Category Archives: Philosophy

Goals

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(major typo now fixed)
I didn’t want to see another museum or walk around another church. Instead I spent the last few hours of my time in Quito in a huge park near the center of the city. This is where the locals hang out. On a beautiful Sunday, hundreds of people- families, couples, singles, friends, lovers, dogs, young, old, everyone- playing vibrantly, perusing craft vendors, eating street food. And no gringos. The scene was idyllic, and exactly how I’d like to remember this place. This is humanity. This is community. This is what we want, and what we need.

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(Family, community, outdoor, fun. Glad I didn’t go to the museum)
Sunday morning I had gotten an email from my brother regarding my upcoming plans and he had some important questions, including “do you have a plan B and C for accomplishing your goal?”. My brother has been one of my strongest supporters during this period of unemployment, and if I walk away with nothing else from this time, a stronger relationship with him will have made all of it (7 months and ~$10,000 spent) worth it. Lately, he’s been more privy than most to my plans and his questions about them have been amongst the most useful.
I’ve spent a lot of my time here thinking about my goals. When I met my friend on the plane in August, one of the most enjoyable parts of the conversation was about our goals, both big and small. I shared a few immediate and practical goals for the next year.
-Get a WFR certification.
-Volunteer for a habitat restoration group.
-Learn to play the harmonica.
-Get on a 5.11 trad climb.
Good goals are SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, timely), and I’m really excited about the ones above, as I believe they are achievable and realistic this year. Sometimes though, it’s useful to have broader goals, and in response to the question from my brother, it was only appropriate to outline the big goal I’m aiming for next. If I put it on a resume- I want to participate in a locally oriented business that affects local resource consumption towards a more sustainable level.
There are several ways this might happen, and I’m not quite ready to talk openly about them, but biking around gave the time to really hone in on that goal, and once I knew what I was aiming for, and in light of the fact that I wasn’t working towards some of the other goals on my list right now, it only seemed obvious that my bike tour had accomplished it’s mission. I’m sharing my goals here because I hope that all of you can support me in pursuing them, and hold me accountable when I do things that don’t work towards them. Thank you in advance, and for enjoying my last post from South America.

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(At the top of the Basilica de Voto, and a last look at Quito)

Flow

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It was 2pm and the jungle was getting steamy. I had already ridden about 100km and climbed a gigantic pass over the Cordillera Occidental mountains, and my legs were worked. After topping the pass, I had entered the jungle and it had rained steadily for 60km. I got to the town of San Juan Villalobos sopping wet, but feeling relatively good after the long downhill. I hadn’t been certain when the day started as to whether or not I would push on to Mocoa (making the day over 165km or 102 miles). I had lunch and checked the weather, and then decided to push for it.

As I climbed the hills outside of town however, something was wrong. I reviewed the factors at hand in my head- I knew there were no hotels on my remaining route, my legs were distinctly worked, it was hot and getting hotter, I didn’t have a full load of water, and I was in likely one of the most dangerous areas of my entire trip. I had decided to push ahead based solely on the fact that it was 2pm and I didn’t feel like I should be done for the day. None of the facts about the situation were good, nothing about the plan was solid and yet I was pushing my bike down the road thinking I would “just do it.”. Then I did something unusual, I turned around and went back to stay in the town.

I learned a few things that day- when nothing about the plan looks good, it’s time to change the plan. Sometimes you just simply know what you need to do. Not with dread, not with anxiety, but sometimes just with an imperative momentum. Many times in my life I have set goals and achieved them. I’ve pushed on, finished things out, done what had to be done. I’m very good at making plans and accomplishing them. In my 27th year, I look forward to learning how to be more flexible. Often we make plans on a conscious level, yet our unconscious mind, perhaps called our soul, also has a path that we must follow.

I woke up yesterday morning and realized that my unconscious path does not continue south. I don’t have the energy, the motivation, the purpose. More importantly, I don’t believe it is what I most want to do, which is why the first three elements are missing. I don’t even particularly feel motivated to explore Quito, a place I have never been before. I’ve had an incredible time here, but my soul requires application, and deep down, I feel that it is time. There are many, many factors that logically contribute to this course of action and that I explain logically and carefully. When I consider them, they all seem ancillary to the underlying momentum that I simply feel.

The feeling I’m talking about is reinforced by a number of more logical facts- pieces of the plan per se, that simply don’t look good. Continuing to travel would undermine my financial ability to pursue other opportunities that are rapidly approaching. The logistical elements of bicycle touring have limited both the cultural experience I’ve had here, and the wilderness experience I’ve had (you can’t ever leave your bike, but you also can’t effectively leave the road). To continue traveling south solo, I need to invest in developing (studying) my spoken Spanish. I could continue to list reasons, but the most important one is that I simply no longer feel like this is the right thing to be doing, and I don’t need any more of a reason than that.

I am excited to execute many of the ideas, act on many of the feelings, and move the direction that I seen open before me over the course of the past 7 months. The details are not complete, but the momentum is clear. The adventure continues despite the change in direction. I have no regrets, I feel no real conflict, but rather a sense of excitement about taking advantage of the flexibility that I have, and the opportunities that are now available to me. More plans will be shared as they become clear. Love to you all.

Go with it.
Flow with it.


“It’s called feeling,
and it leads to KNOWING.
and after that, there is less searching.”
(Andrew Given)

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Failure

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This is the third draft of this post, but I was sitting by myself at lunch and finally realized what I wanted to say.

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(Sunset my first night in San Agustin)
As I biked into Neiva I wanted to quit. As I biked out of Neiva, I wanted to quit. 200km later, after getting chased by a guy with a machete and sleeping in a ditch (without a tent, in the rain, not actually sleeping), and pedaling another 60km STFU, I wanted to quit. But here I am, I’ve been on the road 650km and eight days. I am now convinced that I can do this. I have no doubts that if I needed to bike to Patagonia, I could do it.

I’ve been honest to admitting my doubts on this blog, but after a conversation with my brother and a close friend in Portland this morning, I realized that my doubts are not about the challenge or logistical problems. I realize that a while back I made a plan and that the plan said “travel abroad, alone, somewhere new, and love it.” When it came time to execute that part of the plan, I never allowed myself to ask the question- “what do I really want to do next?” “Do I have the energy to do what the original plan says?” “If this is the last time I have to be unemployed for a while, is this how I want to spend it?”. Of course, some of these questions cannot be answered without trying, but in the course of action, ignoring these questions aren’t the same as answering them.

I realized too that it is unreasonable to think that traveling here will simply “make me happy,” but that it is more important that traveling here will resonate with my inherent happiness in a new way. If it’s not, then there is nothing that says I must do this. The failure would be in “shoulding” myself (not my own phrase) to do something that isn’t the thing that resonates with me most strongly. I will need to find employment before I run out of money, and the only failure would be to get to that point and look back only to be unsatisfied with how I’ve spent my time (oh I “should” have done this).
What is failure? What is success? I pedaled up this monster hill without stopping but now my knee hurts. Failure or success? As with most things it depends on how you define it, but in the most objective light- so far I’ve covered road miles quickly, learned a lot, and had quality interactions. If I got on a plane to San Francisco tomorrow, it would be unfair to call my time here a failure.

I got to Mocoa yesterday, which is the end of civilized country in southern Colombia. The next two days will likely be some of the hardest riding on the continent if I am to believe what I’m told. 5,000 vertical feet of climbing in about 80km, mostly on dirt roads. Yesterday I got to town early and went for a very relaxed hike along a beautiful river. I noticed that today was the first time I’ve been hiking or swimming since I’ve been here. Today I opted to rest as its pouring rain and if I’m going to climb 5,000ft I want to see the view, so perhaps tomorrow will bring better weather. I’m riding through this place, but I’m not really exploring it- frankly I don’t have the energy. I find familiarity in the intensity of the riding, of fighting the hills, of racing the daylight, but on my hike I asked myself the question: am I having fun yet (does this resonate with my happiness)? And maybe so far it hasn’t.

Am I doing this for the wrong reasons, or is it that I just don’t know what my reasons really are? For now, I suspect I need the patience to see if the right reasons unfold, or if some of those questions about the plan need to get re-visited (and that’s okay!).

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(Giving it some thought in the rooftop hammock).

Lead an Examined Life

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“Running breaks my body, but it sure fixes my soul.” (Garrett Moon)
This post started as a longer, less focused expression of a wide variety of emotions I’ve held closely for the last 2,000 miles of driving. After a long run tonight, I’ve found a more meaningful and concise set of words.

I met an important woman on my flight from Chicago to Dallas on Wednesday morning.
I arrived in West Virginia late Saturday night and sent an important email.
Sunday I drove 450 miles northeast to meet her in Niagara Falls, NY.
We laughed over dinner in a dive bar, split a bottle of wine, and walked along the river.
She had to work on Monday, and I still had 2,700 miles to drive to Portland.
The odds are reasonable that I will not see her again.
It was worth it.

She is intelligent, beautiful, humble, and willing to look at herself and her life carefully in the mirror. She is nothing short of incredible to me, and I’m looking forward to developing our friendship. True to her form, getting to know her meant that she forced me to look at my life in the mirror very carefully. Thank you lady.

One of the reasons I started this blog was to allow a more transparent examination of my life. The directive “lead an examined life” actually comes from my time working for patagonia (the clothing company), it’s value has held in the years since I worked there. When I’m forced to examine my life more closely, I know I’ve done something correctly. I enjoy long distance driving for the mental space it affords me, this trip has been no different.

You should be looking at the ridgeline behind the highway, mountaintop removal- the real deal in West Virginia.

Cleveland.

How far would you go for the right person? How far would you go for the right job? What constitutes being in “the right place” (or “the right person” or “right job”)? On what do we base our priorities?

Central Illinois.

Mississippi River.

When our personal and functional dreams seem to be at odds, how do we know when we we’ve struck the right balance? When do we compromise? When do we refuse compromise?

I’ve been fortunate to have spent the past 6 months following my heart, and learning about myself, but in many ways these bigger questions remain unanswered. I haven’t forced myself to be accountable for answering them. Certainly I have experienced personal growth, but maybe this experience renews the cycle- in some ways I feel like I’m starting from square one. These questions will be waiting for me when I get back from South America, and I will be required to answer them in order to move on with my life. The commitment I have to my values makes it difficult to ignore, or answer these questions falsely.

Renewing the cycle in Nebraska, the very spot I camped four years ago while moving to Oregon.

The northern plains of Colorado.

“Allow. That’s most of what we have to do, is allow it. We might not understand now or ever, but we will feel our lives.” (Andrew Given)

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)

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.

Footprints

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(from June 29, 2011)
In wilderness mountaineering breaking trail is one of the more arduous tasks- wallowing in deep snow is tiring, you don’t know where the crevasses are, navigation is difficult, and your energy drains quickly. Teammates share this labor, accepting the risk of hazards, easing the load on their teammates, walking as an example for the others to follow. Living with 5 guys on a mountainside for a few weeks, the examples (and trails broken) of my teammates have been hugely rewarding. For some reason though, being out here has also amplified my appreciation for a number of remarkable women that I’ve been privileged to have in my life- teammates perhaps in the grander adventure of life. My life has been significantly and positively enriched by these teammates, the trail they have broken for me has shown up strongly out here. Maybe because women are simply different from men, or because they do things differently, or because in general women inspire (or require) more humility from men- much as mountians do- the examples deserve note. Funny what stands out in an all male environment. A few of their footprints:
-Cin, flatly rejecting the limits placed before her.
-Margaret, demonstrating outstanding generosity and outward expression of love.
-Kelly, having it all and not being complacent.
-Mackenzie, leaping into adversity and making the best of it.
-Emily, finding creativity in unlikely places.
-Courtney, knowing when and how to let it go.
-Erica, leading by example first and foremost.
Some of these women I have known a long time, some I don’t have the privilege of knowing well enough. All of their paths stand out clearly. To all of you, thank you. Your footprints make finding my way a great deal easier.