Monthly Archives: August 2011

Fire.

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I’m a bit behind and am posting this from Montgomery, Alabama. More on that soon.
Monday night I met up at a bar on the north side of Chicago with two friends that reinforce some very important ideas.

In some ways, my social circle is growing smaller- having less time to spend with people has forced me to consider who it is that is most imperative that I spend that time with, and I’ve started to notice a trend in why I chose to spend my time with the people I do.

I spend my time with the people that hold themselves to some account of how they spend their time. They hold me to account for how I spend mine. They are passionate, dedicated, enthusiastic, positive, and engaged. They know what they are doing, and aren’t afraid to chase it all the way. They have a fire in their belly that is familiar to me, and that I esteem above most other traits.

Matt is going to fix healthcare in the United States. From the clarity with which he explains himself and the depth of his experience, I believe him.

Hattie is going to fix our kids relationship with God, whatever they may conceive him to be. From the smile on her face, and the passion in her eyes, I believe her.

And then Matt put the question to me, what are you really going to do with your life Skander? His goal is big and audacious, and he won’t achieve it alone, but I believe it’s possible. I’ve been trying to figure that out all summer- after our conversation, I’m finally able to describe it:

I am going to change the way humanity interacts with natural resources.

I consider myself incredibly lucky to have friends that continue to force me to sharpen the edge of my razor, and that these friendships continue to grow through shared motivations, despite the geographic distance between us. It’s important times here in Chicago.

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Chicago, Illinois

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Tonight I’m in the Seattle airport waiting for a flight to Chicago.  There’s a familiar feeling sitting with me because really, this whole idea started on my last flight to Chicago.  November 15, 2010 I was flying to Chicago for work, representing Glumac at the GreenBuild Conference.  My relationship at the time was in shambles, I felt run ragged by my work, and the feeling that there was something more to life than my desk was churning my stomach.  It was raining that morning in Portland, watching the drops rush sideways across the airplane window as we accelerated down the runway only amplified the feeling that suddenly my life was going to kick into overdrive.

The trip last November was emotional- I felt devilishly good about my performance at the business conference, conflicted about my business passions, and my life outside, torn by the termination of a relationship, bolstered by the support of my family, and positively inspired by the thought that I could, just possibly, break the cycle of working my tail off for two weeks of vacation a year.

The past 6 months, and the adventures posted on this blog have been a vindication that my dreams were not folly.  That the fears I felt then were indeed false events (already realized), and that sometimes the only thing separating us from living our dreams is the self-confidence to believe that we actually can.

Lately I’ve been feeling the weight of a shrinking bank account and uncertainty about how I might next support myself.  That said, a few thoughts bolster me into the next great adventure:

  • I can’t help but look back with some satisfaction at how I’ve spent my time.
  • I can’t help but look forward to the adventures yet to come.
  • I can feel my fire for the next professional opportunity growing.  Seeing more of the world inspires me to care for it more strongly.

This morning I got to enjoy a delicious breakfast with one of my favorite people and biggest supporters of my wanderlust.  I met David while at Northwestern, but we’ve lived in different places for most of our friendship.  Conveniently, he is interning in Portland for this summer, while I am conveniently not ever in Portland. Somehow it just fits I would get a chance to see him and ride bikes together before heading back home.  David has taught me a number of important lessons about how to roll with the punches and keep having fun, and really- I think that’s probably most of what we need to get through this thing.

Good coffee and a rare friend makes for a fine Sunday morning.

Done. Exhale. Go.

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It’s become my mantra for my time in Portland.  My to-do list surges and recedes, and my social calendar makes the BNSF yard across the street seem quiet.  Great problems to have, no doubt, but I don’t think I ever expected unemployment to be so damn busy.

There’s a selfishness that pervades my activity.  I’ve long since made peace with the idea that my travels are a way of investing in my experience (so that I will have more to give to the world later).  That said, the intermittency of my time in Portland has seen me neglect friends and miss out on cool opportunities.  The past few days, the reality of this has been heavy on my mind, but I didn’t set out on this path to lament about opportunities missed in Portland.

It’s a good sign, my actions are a validation of my decisions.  I didn’t quit my job to be a bum, I quit my job to chase dreams that I couldn’t while dedicating myself to a desk for 50 hours a week.  The fact that I am so busy means I’m not wasting my time watching TV or playing video games.  I like being on the road, and the majority of my activity is focused on allowing me to continue to being on the road.  In some ways I’ve had more time in Portland than I expected, and in some ways less.  The time here is valuable for planning and preparing.  While the point of being unemployed has been to allow myself to be spontaneous, even the spontaneous decisions require work and effort to enable.  There is nothing I’d rather be doing.

Smith by Bike

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I’ve written a bunch about trips to Smith Rock State Park, so I’ll spare you the details of the climbing and butt-shots of me halfway up the way.  This trip to Smith was more about an idea.  The idea that crops up when I talk to my brother about climbing, or fill another tank of gas on the way to some distant crag.  The idea that my climbing absorbs more than my fair share of resources.  That climbing trips are more complicated than they should be.  That we all own and bring too much stuff.

Note the rope peaking out from under tarp on the trailer.

My friend Sylvia was in town to celebrate two different weddings, which I was also involved in.  We had a week in between, and wanted a “carfree” adventure.  Smith has strong meanings for both of us, and Sylvia has a history of tough bike tours under her belt- it was only obvious to load up our gear and ditch our cars, to see if we could climb at Smith without burning any gas.  We had 6 days, just enough to make it to Smith, climb, and get back, or so we thought.  We pared down our gear, donned our bike shorts, and wasted a bunch of time while I tried to get my pedals, panniers, and presta valves in order.  We finally pulled out of Portland around 3pm on Sunday afternoon.

It all fits... barely.

I started out with the draws, food, and stove, while Sylvia had the rope (each of us carried our own bivi sac, clothes, shoes, and harness).  We made it into Mt. Hood national forest, and camped along a logging road just off Hwy 26.  Not quite as much mileage as we would have liked, the narrow road and fading light convinced us camping was prudent rather than pushing on.  Plus, we’d have fresh legs for the climb Monday morning (and an awfully long way yet to go).

We felt good waking up, and got rolling around 9am, climbing steadily for the first 45 minutes.

On top of our first big pass in Government Camp, OR.

There are 3 passes to get around Mt. Hood, then about 30 miles of downhill, and temperatures stayed cool while we worked through most of the climbing.

She just keeps on truckin'.

Unfortunately, getting the climbing done while it was cool put us in the sun, and in the desert around 2pm.  Careful that we still had many miles to Smith, we knew proper nutrition was imperative:

After 5 hours of riding, the BLT goes down hard.

Temperatures peaked just as we dropped into the Deschutes crossing and started a 2,000′ climb out of the river bottom.  We got the climb done, but it took the best out of both of us, and the additional mileage left to Smith was a battle.  After climbing out of the Deschutes, an old quadracept injury started to flare up for me, and Sylvia had some knee issues of her own.  Things had started to go sideways…

Lovin' the downhill, not far from Terrebonne.

Our first sight of Smith, just on the horizon.

We made it to Terrebonne around 7pm, stocked up at the local Thriftway, and destroyed a rotisserie chicken.  95 miles at 95 degrees out Making camp under the stars at Smith has never been so satisfying.

True to our objective, we did get up and climb routes on Tuesday morning, but both of us were feeling the effort of our ride.  I was totally out of shape for sport climbing, and the brutal heat saw us down at the river for a mid-day siesta.  My knee was still hurting, and both of us were feeling the weight of commitments left unattended in Portland. Sylvia had been debating getting an early ride back to make the most of her time in Portland (she usually lives in Wyoming), and I realized I would be asking for trouble to ride home alone in time for the wedding rehearsal on Friday.

Sometimes you eat the dog, and sometimes the dog eats you.  We called for a rescue- a huge shout out to our friend Alex for making the drive down to get us.  I’d be tempted to call it a failure, but I learned way to much to bury the experience on a negative tone.  A few important lessons:

  • Don’t forget to take your climbing shorts, key to the bike lock, and phone charger.
  • Fix slow leaks the right way, the first time.
  • Pick safe and quiet roads, even if they mean more distance.
  • Overestimate the time it takes to cover a distance.  2 very fully days would have been appropriate, 3 days would have been comfortable.  1.5 days was not nearly as fun.

Many thanks to Sylvia for being a staunch and experienced partner, I look forward to future bike adventures together, and remembering these lessons on my future adventures.

Walk the Line

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Lately I’ve been asked for advice a lot. I’ve had an opportunity to support friends, face my own insecurities, and strive for an outcome greater than expected.  Often this has had to do with my relationships to other people.  We’ve all had those moments, looking back thinking “god I hope I never make that mistake again.”  And usually, mistakes are repeated before the lesson is learned.  We are human, and it takes us a few times around the block to figure out how the pedals work- often longer.  A few of the lessons that have stood out to me lately:

  • Figure out what you really want.  Often said, rarely done.
  • What you really want doesn’t have anything to do with who you think the other person is, or what they want.  It’s about you.
  • Be yourself, stay close to yourself, be as true to what you want for yourself, and want for the world as you can possibly be.
  • When you figure out what you want, be discerning about going to get it.  Pursue it ruthlessly- if what you are doing right now isn’t getting you there, stop doing it, and try something else.
  • It is incredibly difficult to be discerning enough in our relationships.  The act of discerning can seem incredibly difficult, but only because it is obvious- the unseen pitfalls that are certain to come with a lack of discerning are much, much deeper.
  • It only hurts when we clutch it too tightly.

I publish these thoughts here mostly to remind myself of them later.  Walk the line of discernment, and keep company that will walk that line with you.

Jacob wrapping up a long session of squats, and inspiring me to keep pursuing the quality I'm looking for.

“Real friends are willing to make sure that next week’s you is better than this week’s you.” (Mark Twight)

Grabbing the Dragon’s Tail- The Serpentine Arete, 5.8, III

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After 11 days in Portland I was getting the itch again, and I knew it would likely be my last chance to get on an alpine rock route for quite some time.  Pat and I have long dreamed of getting into the business of alpine climbing in the North Cascades National Park.  We packed up Friday night with hopes of making the long approach into Mt. Goode, but at the last minute the forecast hit 60% chance of rain on our summit day, so we pointed the car east and headed for Leavenworth, Washington.

We pulled into town around 7am on Saturday and were fortunate to make friends and secure a permit.  Then we headed up Hwy 2 and warmed up on a nice two pitch line next to the highway called Canary.  Good times, but the crux on pitch 1 got my attention, and Pat felt the air under his butt on pitch 2.

Good morning Skander, and welcome back to rock climbing with a smack in the face.

Pat eyes up the wildly exposed step across...

Scary step complete, time to get a move on- nice work Pat.

The real reason to come to Leavenworth though was a line I first saw in 2008- I was scared then, but when we needed to pick a different mountain for the weekend, it was one of the first to come to mind.  The Serpentine Arete on Dragontail Peak is a gorgeous yet moderate line on one of the most prominent peaks in the eastern Cascades.  After not rock climbing for over two months, and still uncertain of how my foot would do, I had a few doubts, but the last dance is the last dance, and you’ll never get the girl if you don’t ask.

The line starts at the snow directly above my head, heads right up the faint ramp, then left up the ridge.

Early morning light on Mt. Colchuck, just across the valley.

We left camp at 6am, and started across the snowfield at 6:50.  The route is about 2,000 vertical feet and would entail a full range of technical skills, so we knew we needed to boogie.  After cutting steps across the snowfield and jumping the moat from snow to rock at the base of the route, we were in the business at 8am, and made steady progress.

Across the moat and time to go!

Getting the business end- yours truly on the crux.

Supposedly not the crux, but Pat and I might disagree.

Close quarters on the last serious pitch.

We moved through the harder pitches efficiently, and we hit the easier ridge terrain around 2pm.  The route gets a grade IV for the overall duration of effort (IV typically means a very full day of climbing), and despite the harder terrain being below us, we still had quite a bit of ground to cover.  We switched to simul-climbing after 8 belayed pitches, and started to wander up the ridge, not always certain we were on the right path.

Pat looks to make short work of a few spicy steps.

We kept pushing, in retrospect tying in even shorter than the 35m we were at would have reduced rope drag and increased communication, but so it went, and we hit the summit ridge at 6pm.  We coiled the roped and scrambled around to grab a gorgeous view of the lakes and Mt. Stuart, which were well worth the effort…

Loved by many, the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area does not disappoint.

The great granite beast, Mt. Stuart. I look forward to returning when I can.

Tired and happy on the summit.

We headed down on well packed snow, but with a sinking feeling that we were racing daylight.  Quads burned, knees ached, and the trail wandered faintly.  The views took an edge off the urgency, and we made it almost all the way back to the lake before true darkness fell.

So much gorgeous granite...

The hands show signs of a good day out.

Racing the light back to camp.

We did end up hopping rocks and bushwhacking in the dark to make it back to camp at 9:30pm.  For our first grade III route, and new terrain that neither of us had been on, we had a blast.  Also of note, there were no bolts on the entire route- so fun to climb super clean.  Thanks to Pat for being a solid partner and friend, and always being down for the next big up.

In the photo of my hands above, there is a purple rope in the background.  Normally I wouldn’t plug products here, but I need to give credit where due.  The rope was a gift to me from my parents, it is a Sterling Nano that might be pure magic.  I think of them every time I use it, and today it was the star of the show.  70m let us run pitches together, yet it was light when we doubled it over to simul-climb.  It didn’t pick up dirt, it feels great in my hands, and doesn’t tangle easily.  I am truly grateful for solid gear, and amazingly supportive parents- thanks.

Portland #2: Roots

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Returning to Portland after 9 weeks in Alaska raises many questions- why do I come back here? What is next? Am I really ready to keep going?

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My first apartment building in NW, just across from Trader Joes.

In many ways, Portland is the city that I have become an adult in. I moved here on my own to work and live as an adult- my childhood was not here, my schooling was not here, my family is not here. I’ve lived here on my own, making my own friends, my own money, my own adventures, and my own mistakes on the way. This is the place that I first recognized the principles that I now feel re-dedicated to, and I’d be lying if I didn’t feel the roots of my adulthood sunk into earthy corners of this city.

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Important progress on the front steps of The Commons.

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My most recent contribution, and my first deck building experience.

Not surprisingly, I’ve had an intensely busy week since returning from my overnight bike tour last week. Great times with friends, significant progress made at the Commons project, and a few great workouts have meshed with more domestic tasks like sorting gear, buying bikes, and researching future travel options. There is a lot to do to recharge after my summer in Alaska, and in some ways I’m not quite ready to fire on another major adventure yet. Fortunately I’ve got a few weeks of smaller adventures planned, and sharing my plans with people here helps me re-motivate. I have the wonderful problem of too many great people to see, some of whom will have to wait. Tonight I’m headed north to fulfill some long overdue climbing goals in northern Washington State. Let’s hope the weather holds!

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All of the recent residents of Breanne's house on Vancouver.

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Med ball ring dips at Crossfit Fort Vancouver. More pain in my expression means more quality.

Dustin

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In January of 2008 a friend suggested I meet another person in Portland who was interested in green building.  I met Dustin at the fountain on the west end of the Hawthorne bridge, and we went for a run around the Esplanade.  I went home that night knowing I had met someone unique.  For the last 3 years, Dustin has been one of my most important and reliable friends day in and day out- today was the last day we will spend together for a very long time.

The friend I met down by the river.

I’m headed on a bike tour abroad, and Saturday morning Dustin is moving to Berkeley, California to pursue a graduate degree in architecture.  I’m not worried that our friendship will suffer (most of my closest friends aren’t geographically nearby), but it will be an end to working on his house, riding bikes, and burning a fire under southeast Portland stars.  Long ago I realized that our friends support us both in affirming, and in questioning our ideas and actions.  My friendship with Dustin has been one of the strongest supports to me and the course of action I have taken in my life.  I know very few people who live their values as well as Dustin, or are able to make me look in the mirror so carefully.

I’m excited to see how our friendship continues to grow, the ideas we will share, and the ways in which we inspire each other to change the world.  I hope that there will be more time to spend together in the future, and I know I will always feel grateful for the time we have spent these past few years.  Thank you my friend, for so many great days.

Thanksgiving Day 2009 in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

Goofing around at the Spring Mountain Crags.

Risk

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When I talk to people and they find out I’m a climber, often they ask some form of- “isn’t that dangerous?”  I often reply that driving to the base of the mountain is actually much more dangerous than climbing it.  Usually, their question is followed by a grisly story of someone they know falling/getting frozen/hit by rockfall/etc., which are valid concerns, and which can also usually be managed with some degree of technical knowledge and practical humility.  Don’t stand under a serac, don’t climb the hardest pitch at the end of the day, and don’t assume the weather will be good.  Beyond that however, this question always raises an important train of thought for me- why are we willing to accept risk, and how do we manage the fear that risk can introduce into our experience?

Feeling the thrill and managing the risks, on The Thrill is Gone- Hyalite Canyon, MT. (photo by John Saunders)

All of us take risks every day.  All of us take those risks for a reason, however sometimes those reasons may seem superficial.  Riding your bike in downtown Portland or downtown Chicago (not the same level of risk, btw) has more risk than driving the same distance but also has some important benefits (parking?).  Today, I went rock climbing for the first time since leaving Yosemite Valley in May, and there was risk involved.  We managed the risks, and had a beautiful day out.  It seems strange that our recreation seems so precarious to people (in fairness, some mountain climbing truly is), but perhaps it is simply that I am well accustomed to managing this flavor of risk.

Getting my feet under me again after 10 weeks without rock climbing. (Photo by Pat Clinton)

I mentioned the bike tour I’m planning, and part of that includes considering a variety of risks that I’m not accustomed to managing.  Traveling in places I don’t speak the language, getting run-over, theft of my gear/clothes/bike/etc are all likely situations, and stand to significantly impact my experience even though I don’t really have a clue towards how to manage them.  I find it easy to get trapped into doing nothing, or perhaps just something easier in an attempt to mitigate some of these potential risks and that frustrates me.  So much of our world operates out of fear and it sickens me- limiting my experience out of fear makes me feel pathetic.  To be sure, some fears are useful, but most will simply try to leave you being smaller than you truly are.   In the end I believe that both the required risks, and the elected risks, enrich our lives and add value to our actions, they strip away baggage, they make our choices more meaningful.  How do you manage the risks you take?

“Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness, to learn- anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.”
— David Whyte (House of Belonging)

Risk is the darkness, embrace it.

Change-Up

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After 4 days of traveling, I’m finally back in Portland for the next week or so.  Lots of gear sorting, laundry, planning, and friends, frankly I’m excited to slow down a bit, but I’m also in the process of changing things up.  As I mentioned in my previous post, I found a renewed dedication to living simply while in Alaska.  I realized the best way to combine international travel with the simplicity I love might just be to ride a bike instead of a bus or a train while traveling abroad.  So I’m changing things up.

I left Alaska at 1am on Monday morning, and arrived in Portland at 730am.  After breakfast with one of my favorite people and collecting some stuff, I test-rode a Trek 520 touring bike at noon, and a Surly Long Haul Trucker at 300pm.  I sorted through a few more things, ate dinner with another good friend who has (perhaps unwisely) opened her house to me as a landing pad, and fell asleep hard.

Practice random acts of bike fun.

At 630am Tuesday morning I picked up a stranger I met on Craigslist and drove to Seattle.  At noon I test rode a Ti-Cycles Steliacoom Cyclocross Touring bike, and then headed north to Anacortes, WA.  The guy in Anacortes was originally planning to meet me in Seattle, but had to back out with the promise that he’d make it worth my while to drive to Anacortes.  I got to Anacortes at 2pm and bought the bike he was offering, with an unbelievable pile of extra gear along with it.  He made good on his promise, and I made off like a bandit.  Looking around my now very messy car, I realized I had exactly the right gear to make an important trip.

I went to San Juan Island for the first time in May last year, and it seemed that I had stumbled upon a mecca for bike touring.  Taking your car on the ferry is not cheap, and the islands are wonderfully small- so getting around by bike makes quite a lot of sense.  Alas, on that trip, we were not set up for bike touring, and could not participate in the random fun.  The feeling in my gut told me this was an opportunity not to be missed.  The ferry to San Juan leaves from Anacortes, and at 3pm Tuesday afternoon I realized I had just enough food in the car, just enough gear, and just enough time to pack up and make the 445pm ferry.  Spontaneous adventure ensued.  I didn’t have a tent.  I didn’t have stove fuel.  I didn’t have a sleeping pad.  I didn’t have a campsite reservation.  And then I realized I could do without all of those things.

At least for me, ferries usually mean adventure.

First stop, Roche Harbor, at the north end of the island.

I had a gorgeous touring to the north and then west sides of the island, and a perfect night sleeping under the stars.  I felt like a kid on Christmas with nothing on my back rolling quickly around the beautiful scenery.  I got up at 520am on Wednesday morning, biked back to the ferry terminal, got a coffee, and got on the 8am ferry.  Was back at my car at 10am, ran a few errands in Seattle at noon, and was back in Portland at 4.  Not a bad few days, and a good reminder that “You Must Buy the Latest Outdoor Gear or You Will Die.”

This is why they put in bike pullouts, and the things you miss when you're in a car.

San Juan County park- I slept right here to watch the entire sunset.

It was indeed a very good morning.