churn out mind-stimulating blue waves? (Try Flux to address the latter; Apple’s new OS incorporates this idea.) Cutting social media or computer time after dinner might result in better sleep, decrease the need for caffeine, and create a cascading positive effect.

Spring flowers in the Columbia Gorge looking west toward Portland.

Spring flowers in the Columbia Gorge looking west toward Portland.

Hitting inbox-zero feels great, but it’s a Pyrrhic victory since doing so in a hurry often creates more work. There’s no faster way to build giant email chains than a quick email. (Try Cal Newport’s technique to fix this.)

Still, developing an efficient system to deal with email doesn’t address the core question: why are we getting so many emails?

We can be efficient, but at some point there’s too much to handle, or the work itself is mind-numbing. I faced this in 2013 when I received 5,000 emails per month (and sent 2,500). I was efficient, but even using canned (saved) responses and other templates only worked to a degree.

Drilling deep, I saw the source of my unhappiness wasn’t email. Instead, I was completely burned out from working daily with clients who asked for (and deserved) immediate responses. My solution was to hire staff to take over those duties. This lowered my income, but allowed me a more flexible schedule to focus on other things.

I still work daily, but incoming email has dropped to a fraction of the volume. It also isn’t as time-sensitive, so I can deal with it when convenient.

My solution is only one approach. For my industry, I didn’t see another way since automation wasn’t an option. Your situation is probably different, but figuring out the root causes of what makes you unhappy is a powerful place to start.

Tenuous ground on the way to Munra Point.

A day hike in Oregon.

Work unhappiness is only the beginning. We can apply happiness through  subtraction to all aspect of our lives, including friendships, food, and physical workouts that we dread. I hate indoor cycling, but will mountain bike until my legs fall off.

As Leo Babauta of Zen Habits wrote recently, “we fear only one thing really: not having control, certainty, security, comfort.” Cutting away activities that make us unhappy leaves us with fewer stress points. We can’t erase the fear of losing control or security, but blowing away negative chaff in our life gives us more energy to powerfully deal with the headaches that do come up.

The next time you’re feeling overwhelmed or down, don’t add habits to your life. Take to heart the old Swedish proverb: “Fear less, hope more; eat less, chew more; whine less, breathe more; talk less, say more; love more, and all good things will be yours.” What else could we possibly need?

Straddling a narrow ridge near Munra Point in Oregon.

Straddling a narrow ridge near Munra Point in Oregon.

Simple Tools to Help You Focus and Be More Productive

Santa Cruz West Cliffs

It’s one thing to talk about cutting away busyness at a high level, but how we do it in our day-to-day lives? I suggest using simple tools to remove distractions.

This is no easy task. Most of us work on a computer (a.k.a. distraction machine) for large parts of our day and spend entertainment hours in front of glowing screens as well. Whether we’re at work or at home, how can we carve out the space to focus and think deeply?

As Cal Newport writes in Deep Work, “To succeed you have to produce the absolute best stuff you’re capable of producing—a task that requires depth.” Off the grid in a cabin is one method, but not everyone’s work allows that. (Mine doesn’t.) For those of us who must stay connected while maintaining focus and productivity beyond just answering emails, we can use technology to our advantage.

Here are some of my favorite tools or techniques and a brief description of how I use them to stay focused and remove needless distraction. My advice is to sample some of these for a week. If there’s a positive result, try creating a habit the same way you would with exercise or meditation.

Block the ‘Nets: Freedom

Freedom is a great program with one simple function — shutting off your connection to the internet. Simply select the duration and hit Start.

I use this as a formal start to trigger a writing or video editing session. This keeps me from researching minutiae or feeling stuck mid-project, only to end up wandering Internet Land for an hour.

After all, most distractions stem from the online entertainment expanse, a time suck where two hours we slated for a project whirls away down the toilet. Cue up Freedom when you need to sketch a design, write a memo, or perform any concentrated, complex task for an extended period of time.

Freedom

Track Your Time: Toggl

I quoted Derek Sivers in my busyness post: “If you’re busy, you’re out of control.” Well, how do you know what’s devouring your time if you don’t track it? I had no idea until I started tracking my time via Toggl in 15 minute increments about five years ago.

This wound up dropping my hours worked — it’s amazing how a ticking timer keeps me focused. The best part, however, was that I knew where my time was going.

That awareness helped me determine the core efforts that yielded the best results (Pareto Principle again). I started outsourcing and hiring capable people to handle basic tasks (or those I’d mastered and could delegate) so I could focus on my the best use of my skills. Whether you’re an employee, a solo creative, or business owner, tracking your time is a game-changer.

If you think I’m crazy, I got the idea from Jim Collins, the business consultant and best-selling author of Good to Great. He carries a timer with him everywhere he goes. (I assume he doesn’t shower with it!)

Maintain Focus: Momentum

Momentum is a simple, free extension for your internet browser that helps keep your daily priority top of mind whenever you open a new tab. Instead of a list of favorite sites, news or a search bar to drag you into the quicksand of the interwebs, the new tab simply reminds you to keep on task. There’s also a nice picture and quote to make you feel all warm inside.

Momentum

Train Your Brain: Music on Repeat

I picked up this hack from Matt Mullenweg, the founder of Automattic. While I often listen to relaxed music (classical or electronic) when I write or edit video/photos, picking a single song and leaving it on repeat keeps me company while staying more in the background. (The song Shimmer by Tracey Chattaway is my current favorite.)

Shut Out Social Media: Facebook Newsfeed Eradicator

Can’t curb the twitch to scan through Facebook when you’re tired, bored, or cranking hard to solve a problem? This browser extension blocks your feed so you have to search for a friend to see what they’re up to.

I use this off and on, but have found that it helps moderate my desire to be constantly connected. If you aren’t feeling so hard core, try the StayFocused app instead, which limits the time you can spend on various websites.

I also highly recommend deleting all social apps on your phone. Spend the time you’d normally use flipping through Instagram or Facebook to allow your mind to just laze about, read a few pages in a book or even talk to a stranger next to you.

Outsource the Small Stuff: UpWork

Some tasks just aren’t worth doing yourself. Data entry, simple research, basic website coding and other work can siphon off hours of otherwise productive time.

My mindset is always to track my time and identify where I spend it, then see if I can automate a task. If I can’t, I try to outsource to someone who does it faster and better than I can. That could of course be an employee or delegated to a co-worker, but if you’re self-employed than a Upwork or other freelance sites are fantastic.

Sometimes you need help to accomplish that mountain of work.

Sometimes you need help to accomplish that mountain of work. (Mt. Shasta, California)

Keep Track of Passwords: LastPass

Websites are only making password criteria tougher. Six symbols, a number, and your favorite calculus symbol make it tough to remember any of them. Resetting passwords or getting locked out and calling customer service sucks, which is why a password vault is a necessity.

If you aren’t using one yet, my favorite is LastPass. I guarantee it will save you time and keep you on point rather than searching for that password iteration you left on a slip of paper somewhere on your desk.

Task Management: Boomerang/Google Inbox or Evernote

I’ve already written about The Secret Weapon, my organization and task management system for keeping my life on track and in balance. If that seems like too much, try using a simple task list coupled with either Google Inbox or Boomerang, an email plug-in whose features are built into Inbox or can be paired with Gmail.

Inbox and Boomerang allow you to “snooze” emails (i.e. hide them after picking a date for them to reappear). You can also set follow up reminders when you send an email, or schedule an email to send at a particular date/time. With Evernote as my external brain, I no longer use these two, but they are a great gateway to a full-blown task management system if committing to The Secret Weapon is too daunting right now.

This guy obviously has things in balance.

This guy obviously has things in balance.

Automate Your Finances

If you’re anything like me, you hate the process of paying bills. Believe it or not, many people still do it manually, which is why I’m bringing it up.

Take advantage of technology and automate your payments – credit card, utilities, cell phone, car, mortgage, and so on. Go through three months of spending and schedule every single monthly bill. You’ll recoup that initial time investment in a single month, plus not have to worry about when bills are due. Finance guru Ramit Sethi has a comprehensive how-to on all this; his 12-minute video will save you days of your future life.

***

Don’t start using all of these at once! My approach is to question why a tool is beneficial before trying it out. Too complex and it will take a lot of time to set up and then be forgotten. Simple is great.

We can accomplish more work, free up leisure time, and decrease stress by cutting out the noise. As the saying goes, focus is more important than intelligence. In our increasingly distracting world, I couldn’t agree more.

When you're done with the work, I recommend hiking someplace like Palouse Falls in Washington.

When you’re done with the work, I recommend hiking somewhere like Palouse Falls in Washington.

How to Escape the Busyness Trap

Santa Cruz west cliffs

Thoreau said it well: “It is not enough to be busy. The question is: what are we busy about?”

We bury ourselves in activities, put our head down, and toil away. Popping up to breathe years later, we look around and wonder where we are. This isn’t the life I wanted!

The new year is a great time to pause and ask ourselves, “do my daily activities support my dreams?”

I know this well because in 2008, I said yes to everything. Meetings. Networking events. Speaking engagements. Newly self-employed, I lacked the skills to turn away low-paying or difficult clients, much less good ones.

Starting out in business, we need the money, so we shoulder any available work. If life is a tree, branches of obligations grow haphazardly, leaves of busyness sprouting from those branches. The trunk, core dreams and goals, can stand forgotten.

It’s logical for us to create systems to maximize productivity and then accept additional clients. The risk is that the calendar dictates our days and we end up swimming relentless laps in an exhausting pool of stress.

For me, it all came to a head in the middle of 2012. I was doing well financially, but the effort consumed my mind. I struggled to stay present. My temptress phone beckoned during “free time” while anxiety gremlins roamed my mind at night.

I was overwhelmed, but a solution slowly evolved. Looking back, I see simple steps can help anyone fend off busyness.

A Santa Cruz sunset.

Walkers enjoy a perfect Santa Cruz sunset.

Acknowledging we’re too busy

It’s hard to realize our own misery. A line from Derek Sivers‘, one of my favorite thinkers, summed up my situation: “If you’re busy, you’re out of control.”

My insightful wife guided me toward making a change; a partner, friend, or coworker may help you as well. Even with her prodding, it took awhile. Like many fundamental changes, the realization hit when the pain of staying outweighed making a change.

The difficult part was deciding which branches to chop from the busy tree.

Questioning the reasons why

It’s tough to escape the momentum of a plan set in motion years earlier. How do we slow things down?

A solution is to focus on asking why we do any action. We meet clients in-person. Why. We go to networking events. Why.

This process helps us identify work that results in wasted effort or tremendous headaches. Time tracking is a powerful way to quantify how we spend our hours. From there, choose the 20% of business that nets 80% of the goal — classic Pareto principle . My personal goal wasn’t just income: free time, lower stress, and revenue were equal tripod legs.

Since we often build success on a Foundation of Yes, this isn’t easy. Even when we can finally afford to say no, turning down an energy-draining client feels like throwing money away. Politely refusing referrals is flipping the bird to years of building connections. It seems wasteful, entitled, and even stupid.

It’s why a famous actor says yes to a movie they know is bad. To paraphrase Kevin Costner, “Who am I to turn away a role other people need so much?”

Yet no is the path to redemption.

Looking north along the coast of Big Sur at Bixby Canyon Bridge.

Looking north along the coast of Big Sur at Bixby Canyon Bridge.

Targeting bloated obligations and responsibilities

Saying no feels awkward at first, but we improve. We finish up tough projects and new work that better fits our wheelhouse fills the void. Building on that success to examine other facets of life like eliminating energy-draining vampires and possessions can further transform our world.

Continually pruning our obligations is an important ongoing action. Do this by focusing on hell yeah activities, those that speak to our core interests. If it isn’t hell yeah, say no. As a bonus, curtailing the chaos leaves more time for deeper, focused efforts that yield richer fruit.

Seeing new opportunities through a mist during a hike in Big Sur.

Redwoods in the mist during a hike in Big Sur.

Filling the space

Once we prune the leaves on the busy tree, new opportunities feel the warm sun and blossom. While I still run my streamlined business, now I also can say hell yeah to flowers of travel and a budding creativity I’d sidelined for years.

This is not an ode to laziness; hard work and perseverance are good for us. Saying yes to crappy jobs in high school trains our muscles – physical and mental – to strain through running a business. Those experiences are integral to our journey. We all need those struggles to better appreciate the fruits of future labors.

YouTube star Casey Neistat nails it when he says “success is measured by the amount of time we don’t spend doing things we hate.” Saying yes to everything results in unintentional busyness. Focus. Lop off a few branches. Take control.

As the year unfolds, ponder new goals and “required” schedule items. Ask why you’re doing them.

Then start saying no.

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P.S. Dig this? You might like the list of tools I use to stay focused.

My friend Reese enjoys a quiet sunset on the west cliffs of Santa Cruz.

My friend Reese enjoys a quiet moment on the west cliffs of Santa Cruz.

The Power of a Father-Son Road Trip

Father son trip

This article was initially published here on The Good Men Project.

Beneath a crescent moon in western Montana, I park the camper van among thick pines. My dad, who loves to sleep under the stars, lays out his bedroll. Bears (or mice – they sound the same in the dark) tromp through the woods.

“Can I have a metal bowl?” he asks. I hand one over, plus a spoon to bang on it. Bear Repellent Kit, check. Safety first! Our road trip is underway.

Growing up, we spent many holidays finishing home remodeling projects. When I wasn’t wiring our house or digging the foundation, I traveled on weekends for baseball or played video games. I mastered double plays and Warcraft II, but trips with my dad fell by the wayside.

These days, a few testosterone-fueled shouting fights from my teenage years linger as cautionary memories. Leery or not of how the trip will go, my dad and I are making it happen.

We kick things off by cycling the Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park through a silent palace of views. Fading tamarack pines paint the mountains a dusky yellow in the perfect fall weather. The solitary few people in the campgrounds are the ones who love the quiet of shoulder season travel, so we fit right in.

A few miles from the top of Logan Pass in Glacier on Going-to-the-Sun Road.

A few miles from the top of Logan Pass in Glacier on Going-to-the-Sun Road.

Next is a hike on the park’s east side as clouds squat on the peaks, the only sounds our footsteps and trickling water. My dad’s knee, wrecked years ago thanks to ladder fall and increasingly hampering his movement, limits our distance. How many more times can he walk deep into the woods? Moved by that thought, he gets teary-eyed as we amble along. I do too as I write this.

We hike and I think of how mountain peaks are unreachable when we’re babies. Our parents first help us walk; later, they cheer as we wobble off on a bike down the driveway. Soon we can hike anything, heading off to forge new, independent lives. Then one by one, peaks and trails we scampered up become insurmountable until we lean on a cane or our own child to get up the walkway. These thoughts push me to embrace adventure in my life, something I’ve continually aimed for the last two years.

We stop at a cafe I fondly remember from a bike tour. Cowboy boots stuffed with light bulbs illuminate the interior; worn-out guns are screwed to the walls. Our waitress Jamie is frank and funny, a sparky woman with a tough story of escaping a bad marriage. She candidly shares and we listen. My dad leaves a 50% tip, saying, “I have a soft spot for people like that.” I was planning the same.

Taking in a view above a Montana valley.

Taking in a view above a Montana valley.

We scarf cinnamon graham crackers and talk about art, travel, stories from his past. Miles roll under our tires as tales crack loose from his mind. Forever grammar snobs, we pick apart historical signs and their poor grammar. (It’s lose, not loose, dammit.) We laugh about a “wildlife view” sign juxtaposed with a pumping oil rig.

I steer the van, but he holds the reins for our route and activities. We visit Charley Russell’s museum to see my dad’s favorite western art. At the Archie Bray ceramics foundation, we talk to resident artists. One woman left a successful teaching position to create art for two years. “Academic politics suck,” she says. My dad did the same when he left Chico State in the 80s to raise a family in Idaho and focus on his art.

I handle all the trip logistics, chopping veggies for lunch salads and picking up the tab for dinner, gas and campsites. It feels good to break his routine and spawn an adventure. How many times has he done these things for me? I ponder while making him a sandwich as we park overlooking a river.

On the east side of the Front Range of the Rockies.

On the east side of the Front Range of the Rockies.

Sometimes I fixate on the little things he does that drive me nuts, but now all I feel is a refreshing sense of calm. What matters is the opportunity to be here, spending time together. There’s no clock or itinerary dictating our travels and we are amiable and cheerful as we reconnect.

At the euphemistically-named Wildfowl Management Area, my dad chats with a taciturn old duck hunter limping his way back from the marsh. They talk guns and swap stories, then stand there a second before the hunter drawls “yeaaappp” to wrap up the conversation as only a seasoned outdoorsman can do.

My dad can shoot the breeze with grouchy ranchers, and he is also one of the most creative people I know. Conversations influence his art and he can work with any medium. He’s created ceramic and bronze monsters, a menagerie of ugly poodle tchotchkes, a broken taillight slideshow exhibition, colorful drawings on Sheetrock, and politically satirical face masks. He made Four More Years – a leering, trollish mask – when George W. Bush was re-elected.

We walked up to Old Faithful in Yellowstone and it immediately put on a show!

We walked up to Old Faithful in Yellowstone and it immediately put on a show!

He downplays his success as an artist, but when I pry, he recounts teaching positions and a scroll of workshops, fellowships and grants. And that’s in northern Idaho, hardly a bastion of funding for the arts.

I tell him I think artists are too hard on themselves. Amanda Palmer’s quote comes to mind: “You’re an artist when you say you are. And you’re a good artist when you make somebody else experience or feel something deep or unexpected.” He did that with an ice sculpture that was on Good Morning America; the DNA helix in our front yard still turns heads.

His childhood was tough, whereas mine was full of love and present parents. “I’m sorry you grew up poor,” he tells me, and I respond with the truth: It taught me the value of hard work and helps me, a textbook Millennial, appreciate how wonderful my life is. I’m lucky to never had to “eat bitter,” as the Chinese say of experiencing hard times.

A silent Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park.

A silent Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park.

We comfortably spend time together in conversation and also in silence, me fiddling with my phone while he scribbles in an ever-present journal. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at a picnic table in an old mining town, I ponder how time together can create rifts, but also channel healing powers through its currents. I’m grateful we didn’t put off this trip any longer.

“How would you like to spend your time?” I ask. He thinks a moment. “Reading, writing, making art, spending time in nature, and listening to people’s stories.” The circle is complete. After years of denying myself the joys of creativity, these days I spend my days immersed in those very pursuits. Like father, like son.

Tires spin and stories roll as the van ticks off miles of pines and plains toward the trip’s end. I make dinner as a full moon rises over our sparking fire. My dad finishes a story and pauses, then sums it all up with a long “yeeeeeappppp.”

He grins and I can’t stop laughing. Later, as frost nips the valley and the coyotes shriek at the moon, his earth-cratering snoring stumbles, then creaks to a halt. I know he’s lying there, loving every minute of this. I am too.

***

Want to see more of this journey? Check out the full video or read about the amazing old mining town of Bannack. More pictures below too.

Exploring the east side of Glacier National Park.

Exploring the east side of Glacier National Park.

A big horn sheep spotted during a day in SW Montana.

A big horn sheep spotted during a day in SW Montana.

Yellowstone has the coolest colors.

Yellowstone has the coolest colors.

Closing out a day by the fire in Bannack State Park.

Closing out a day by the fire in Bannack State Park.

2015: A Year in Review

Sunset in Morro Bay, California

On Christmas Day, Chelsea and I talked about 2015 during a walk along the sea cliffs of Santa Cruz. Instead of throwing out new adventures and aspirations, we studied the rear view mirror.

We are currently landed in Santa Cruz enjoying the sunshine and excellent local trails. This stillness affords reflection on what we’ve done, seen, and experienced this past year. (To see what we’re up to anytime, check out a new page I added, inspired by Derek Siver’s movement.)

Sitting down to write after a few weeks off, I broke things down into four categories:

  1. Fabulous Moments
  2. What Went Well
  3. Things to Improve
  4. What I’m Excited About

This is also a chance to share some of my favorite photos from 2015. Let’s begin with the fun!

Fabulous Moments

Exploring Half Moon Caye in Belize

We kicked off 2015 by snorkeling and kayaking in Belize with Chelsea’s family. With warm blue water, incredible birds, and a friendly group of other travelers, (luxury) camping on this tiny island was an unforgettable trip.

Sunrise on Half Moon Caye

Mountain biking and building community in Utah

I can’t get enough of this red rock playground. I certainly mountain biked my legs off, yet my April trip through Utah was also about community.

I met up with half a dozen friends from Oregon, California, and Colorado, crossed paths with various blog readers, and built a friendship with the Keys to Freeze crew. There is nothing like spending time in nature with great people!

Porcupine Rim above Moab

Porcupine Rim in Moab

Cycle touring Europe

A highlight of 2015! If you are into cycle touring and haven’t experienced the car-free bike networks throughout western Europe, I can’t recommend it enough.

Loving the views on the north side of the Slovenian Alps.

Loving the views on the north side of the Slovenian Alps.

Over 3.5 months, we biked 2,500 miles through 13 countries, taking plenty of time to relax and explore along the way. Experiences like volunteering to help refugees in Salzburg, pedaling with buddies in Croatia, and exploring the deep history of the continent only whet my appetite for Europe.

We finished pedaling in Prague, a special place for me and Chelsea since we met there nine years ago for our first date. It was a treat to return to the romantic Czech Republic and walk down the cobbled, uneven streets of memory lane.

A gondola glides through the canals of Venice.

A gondola glides through the canals of Venice.

Road tripping with my dad

I’ve wanted to take my dad on a trip for years. As fall colors faded and October wrapped up, we finally did it, rolling out in the Sprinter van to explore Montana for a couple weeks.

We cycled in Glacier and watched geysers in Yellowstone, then explored old mining towns. It was a powerfully bonding trip.

Exploring the east side of Glacier National Park.

Exploring the east side of Glacier National Park.

Things That Went Well

A stronger relationship with Chelsea

People ask us how we tolerate so much time together. (“I’d go nuts being around my husband all the time.”) While we have some tips, the summary is that long-term travel brings us closer together because it requires mutual support.

If there’s an issue on a bike tour, we’re the only two there to get through it – together. We can’t just sweep arguments away to be dealt with another day. Handling it immediately removes the potential for a tiny fight to fester and become gangrenous. Two years traveling together has bonded us more than ever.

Living a vegan lifestyle was easy

Shifting to 100% plant-based in 2013 felt like a big change. These days, it’s both easy to navigate and authentic to who we are.

We’ve traveled through 16 countries, eating amazing food and encountering great support along the way, all while living true to our values. As an added bonus, the selection of vegan options for yogurt, meat, cheese, milk and beyond continues to expand. (You have to try Miyoko’s off-the-hook vegan cheeses.)

If you’d like to try a month-long vegan adventure in the new year, Veganuary is a great free resource and community.

Lobbying with the Humane Society of the US in Salem, Oregon.

Lobbying with the Humane Society of the U.S. in Salem, Oregon.

Lots of reading

Immersing myself in a book remains one of my favorite pastimes, and I’m happy to say I read more in 2015 than in any other year. Picking up a book is like taking a class with an expert for free (via the library) or for the bargain rate of a $10 ebook.

Business more streamlined than ever

This year marked the first in nearly a decade where I didn’t work directly with clients. While less profitable overall, managing my business instead of client expectations is both less stressful and frees my time to pursue other passions.

I’m still involved on a daily basis, but my mental energy isn’t drained at the end of the day. It was scary letting go of the day-to-day interactions with clients, but remains one of my best decisions. To those of you deliberating over hiring someone, I say do it.

Pausing for a moment in Bryce Canyon

My friend Reese pauses for a moment in Bryce Canyon

Things to Improve

Less pressure on myself to constantly explore

The flexibility and openness of our lives sometimes creates a compulsion in me to string adventures together the way we did in 2014. While I’m (usually) aware of this, I still find it hard to be content just being instead of constantly doing. In February and March, I struggled to feel centered in Portland and mostly dreamed of leaving again.

Constant motion makes for an interesting life, but eventually it decreases my appreciation for an activity or location. This is not a good thing. While the list of places I want to explore is long, I don’t have to visit them all in the next two years!

The other downside of constant motion is that routines are tougher to uphold. Practicing the guitar or finding space for yoga is tougher (my tight hip flexors will attest to that). Focused time for deep work doesn’t just materialize; it must be a priority. Pausing in one place provides the platform for all of that.

This coming year, I want to embrace pauses as creative periods and time to reconnect with friends and the routine of a grounded life. Hopefully we can then launch into new experiences with vigor and energy.

Columbia River Gorge in the fog

Relaxing with a view of the Columbia River Gorge at sunset.

Writing more

I’ve consistently written here, and in 2016 I’m also aiming to write two articles per month for outside publication. This means I need to write more, a challenge I’m excited to take.

What I’m Excited About

More videos and interviews with people we meet

Until recently, I never seriously considered pursuing video. It seemed outside my sphere – photography and writing were enough. After creating a few videos, however, I’m hooked.

My primary desire is to tell better stories. Video is a perfect way to do that, and I’m looking forward to making more of them in 2016 and sharing them with you.

Our buddy Stevie from SprinterLife.com and her friend.

A perfect day in Yosemite at Vernal Falls with our friend Stevie from nomadlyinlove.com.

More music and art

No, not just Macklemore at full blast in the van. (Been awhile since we did that.) Guitar! I’m a few weeks into online lessons to finally crack through the intermediate-level swamp I’ve been mired in for ten years.

Chelsea is digging into watercolor pencils and is far too good already. I may give it a whirl, but I sure as hell am not sharing the result here. I respect you more than that.

Onward!

Here’s to looking back and congratulating ourselves on a year well-lived. For 2016, Neil Gaiman says it well:

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re doing something.

To everyone out there, thanks for sharing this journey with us, both on the road and on the web. I hope 2016 is full of adventure, growth, and creativity.

Happy New Year!

Grinning it up in Death Valley.

Two Years On the Road, a Podcast and Thanks

Sprinter lift off

Yesterday marked two years to the day since we fired up the Sprinter van and headed out on this trip. The picture above captures how excited we were.

The time, while highlighted by various adventures, has also freed me to invest in creativity through writing, photography and (lately) video. Another huge benefit is that traveling non-stop together and the mutual trust needed to survive (and enjoy!) long bike tours has greatly deepened my relationship with Chelsea. These past 24 months have been some of the most satisfying of my life as we’ve explored many places (<–map) via van and bike and reshaped the way we choose to live.

Fall colors in NW Montana as the tamarack turned yellow.

Fall colors in NW Montana as the tamarack turns yellow.

It seems fitting to share a podcast conversation Chelsea and I had with Paul at The Pursuit Zone. I bet many of you will enjoy listening to Chelsea’s side of the story instead of just mine! Her ideas for adventure frequently inspire our trips, and then I dial in logistics. I loved hearing her thoughts on the biggest challenges of our bike tours, plus what it’s really like to live in a van for months at a time.

Also, I’d like to say THANKS to my blog readers for all the positive feedback and support during the past two years. Who knew I’d make great friends through this site and enjoy writing so much? Sharing our adventures and meeting readers adds depth to our travels and contributes so much to the experience. I can’t imagine it any other way. A big high five to everyone out there, and please feel free to say howdy anytime if you’re so inclined!

Here’s the podcast. Below are a few of the questions Paul asks us, in case you’re wondering what to expect. Enjoy.

  • How did we meet?
  • What was the evolution to the start of our 2013 adventure?
  • How difficult was it to leave our old lives behind?
  • What is it like living out of a van for months at a time?
  • How did the idea for the 4,000 mile U.S. bike tour come about?
  • How difficult is it to follow a vegan diet while bicycle touring?
  • What were the biggest challenges and what did we most enjoy about our U.S. and European cycle tours?
  • What’s our advice for people that want to do a Europe cycle tour?
  • What are some tips for easing into a vegetarian or vegan lifestyle?
  • What do we hope people get from reading Traipsing About?
  • Are we still having fun? (Spoiler – yes!)
What comes next? We shall see!

What comes next? We shall see!

Creativity and Fear, My Road Trip Companions

Kite boarding in Resia, Italy

The winds over the Cascade Mountains in Washington always punch airplanes around. As I sat in a 20-seat propeller aircraft during a recent trip, the metal creaked, the engines roared, and the pilot fought winds so strong the flight attendants stayed seated the entire time. (Never a good sign.) Luckily, I happened to be reading a book chapter about fear.

But I’m not talking about that kind of fear.

I’m talking about creative fear. The kind that stops you in your tracks and makes you say no, to shelve an idea, curb a project and stay safe. As Aristotle said, “to avoid criticism, say nothing, do nothing, be nothing.”

Liz Gilbert’s new book, Big Magic, describes how she pictures any creative endeavor as a road trip with twins named Creativity and Fear. They’re always there, but she sets ground rules before the trip: Fear gets no radio station control, and definitely doesn’t get to drive.

Creativity, meanwhile, rides shotgun and picks the music, points out restaurants, and picks fun side diversions along the way, loving the ride. Yet through it all, Fear sits in the backseat with arms crossed and points out how stupid it was to take the road trip, that everything is going wrong, and whines about taking a pee break.

Lounging by a lake in Italy

Lounging by a lake in Italy

I fight fear every time I hit publish on a blog post or video. Blogging is easier these days since I’ve published 120 of them (how did that happen?!) without anyone shipping me off to the gulag for dissent. However, I’m a neophyte with video, so each completed work is a large percentage of my lifetime efforts. It’s a new arena where I’m equipped with a fork and spoon as I wish for a trident and lion-emblazoned shield.

Luckily, there are no other gladiators, and my life isn’t at stake. Just my self-confidence.

But hey! Learning with no expectations is good for me; video taps a different part of my brain versus writing or photography. Chelsea loses me for hours as I disappear into editing or drift off thinking about a fun angle for a shot. I know a well-done video when I see one – I think we all do – so efforts at this new endeavor frustrate me sometimes. But while these little video compilations don’t meet my vision for desired quality, they’re training, a method to figuring things out.

Ira Glass from This American Life said it well: “For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good… A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this…And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work.”

Every time I “finish” a creative project, a part of me still cringes because I know it’s not perfect. Making something feels like physical effort akin to scaling a castle wall, and publishing is tossing the work off a turret into the commons for all to see. Yet there, open and exposed, is where a project teaches me something. Readers email with support or (hopefully constructive) feedback, and I also ask for input from people whose skills I respect. (Brady, you wily film maker, you’re right – moving text and cross-fades are lame.)

If I don’t do that, there’s no improvement – I’d send text shooting across the screen and execute bad transitions forever. Instead, progress. Or at least it feels that way.

Wandering the castle grounds in Prague.

Wandering the castle grounds in Prague.

Just like this blog, which has expanded beyond what I expected when I started tapping keys two years ago, I have no idea how video will add to my life. Maybe it’s just a fun side project, a good outlet for my curiosity. Or maybe I can leverage those skills, our travel experiences, and my writing to tell stories about issues that needs attention. I felt too awkward to film the Syrian refugee situation when we were in Salzburg, but that is a perfect example of a story that needs to be shared.

Footage from our cycling trip in Europe is my current video medium. I’m parsing my way through it to learn new skills like decoupling video and audio for voiceovers, layering audio tracks, plus discovering free creative commons music sources. And while Fear sullenly plays Solitaire and Creativity babbles on about all the adventures around the bend, I’m enjoying the heck out of this road trip.

Check out my latest video – it’s a quick 1:20 and, I dare say, my cleanest one yet. Please let me know what you think!

What Refugees in Salzburg Taught Me About Speaking Up

Underground in Salzburg with Syrian refugees

During breakfast in Innsbruck, an American woman nearby leaned over to chat. Lamenting a canceled flight, she lowered her voice and said conspiratorially, “we drove down from Hamburg instead of taking the train because of, you know, all the Syrian refugees.”

I didn’t counter her comment. Later, however, I couldn’t stop thinking that I should have questioned the statement instead of avoiding confrontation and burying my voice.

What I didn’t say to this woman was that Chelsea and I had recently spent hours reading about the conflict in Syria. Or that we’d researched relief organizations and were heading to Salzburg with hopes of assisting the waves of refugees arriving via train from Hungary en route to Germany.

Why do people speak of others the way she did? The refugees leaving their homeland are fleeing civil war, taking only a couple bags of possessions. Meanwhile, this lady from Virginia sat next to her starched-shirt professor husband and followed up her bigoted statement with, “thank goodness the pool here is clean.” 

We learned that Germany, bucking convention, may accept 800,000 refugees by the end of the year (in comparison, the U.S. may take up to 10,000 in 2016). Now, however, German services were overwhelmed and they, along with other European countrieshad shut their borders, even going so far as to pause train service from Austria. Pedaling our way toward Salzburg three days later, we noticed a mile-long line of cars at the German/Austrian border as policemen checked vehicles.

Police block the entrance to the train platforms.

Police block the entrance to the train platforms.

Cut to the scene yesterday in the Salzburg train station. Tired families rested on any surface they could find; meanwhile, police officers blocked the train platforms. Suddenly a rush of people flowed by, mothers towing wide-eyed kids, fathers shouting and herding their family through the melee. A train was departing to Germany and the wall of police politely, but firmly, allowed a small number of individual families through. One group at a time climbed the stairs to seek their fate in the west.

We talked to a volunteer named Tomas who was providing coffee and tea for people. “The refugees live on rumors; they hear a train is coming, so they run to the platform. No train. Then one comes while they’re sleeping and they miss it. There’s no rest, no ease.” He ushered us past security and into an underground parking garage, the temporary home for hundreds of refugees who slept on folding cots or the ground. As unaffiliated volunteers, Chelsea and I helped out as we could.

Thin blankets and donated foam sleeping pads in the garage.

Blankets and donated foam sleeping pads in the garage.

I grabbed piles of thin blankets to serve as beds and laid them on the cold, dirty concrete of the parking garage. At the same time, I studied the refugee families coping with their situation. Teenagers in hip jeans flipped through their phones. Kids played with balloons or ran around, lost in their imagination; their drawings festooned a concrete pillar, a make-shift art wall. Parents mostly sat dully, perhaps storing their energy for the next rush to the train and a fresh chance to rebuild their lives.

We returned the next day. I kicked around a soccer ball with a tireless kid, then spoke at length with a few refugees. An Iranian man in his early 20s, a light and sound engineer, had applied for amnesty in the U.S. to escape persecution for being a Christian. Two years into the process, he left home and walked for days. Sick of waiting in Salzburg, he was considering striking out on foot for the German border and asked us if we thought it was possible to cross.

I also talked to a young Syrian, Muhammad, who had paid 2,000 Euros for a ship to Greece, then shelled out many bribes to navigate Serbia and Hungary. Twenty days into the journey, he aimed to make it to Belgium or England. When I commented on his red sweatshirt, emblazoned with the American stars and stripes, he said “I love America!” Then he showed me his phone’s red, white and blue case. My thoughts returned to the breakfast conversation with the American woman in Innsbruck.

Laying out blankets while a family passes the time in the background.

Laying out blankets while a family passes the time in the background.

I’ve encountered conversations like this too many times. The short (but unreal) discussion with a complete stranger in small-town Oregon who ranted about “the BLM and their damn gun-toting dykes” comes to mind. Or the man in Upstate New York who loathed gun control because he wanted to be able to shoot his cannon. Usually I slip into a friendly, aloof stance and excuse myself quickly. This latest chat, while relatively benign, reminds me that sticking up for others who are victims of hate and ignorance is necessary.

Dishonesty can wield the sword of an outright lie, but it can also fester in the silence of a truth unsaid. Not voicing an opinion can unwittingly condone actions or allow the speaker of hateful comments to believe their thoughts are held by everyone else. I’ve pondered this deeply since reading Sam Harris’s essay Lying during this trip, and Martin Luther King’s brilliant quote comes to mind: “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

Breathing the diesel fumes wafting through the underground shelter, I made a resolution. No more will I stand with a fake smile on my face while someone spouts hate or bigotry. It’s time to engage in a respectful, firm way, to tell my side of the story and share my opinion. I’m sure the experience won’t always be comfortable, but I’m hopeful that Oscar Wilde was correct when he penned, “There comes a time when speaking one’s mind ceases to be a moral duty, it becomes a pleasure.”

A big thanks to our dear friend Hilary Wang for inspiring us to get involved with this issue. If anyone would like to contribute to help the refugees, The UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR) is helping some of the four million people fleeing Syria; until October 13th, Kickstarter is (for the first time) helping fund raise as well. Google is currently matching contributions up to $5.5 million to UNHCR and other organizations.

What Would You Say to Yourself at 23?

New Zealand hitchhiking

Hitch hiking in New Zealand in 2005. Fun fact: I didn’t get picked up on that quiet road and spent the night freezing in a gravel quarry. Ah, memories.

****

I left the country at 23. It was my first trip outside the U.S., a solo, year-long adventure to explore the world.

That escapade fused new brain connections as I hitchhiked through New Zealand, played chess with my brother on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, and met my future wife in Prague. The result (other than a lingering hatred of night bus travel) was a vision for my desired future life.

Ten years later, I am back in Europe as we pedal about. Nostalgia sometimes seeps through the mountain views or enters my mind during a meal as my thoughts drift back to 2005. The iPhone was still a secret project; MySpace was an unstoppable social network giant. Ancient history, basically.

Not that I frequently think about the past. Indeed, I usually ponder actions my future self would thank me for. I want him to look back on hard-earned skills and say, “that was so worth the effort.” Right now, however, the nostalgia bulb in my head shines the spotlight backward and I can’t stop thinking about the advice I would offer to my bushy-haired self at 23 (other than to cut the fro, bro).

Fro-style

One thing is certain: the words and advice wouldn’t simply be my own. I’d draw from books, blogs, commencement speeches, mentors, and kind-hearted people I’ve spent time with over the last decade.

Will I laugh and shake my head when I look back in 2025 at this list (probably through virtual reality goggles)? Maybe I’m entirely off the mark; it’s impossible to calculate the impact of this advice on my life. I’ll never know.

But if I had a time machine to 2005, I’d sit down across from myself, a cup of green tea in hand, and say:

  1. Embrace adventure. Don’t let the one trip around the world be your last big journey. Keep pushing your limits. “People get old when they stop jumping,” I heard on a recent podcast. Treat that advice literally and as a metaphor, launching fresh challenges, projects and skills that test your boundaries and keep you hopping. The best adventures will occur at the intersection of scary and exciting.

    The coast just south of Rijeka, Croatia.

    The coast just south of Rijeka, Croatia.

  2. Build the courage to live a life true to yourself, not the life others expect of you. Everyone feels fear. I sure do. It may stop you sometimes, but don’t let the opinions or desires of others constantly shape your life. Seek out projects that speak to you and dive in with everything you’ve got, even if others don’t agree. Think deeply about the top five regrets of the dying and use the results of those thoughts to guide your life.

  3. Pursue poverty in your 20s. It’s going to be hard, but turn down the starter engineering job with a salary high enough to allow handcuffing yourself to debt (over-valued condos, for one). Go after that travel video job you wanted. Live below your means, but eat better food (pasta and Mrs. Dash is not a real meal, dude). Build a variety of badass skills and focus on creative competency in many disciplines. Choose yourself and invest in constant learning. The intersection of those skills, your passion, and what the world needs is where the bubbling magic cauldron lies.

  4. Start a mindfulness or relaxation practice. Chill the hell out, man. Enjoy a lemonade on a balcony and be present. I’ve noticed a consistent theme of successful people: space for reflection and mindfulness is a priority in their lives. Start a dedicated meditation practice (the Insight Timer app or guided meditations are great tools). Carving out time to just sit and watch a burbling stream counts too. As Pico Iyer writes, “In an age of speed, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. In an age of distraction, nothing can feel more luxurious than paying attention. And in an age of constant movement, nothing is more urgent than sitting still.”

    Observation Point in Zion National Park.

    Faking serenity at Observation Point in Zion National Park.

  5. Treat books as valued mentors. Keep reading. It’s free and will open you to new thoughts and let you shadow otherwise inaccessible people. Individual books have recharted the course of my life and served as pivot points. The Four Hour Work Week opened my eyes to a work world beyond the 9-5; Your Money or Your Life and the concept of time as a non-renewable resource sparked an epiphany. Biographies show me people at their best and worst, while fiction shows me the human condition. If I could choose one activity for the next ten years to shape my life in a positive way, continuing to read books on a variety of topics would be it.

That’s enough lecturing from this 30-something. What the heck do I know anyway? Maybe in 10 years I’ll be wise enough to not write posts like this! 

Get out there and live it up, young gun. It’s going to be a great ride.

P.S. Buy Apple stock in January 2009 and (updated May 2021) don’t sell your Bitcoin in 2013! And, most importantly, the way to Chelsea’s heart lies in being nice to her cat, Oliver.

What would you say to your 20-something self?

Loving the views on the north side of the Slovenian Alps.

Loving the views (and dedicated bike path) on the north side of the Slovenian Alps.

Ode to an Iron Cowboy

Smith Rock Monkey Face

High performance athletes fascinate me with their ability to push to the edge of physical possibility. I’m talking about feats most of us can’t fathom or exploits that make us shake our heads in disbelief. Free solo climbing difficult routes without ropes. Wingsuit flying in Norwegian fjords. Freediving hundreds of feet deep with only a gulp of air.

The Iron Cowboy is such a person. Two words surface when I think of him: Total Badass.

This Utah family man named James Lawrence is about to complete 50 Ironman-distance races in 50 days in 50 states, a feat never before accomplished. That’s 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of biking, and 26.2 miles of running, about 16 hours of exercise every single day, for almost two months. His mission – fighting childhood obesity – supports Jamie Oliver’s Food Foundation: “My goal is simply to inspire others to challenge themselves and be more active.”

Iron Cowboy

Photo from IronCowboy.co

During the 50/50/50, James has slept fewer hours than many new parents. He’s so exhausted that he fell asleep and crashed while cycling, badly bruising his shoulder and hip early in the challenge. Yet he presses on with a grin and a positive attitude, motivated by his mission.

James is no beginner triathlete. He holds the world record for the most half-Ironmen and full-Ironmen in one year. Still, doing 50 of them in a row takes planning, training, and a surprising outlook on high performance that I find intriguing.

“I always aim for a B+ average in life,” James said on the Rich Roll podcast. “Most people aim for A+ and are successful for two weeks, then fail for six months or more. If they had instead worked at maintaining a B+, the continued effort would accomplish more in the long-term.”

When I think about the skills I’ve learned, the business obstacles I’ve surmounted, and the physical pursuits I’ve completed, James is spot on. If I strive for perfection and can’t figure something out, it’s easy to quit and totally halt progress. A day off is fine, but four weeks away and skills start to slip. Fingers hardened by guitar strings soften, and I fumble Spanish verbs when I try to order a burrito.

Consistency is key. When I don’t have 30 minutes during a frantic day, I take 10 to maintain form. On my busiest days, adhering to a stripped-down routine anchors me to the reality I want instead of drifting away into a lazy sky. A simple activity – 20 squats instead of an hour run – is a stable beacon to center me. I can always find time for a set of pushups, a guitar chord refresher, or five minutes flipping through Duolingo studying Spanish.

Shooting for a B+ average is a simple yet powerful concept when applied to huge goals or simple lifestyle maintenance. It lances bad excuses with surgical precision, yet is as lenient and supportive as a grandmother. Can’t make the 10 business calls per day that you’ve set as a goal? That’s fine – do five. But do something. Then hop back on the skateboard of life the next day and kick flip like Tony Hawk.

The Iron Cowboy started his challenge on June 6th with many doubters. Even with years of incremental training and two world records to his credit, people who supported James wondered if he could swim 120 miles, bike 5,600 miles, and run 1,310 miles in 50 days. Many others discounted his efforts as beyond possible. Obstacles lined up like bowling pins, yet James rallied to throw strikes or pick up spares when things went awry.

Today marks day 49. Tomorrow, he crosses the finish line of the final Ironman, an end to a heroic journey and the start of what I hope is massive kudos by the media to benefit his cause. James is pushing the ragged edge of human performance and proving that the implausible is only another pedal stroke away.

Salsa fork in the England countryside

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

Waking Up at Farm Sanctuary

Farm Sanctuary vista

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.

Two juvenile turkeys survey the scene.

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.

A happy pig in a field. This scene reminded me of something from Charlotte's Web.

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! A huge, friendly steer.

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.

Cow snout

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.

Now THAT is a happy pig.

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.

Two piggies zonk out for a nap together.

A pig nestled into hay at Farm Sanctuary.

Meal time

A happy pig grazing at Farm Sanctuary.

Three inquisitive goats.

Scratch my back

Goats are just so dang fun.

Chelsea holds a friendly juvenile turkey.

 

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.)

Happy New Year!

Belize snorkeling

Plans can be even better when you break them. A year ago, we were in Santa Cruz, California, planning to head home in February after a simple four month jaunt. Now it’s the last day of 2014, and the picture above is certainly not from our front porch in Portland.

First off, thanks to all of you. Thanks for the words of encouragement and for cheering us on. It’s never easy to find the time to share words and photos (I’m finishing this at the breakfast table, for instance), but your cheery feedback motivates me to keep it up. I’m also grateful for a splendid year of exploring, plus writing without any boundaries. I hope you’ve enjoyed the virtual ride!

To friends back in Portland, thanks for supporting our wandering spirits and staying in touch. We miss you, big time. To new amigos all over whom we’ve met in person or virtually through the blog, thanks for reaching out to say hi, not to mention inviting total strangers into your lives for bike rides, dinners, and a place to stay. We feel at home in more cities now than when we started this jaunt and are lucky to finish 2014 with additional awesome people to call friends. Y’all are fantastic.

May 2015 be filled with adventure, laughter, and energizing challenges for your body and mind. Here’s to visiting beautiful places where you can breathe deep and feel at peace. Without a doubt I can say that carving out space to explore during this past year is one of the best gifts I’ve ever given myself. I can’t recommend a free-form adventure highly enough for catalyzing a change, testing your boundaries and figuring out what makes you tick.

We’ll ring in this New Year in the jungle of Belize with Chelsea’s family. The two of us aren’t sure what lays ahead in 2015, but we’re no stranger to following our guts or listening to adventure’s beacon pinging the way. I suspect it will be good.

Happy New Year! We’ll see you out there.

Dakota

One of my favorite shots (from a couple years ago). Me on two mountain bikes at once, some exuberance from Chelsea, and wide open space in southern Arizona. If 2015 is this much fun, sign me up.

One of my favorite shots from a couple years ago around New Year’s. Me on two cheap rental mountain bikes at once, some exuberance from Chelsea, and wide open space in southern Arizona. If 2015 is this much fun, sign us up.

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)

A Final Exam in the White Mountains

If our trip is a three month study of cycle touring, Saturday in New Hampshire was the final exam. Quizzes of headwinds and prep tests of hills in the rain had us ready, and good thing. The White Mountains are famous for their fickle weather and steep climbs, both of which were thrown at us as we cranked up Kancamagus Pass. “The Kanc,” as locals call it.

Let me first say that I am not complaining. We chose to do this tour and never expect every day on the bikes to be fun. Perhaps you picked up on that? I often shake my head and laugh harder on days that test my will and patience because sometimes it can seem so ridiculous to be outside. (As one guy we met told us, “That sounds like way too much work for a vacation.” This ain’t a vacation, buddy!) People driving the other way must think I’m eating lead paint chips instead of trail mix when they see me grinning away in the pouring rain. And the more rain, the more I grin. Into the fray and out the other side stronger, either mentally or physically. Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself.

Chelsea working hard near the Kancamagus Pass overlook in a cold, soaking rain. She doesn't always smile. :)

Chelsea working hard near the Kancamagus Pass overlook in a cold, soaking rain. She doesn’t always smile. 🙂

With so few days on the bikes left, a day in the rain wasn’t a big deal. Neither was a tough climb. If we can’t handle those after 3,900 miles of biking, we need to find a couch and put on Mr. Potato Head costumes. (Or maybe I need that costume for cycling regardless?) The roundhouse kick to the day was constant streaming traffic seeking fall foliage at its peak. Nothing sets us on edge like crawling up a mountain while cars and Harleys gun past in a rush to get to a summit socked in with clouds.

If every day on the bikes was like this, we wouldn’t bike tour. It wears on the nerves, slams down blinders over nice views, and makes me want to chuck my bike in a ditch and stick out my thumb for a ride. And yet a simple mantra got me through heat in the plains, headwinds in the Midwest and dangerous traffic in cities and busy roads. “This too shall pass,” I tell myself. Semi hauling doomed cows roars by with a giant gust of wind while trailing steer piss and a horrible stench? Wind so strong I have to stand up to pedal? “This too shall pass,” I yell into the onslaught.

A misty morning in the White Mountains east of Lincoln, NH.

Before the rain… A misty morning in the White Mountains east of Lincoln, NH.

It’s a simple saying I’ve known for years (who hasn’t heard it?), and yet cycle touring has deployed it to the front lines of my brain. This bike trip constantly reminds me that few things in life, good or bad, are permanent. If we take anything too seriously, especially ourselves and whatever “random” path in life we are on, all we need to do is think “this too shall pass.” I’ve found that it also adds perspective to ask myself, “Why do I deserve this?” Oh yeah, that’s right…I did this, which led to that, and here I am.

Claiming responsibility for being on The Kanc in subpar conditions made it just another day, one we could steel ourselves against and emerge triumphant. Which we did, pedaling up soaking wet and hungry to delicious fresh-baked bread and hot soup at a host’s home in North Conway. Sitting by a warm fire shoveling food into my face, the trials of the day were forgotten like engineering formulas from college.

And now, with the Atlantic Coast practically in sight, it’s like the final week of high school when all we do is watch movies in class and wait to graduate. The hard work is done, and easy rolling hills and sunshine are our playground for the rest of the tour. Or so it seems. If that changes, life goes on. For that too shall pass as we spin toward the coast and whatever comes next.

Onward!

Dakota

P.S. Here are a couple short videos from the day. Please excuse my consistently amateur, unedited and shaky camera work! Also, for all of you reading via email, here are the links: Video 1 and Video 2.

P.P.S. The shots below are from the day after riding the pass. As they say in New Hampshire, if you don’t like the weather, wait a day!

Light filters through a grove of trees.

Light filters through a grove of trees. The leaves are falling!

Enjoying lunch on a quiet lake just after crossing the border into Maine. (I also took a nap.)

Enjoying lunch on a quiet lake just after crossing the border into Maine. (I also took a nap.)

The Best Way to Break Into a House, or Admiration without Ownership

One of my creepy pleasures is checking out the interiors of giant mansions. Sure, there are the scowling stone lions and spiky fences to dodge. But once inside, scoping out luxury kitchens and looking out from patios at ocean views is an easy way to feel rich. From clifftop compounds in Carmel to palatial estates on the shores of Lake Erie, exploring a different perspective on life is a fun retreat, if only for a moment.

Luckily, technology is on my side. I do all this with my phone’s Zillow app. (What, you thought I was breaking and entering?) And after flipping through the 15 photos and expressing indignation at the cost of the home, I’m ready to move on from this quick hit. Back to real life.

These days, I try to be appreciative rather than envious. Admiration need not equal desire. I can imagine an evening in a sitting room with a view that turns Medusa into a honey-tongued princess, but I don’t want the property taxes. The $100k kitchen is beautiful, but I don’t want the mortgage payment squelching my ability to work on my own terms and travel. No thanks on landscaper and housekeeper costs either. And I certainly don’t want to decorate it!

In the same vein, we can admire a gorgeous bird warbling in the wild without needing to possess it. I’ve had the desire, as many of us do, to see something beautiful and wish I owned it so that I could see it every day. Put that bird in a cage and it’s no longer amazing, just a shrouded voice behind bars.

Chelsea offers a baby bird water. Always a tough call to know when to intervene, but with the sun beating down on him in the middle of a giant lawn, we decided to help out.

Chelsea offers a baby bird  some water. Always a tough call to know when to intervene, but with the sun beating down on him in the middle of a giant lawn, we decided to help out.

I DO love ogling expensive sports cars. Chelsea, the more practical of our duo, can’t at all understand my admiration. To her, cars are all the same save one difference: the color. Beyond that, who cares? And she’s practically spot on. Admiring a hot red Ferrari is perhaps what any American lad does, but now the thought of owning one freaks me out. Just one more anchor.

Back in college when I thought an MLM was a smart path to riches (hindsight burns), I wasn’t this way. Using a technique the hucksters recommend to solidify my vision of a “successful” future, I drove my old Corolla a few hours inland from the California coast to test drive a new Lexus IS300. The smooth lines and upscale image of the purring car appealed to the “hey, look at me!” ego clamoring inside. I took that sweet car out, cranked the stereo and floored it on I-5 near Bakersfield. As I weaved through traffic, I dreamed of mansions and the fast cars that would fill my 10-car garage.

A sunset on the Waumee River in Ohio.

A sunset on the Waumee River in Ohio.

Well, those easy riches didn’t play out. It took me a couple more lessons to learn there wasn’t any way to make money except putting yourself out there, working your butt off and creating value for others every single day. And the reality is that I’m glad it didn’t work out and that expensive car-house combo never happened. You see, the more I test drive my current life of flexibility, of exploring the world and testing my own comfort zones, the less I want any physical object that doesn’t directly correlate to empowering those goals. Shiny cars and turreted homes are pretty, but they don’t accomplish that. And they certainly don’t help me invest in experiences, tick off items on my bucket list or allocate money for charity.

Traveling in our van made me appreciate the smaller amenities in life and bicycle touring upped that exponentially. I am so grateful for the comforts of a home, such as the lovely couch I am sitting on while writing this. A nice car (especially compared to a bike seat) feels like a luxury, yet I prefer hopping in a car-share vehicle and leaving the maintenance to the company who owns it. This isn’t about eschewing ownership completely, merely applying a conscious mental exercise to the purchase. The value delivered to our lives by owning our expensive camper van is worth the energy spent earning the money to buy it. And I can’t always win – the Sprinter sits moldering in Idaho as we bike tour, which irks me.

Perhaps there will again come a time when ownership of things resurfaces as an important aspect of my life. If or when it does, I hope I possess the clarity to see what value the object adds to my life and what the cost will be. These days, my goal when I see or experience something beautiful is to appreciate it. To be inspired by the comfort or happiness someone may find by experiencing it. And then I grin at the lions flanking the ornate gate and pedal on toward the next adventure.

Dakota

Waves and rockin' sunset in Barcelona, NY on Lake Erie.

Waves and rockin’ sunset in Barcelona, NY on Lake Erie. Photo credit Chelsea.

 

 

Closing the Loop and Starting Anew

 

Amazing spring bloom in Grand Teton NP.

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

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

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

 

A full moon rises over Yellowstone.

A full moon rises over Yellowstone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

SONY DSC

Chelsea showing her signature style in Yellowstone.

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

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

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

Onward we go,

Dakota

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

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

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

Moments before rolling out the driveway toward Maine.

Moments before rolling out the driveway toward Maine.

Lessons from Grandma Virginia

A wind gust catches ashes in the Grand Canyon.

A wind gust catches ashes in the Grand Canyon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sending ashes down one of Grandma's favorite rivers.

Sending ashes down one of Grandma’s favorite rivers.

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

Exploring the Grand Canyon.

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

 

Introducing My Nephew Sam

Sam snoozing in his momma's lap at the hospital. Two days old!

Sam snoozing in his momma’s lap at the hospital. Two days old!

My brother Finn and his lovely partner Daya recently brought Sam Xavier Gale into the world in April. Congratulations to the newly-minted parents! We wish them and their new baby the best the world has to offer. Also, a cheers to my parents for their first grandkid and great-grandkid for my grandma.

Finn and Daya are two of the most sincere, loving, and grateful people in our lives and I know they will be amazing parents. Here’s to a new life in their world, a fresh fork in the road for my brother, and the continuing journey of discovery for both of them. We were lucky enough to have the space to fly to Idaho to visit two days after Sam was born to spend some time with everyone. Holding Sam and letting him grip my fingers, it blew me away that my brother and Daya created this little being. I am so proud and happy for them.

Finn and Daya with "The Hungry Caterpillar."

Finn and Daya with “The Hungry Caterpillar.”

Little Sam, may you live a life true to your heart. A life full of adventure, learning and love. May you travel to expand your mind and also sit still to journey within yourself. Ignore what other people think and do what you want to. I wish I’d taken this to heart years ago: Live a life where you charge toward fear. Acknowledge it. Know the obstacles. And then brandish your skills, rally your energy and live true to who you are. Don’t let others tell you what you should do, simply follow your inner beacon. As Frederick Buecher penned, “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.”

Sam, here is the world. May you walk on this Earth with the power to do whatever makes you happy and fulfilled to your core. We’re all excited to enjoy the journey with you.

Much love,

Uncle Dakota

Finn in front of the spring blooms on the walk home.

Finn in front of the spring blooms on the walk home.

My dad holding the stamped ink imprint of Sam's feet, Daya holding Sam in the top left.

My dad holding the stamped ink imprint of Sam’s feet, Daya holding Sam in the top left.

Finn holding the newborn about to leave the hospital.

Finn holding the newborn about to leave the hospital.

My bro and proud parents about to walk home with baby Sam!

My bro and proud parents about to walk home with baby Sam!

Giving the new dad a big hug!

Giving the new dad a big hug! (Photo credit Chelsea.)

My dad holds the tiny newborn.

My dad holds the tiny newborn.

Daya's necklace engraved with her baby's name and the slumbering champ himself.

Daya’s necklace, a gift from her mother, engraved with her baby’s name and the slumbering champ himself. (Photo credit Chelsea.)

Sam and Daya enjoy a moment together.

Sam and Daya enjoy a moment together. 12 days old (same with all below shots). (Photo credit Chelsea)

Hey Sam, that's your dad over there!

Hey Sam, that’s your dad over there!

Look at those eyes!

Look at those eyes! (Photo credit Chelsea.)

Daya and Sam enjoying a moment together.

Daya and Sam enjoying a moment together. (Photo credit Chelsea.)

Sam with very curious eyes. He's a sharp little guy!

Sam with very curious eyes. He’s a sharp little guy! (Photo credit Chelsea.)

Baby Sam knows how to yawn!

Baby Sam knows how to yawn! (Photo credit Chelsea.)

Sam taking in some air.

Sam taking in some air. (Photo credit Chelsea.)