Category Archives: Traveling

Solo, Part 1

(my apologies for the lack of photos, connectivity is tough, maybe more later)

This is my first really big solo trip, and while I´ve missed the companionship of traveling partners, recently I´ve had some experiences that highlight the advantages of traveling solo. Hopefully this post can provide a more detailed account of some recent events. In no particular order, a few points:

The language skills are all up to you- no leaning on friends, you have to say it, you have to hear it. NOLS likes to call it “experiential learning,” I tend to call it frustrating, embarassing, and often hilarious.
Getting chased off someone else´s land by a guy with a machete. When it´s just you, you are less threatening to the guy with the machete, and there is no one to argue with about the appropriate course of action- you just pack your things as fast as possible and leave. (Yes this happened, but really it´s not a big deal, he was probably just as scared as I was and was somewhat polite once I started to pack up my things and go. I still didn´t appreciate him waving a machete in my face…)
Pushing the bike. I´ve had some long days in the saddle and especially Thursday and Friday were really hot. I´ve managed to stay mostly not sunburnt but when it´s late and you have to keep going because you cannot camp on a military base, it´s nice not to have someone else to worry about pushing.

Of course having someone to talk to, someone to draft, someone to drink the water first, someone to boost your courage, or negotiate with the guy with the machete are all really nice things to have, I´m just not focusing on that right now. I´ve made good time from Bogota but have still enjoyed taking photos, taking siestas, and trying new food (cycling makes you eat on a very regular basis). Mileage for you touring nerds out there-
Wednesday: 137km, mostly downhill.
Thursday: 95km, all in the desert.
Friday: 35km, in the desert but mostly a rest day.
Saturday: 134km, including a 7km hillclimb, and lots of other hills.
Sunday: 90km, finishing with a 5km hill climb that might be one of the more awful physical things I´ve ever done (but I wanted that hill, and I got it without giving up!).

(many, many hills…)
I mentioned the challenge of getting out and down from Bogota, but the scariest and perhaps hardest stratest was the last 50km in Aipe through the desert on Thursday. It was already scorching hot by 10am when I left the last town- I thought I was ready, but the desert is a very humbling place. Aipe is where I eventually found the ferry to take me across the river to the undeveloped, and more beautiful part of the Tatacoa Desert, but about 5km outside town I bonked hard for the second time that day, and was lucky to have Barry and Carol Smith at the roadside to watch me bonk. The desert had bested me twice that day and it was just a bit scary. I had a couchsurfing contact in the next big city, Neiva, (where I posted last), which made Friday a really nice day.

(my leg of bug bites after two days in the desert)

Again thanks to Perly for showing me a less-coiffed, more authentic Colombian city and while there may not be “much to see”, I really enjoyed seeing how most people live and work. The road the past two days has been much hillier and the riding harder, though I´m grateful for the cooler temps and friendly locals (most of them cheer as I ride by). The topography has started to wear on me (and my bike) already. My freewheel is making a new scratchy clicking noise, and I´m having trouble managing an old left knee injury. That said, I´m taking today completely off to explore the ancient statues here and do a bit of bike maintenance.

My doubts are still rolling with me, but I´m pleased that they haven´t slowed me down. Moments of beauty seem to be more frequent as well, on Saturday I stopped in a beautiful town called Gigante and took my siesta in the square with three local cripples- I bought them ice cream, they share potato chips and we all laughed at the local boys chasing the local girls.

(classy open air church in Gigante)

(one legged man pretends to ride a bike)
The hardest part of Colombia will be crossing the Cordierra Central (the local bit of the Andes just to the west) and getting to Pasto. I may be able to post from Mocoa in the next day or two, but don´t be surprised if you don´t see new content until the end of the week- getting to Pasto is going to be an adventure.

(many, many churches…)

The Tatacoa Desert

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I’ll admit, I had given up on a small portion of my trip. One of the first things I had been looking forward to seeing seemed to be just out of reach. Life was still good, the flip flops were out, I had a beautiful camp next to a river, and the day was finally cooling off. The fact remained however that I was not going to find the ferry that would take me across the river to see the Tatacoa Desert- the maze of barbed wire and cattle ranches was confusing and I was exhausted.
Then I heard a voice, far away and in Spanish that I didn’t understand but the meaning was obvious. Antonio (it pains me that i don’t remember his actual name, but i couldn’t pronounce it anyway) wanted to take me to his town and show me his desert. I mustered just a bit more energy and followed him up river.

(First light on the last day of September)
He helped me load the bike, unload the bike, negotiate a cheaper fare and pointed me in the right direction on the other side. His face was genuine and caring and while I don’t know why he wanted to help me, I’m simply so glad he did.
I’m in a city called Neiva now, and I’ve chewed off my first bit of elephant (173 miles to be exact). This first portion of the trip was a perfect collage of what to expect for the rest of the elephant- some really crappy riding, some great riding, some weird camping, some great camping, lots and lots and lots of sweat, and an unbelievable excitement about cold drinks.
The two lane highway south from Bogota as good until it got to one lane in each direction of wall to wall trucks all struggling with the intense road grade. I was thrilled to be headed downhill, but the riding was terrifying and the diesel fumes coated onto my skin. I made good time and felt strong but the lowlands have been unbearably hot- I drip sweat while doing nothing.
I’m ending this blog on a short note due to the lack of internet here, not sure when I’ll have connectivity again but my awesome host Perly has been having trouble with the Internet and I’m scamming someone’s slow but free wifi.
Thanks for reading!

The Least Important Thing

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My life abroad is contained in four panniers, a small backpack, and a bicycle. There’s not much room for unnecessary stuff- simple, just the way I was hoping for. Arguably the thing least applicable to bike touring in my bags are a pair of rock climbing shoes and a harness. This weekend, I realized they might just be the most important thing I brought.
Friday I moved my stuff across the city and into an awesome house of expatriates and travelers from around the world, again, fine people brought to me by couchsurfing. My previous host had other plans for the weekend, and after getting to know him I realized he and I have very different views of the world. My last post was somber, and accurately reflected that I was feeling down. He believed that my plan was folly, and didn’t seem to hesitate in voicing his opinions. Richard (who I am now staying with), first responded to my plans by lamenting that he could not join me immediately. He could however join me for a stellar weekend biking out to a town called Suesca, an idyllic yet touristy center for adventure sports, most notably rock climbing. If the first few days here were spent with the impression that my plans were not possible, Richard spent the next two days showing me exactly how to do just that.

We left early Saturday morning and raced out of the city to beat the impending traffic. Bogota’s extensive bike lanes saw us rocketing north and onto the main highway by 8am. Like most British kids I know, Richard really only bikes at one speed- breakneck. We followed a surprising stream of other cyclists amidst heavy traffic until the turnoff to Zipaquiera, our breakfast stop and glimpse of small town Colombian culture. Richard’s excellent Spanish landed us steaming tamales and fresh orange juice, and I took very good notes. We got to Suesca around 11am and easily found the climbing areas. Accessible, friendly, active, and gorgeous, it was an easy place to be completely happy with.

(downtown Suesca, a bit different than Bogota)

We grabbed a fresh juice and a few hours bouldering, then headed back to town for a hearty lunch (the main meal here). For some unknown reason I spent most of our following siesta wide awake and worried about my plans, I still didn’t believe that I could figure out how to survive and make my way south by bike. We got up around 4pm and headed back for another bouldering session. I slipped onto my shoes and quickly sent a problem I had struggled with earlier. Our previous session (immediately after 4 hours of biking) had been a little low energy, but with the send this session started to bring back the familiar, and affirming, feelings I have always appreciated from rock climbing. There were more failures, new problems, and harder sends that evening, and we climbed until dark, making new friends and finding new treasures in each nook of rock.

We headed back to town for a substantial dinner and catching up with some of the folks we met on the cliff. I shared photos from my blog, we swapped English/Spanish climbing words, and enjoyed a lightning storm across the valley. I couldn’t imagine a better Saturday night.
Sunday we were up early, grabbed a hearty breakfast, and found even more new bouldering terrain. My energy came back quickly and moving over stone I felt powerful and happy. We found a few friends who offered us their rope, and after the bouldering already done, I took the sharp end and put the draws up on a 5.10c. It was steep and runout, but I had a blast and it only furthered the local friendships we had already started to form. We said our goodbyes around 130, ate, packed, and headed back to the city. A more direct route brought us home in about 3h15m, and we quickly bought heavy rations for tuna-mac.
The moral of the story- the least important thing on my bike isn’t my rock gear, it’s the doubt in my head. It’s one thing I’m very glad to leave on the ground as I climb through this new experience. I’m sure it will be a continuing battle, but one that I believe I can win. Many thanks to Richard for a great weekend, and so many possibilities.

(Believe in your self!)

Bogota, Colombia

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I’m here, my stuff is here, and my bike works, but after two days I still feel like I’m on a different planet. Perhaps it’s not knowing any of the language, or the general intensity that is any city of 7 million people, but this experience has been mixed with equal parts of excitement, apprehension and being totally overwhelmed. I’ve spent most of my time just biking- getting to know the city (somewhat), getting a feel for how differently people interact, and seeing a few sites. Couchsurfing has both landed me places to stay and English speakers to converse with, for which I am very grateful. I met another American through the site and we toured the national museum together yesterday afternoon. A couchsurfing meetup last night made for an evening of friendly conversation as well as a taste of the extensive bus network here (it’s not recommended for gringos, or anyone, to bike after dark).
So far I haven’t had any reason to fear for my safety, though the urban biking requires a very high level of concentration, courage, and bike handling skills. That said, there is an incredible network of bike lanes and overpasses that makes crossing the city quite doable, even on my first day here.
Juan, my first host, lives in a quiet area on the north side of town with good views of the city and surrounding mountains. I appreciate the relative calm after a day exploring the denser parts of the city. In many ways, Bogota is what I expected- dense, busy, smoggy, and cultured. The density is the most challenging part- in the 5000 square blocks I have traversed by a variety of routes, I have found nowhere that isn’t busy. In many ways being here is harder than I expected and I’ve thought of home quite a bit. Why did I spend my last few months of unemployment away from my friends? Why did I think I could take on a foreign country and language solo? Why did I choose to come here of all places? Amongst the folks I’ve met the gringos think my bike tour is awesome, and the locals think I’m loco. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to doubting myself right now. It’d be easy to get back on the plane. I could justify giving up. But it would still be quitting. Don’t quit Skander, don’t quit.
I met a Brit named Richard at the meetup last night and he agreed to host me the next several nights. More importantly, he also knows a climbing spot outside the city and is willing to bike out there with me for the weekend. Neither of us have a rope, but he may know some others there and there is a hostel with the potential of meeting other folks as well. I don’t expect to have Internet there so hopefully there will be good stories when I get back on Sunday afternoon!
A few photos-

Me and the bike box at SFO

My host Juan and his Samoa pup, Yuki.

Getting the bike put back together.

Awesome cargo bikes abound!

Looking towards the south end of the city from downtown.

Looking across the north side from one of the many well placed bike overpasses.

Take-Off!

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This is just a quick note amidst packing and finalizing a few last details. My flight takes off at 12:55am tonight. My regular phone service ends at 12:01am tonight, so I’m not sure when the next post will be. That said, this blog and my email will be the best ways to get in touch with me. Also, new on the blog as of yesterday is my “Professional Information” section, designed to share some of my professional side. Please leave feedback on this new page- your advice might help me get back on my feet once I get back from this adventure!

I’ve had a great few days visiting my brother and sister-in-law in San Jose. I got to see both Dustin and my friend Tom, who is just starting grad school at Standford and might be the main reason I was able to graduate Northwestern. Check out Tom’s amazing sculptures on his website. Thank you all for following, and for all the support!

A few photos from the fun here in Silicon Valley:

The shiny new burnished orange bike frame (with no cracks!)

New tent! I never thought I'd buy a solo tent, but it's perfect for bike camping.

Me, the Cilogear pack, and bike repair gear. One of many photos I shot for insurance purposes.

It all fits! (just barely)

Loaded for the airport run tonight!

Even just the visitors lot at Apple has some unusually nice digs...

Beginning Again

The Saga of a Broken Bike

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“It’s great to see you, but I thought you weren’t in town these days Skander?”

It’s a common question as I’ve been in Portland for quite a bit longer than I expected when I originally sketched out the idea of being unemployed. For lack of any better adventures to tell about, and because I think I know how the story ends, I’ll add the “Saga of a Broken Bike” to the entries of this blog.

I flew back to Portland from Alaska on Monday August 1st, and immediately started searching for a touring bicycle. I had just sold both my extracycle and my road bike, so I had some cash to spend and wanted to find “the right bike” for what I planned to be a grand tour. That same day I rode a used Trek 520 and a brand new Surly Long Haul Trucker that were both in Portland. On Tuesday I drove to Seattle and rode a used TiCycles cyclocross bike, and drove to Anacortes to ride a used Fuji Touring bike. I bought the Fuji because it was a stellar deal and came with a set of good panniers, and a bunch of other extras. I took the Fuji on a quick tour, and came home Wednesday. The Trek still wasn’t out of my head, so I rode it again, and it still felt the best of the four bikes. I bought it, and put the Fuji on Craigslist.

The Fuji in Roche Harbor, while I was figuring out this bike was really too small for me.

After a few weeks of sweating, the Fuji finally sold, and I got the Trek dialed in and ready for a tour. Life was good. On August 28th, I left the Trek at a shop to get a new bottom bracket- a significant, but not worrisome repair. The shop called me back on September 1st to say that in the process of replacing the bottom bracket, they had found a crack in the frame. I got the frame shuttled up to one of the few people in Portland willing to try and weld it back together for me, but the prognosis was ugly. I was in Alabama at the time, and suddenly realized I wasn’t taking this bike to South America as soon as I got back. The opportunity to drive back from the east coast came up, so I took it because I knew I’d have some time on my hands.

Yup, cracked properly.

While on the drive, I contacted the original owner of the Trek, who immediately went to bat for me, and has continued to be most helpful in resolving the situation. He took the frame back to the Bike Gallery, and Trek agreed to replace the frame under warranty (to him, not me). Good news as I was driving across Wyoming, unfortunately with no information on how long the replacement would take, I got in touch with a contact in Bogota, and confirmed that I could buy a new bike there. I liked the idea of getting on my tour upon returning to Portland, and the thought that I could sell the newly warranteed frame on eBay for approximately the cost of a new bike in Colombia. While the idea of purchasing a bike in a foreign country with almost no spanish skills seemed daunting, it was decidedly better than waiting indefinitely in Portland.

Driving past the impeccable off-width climbing in Vedauwoo, WY wondering if I would ever actually get to bike tour.

I got back to Portland last Friday, September 9 and arrived to the question “they don’t make the same frame for that bike any more, you’ve got to go sit on the new frames and pick a size.” So my warranty had not started and one more step in the process. Bummer, but nothing else to do. Saturday I picked the new frame size, and hoped that Trek would get their butts moving. Monday, nothing- I packed gear, and planned to drive to San Jose on Wednesday (today), thinking I would have a friend pick up the new frame and store it, so I could get on with my life. Tuesday, just as I found someone on Craigslist that needed a ride to San Jose, I get word that new Trek frames won’t be available until November, but that Bike Gallery would strip the frame that I had sat on and rebuild the bike with my old components. Suddenly, for the first time in 3 weeks, it looked like I might have a functional bike on a predictable timetable. I realized it was awfully irresponsible to pawn of bike bitch-work on my friends, and after this much trouble, there was no way this Trek isn’t going to South America with me. So today I’m waiting, studying Spanish, toying with an alcohol stove, and hoping that I might have a bike on Friday and can drive to California on Saturday…

Killing time in Portland at the Widmer Oktoberfest really isn't so bad...

Good thing I didn’t buy a plane ticket yet. Thanks for following, and watch this space for more news!

In the West

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I’m back in the west. I can tell by the smell of the air, by the color of the land. By the vast open spaces. Late summer is dry and hot, with a crispness to the night air that is telling of impending fall. I fell in love with the west as a teenager, and my roadtrips here then were usually at this time of year. I was glad to leave the Nebraska cornfields behind, and giddy to get into Idaho range country. The pull of home was irresistable after crossing into Oregon and dropping down to the Columbia River valley. It was a good trip to remember why I have chosen to live here, and will likely continue to live here.

I rolled into Greeley, Colorado on Tuesday night to meet my friend Jen. She and I met through her boyfriend while I was skiing in Jackson, WY this past January and I didn’t realize I would have the opportunity to see her until she responded to my facebook post. We had hoped to spend Wednesday climbing some of the excellent granite in the area around Estes Park, but it rained like the end of the world, and we decided to enjoy some of Fort Collins other offerings.

I'm fortunate to have two great companions for a rainy day- Jen, and an Americano from the Bean Cycle.

Fort Collins might be second only to Portland for outstanding local brew.

I got back behind the wheel on Thursday, and met a load of nuclear waste traveling across Wyoming. I believe nuclear power is an essential component to making the transition to an all renewable energy economy, but our lack of political will about how to deal with the consequences concerns me. Currently most waste is stored under water at holding tanks next to existing reactors, a bare bones solution that doesn’t address long term consequences (just another example of not paying for the full cost of our decisions). This article was written 14 years ago on the subject, and not much has changed… These guys were apparently headed to the low level waste disposal facility in Clive, UT. Lots more interesting information on nuclear waste and nuclear power. I know there have been a lot of links, but this one is 30 seconds and you’ll be glad you did.

You see all kinds of stuff on the road...

Just after the Wyoming/Utah border, even the rest stops are in Red Rock country.

I made a quick stop in Ogden to start making good on my goal to learn harmonica, and talked to my mom during an amazing sunset on the Utah/Idaho border Thursday night.

A perfect western sunset.

I camped at the City of Rocks National Reserve, but still didn’t get any climbing in! I did get out for a gorgeous morning scramble though, and look forward to coming back another time with appropriate equipment.

Good to get the lay of the land, this place is off the map.

It was hot in Idaho, really hot, and I started to feel a distinct pull for home. Originally I had planned to meet the owner of the van for a day of climbing in eastern Oregon, but when I crossed the border back into the home state, I knew where I was headed. I turned up the techno and rolled into Portland around 8pm last night. More thoughts on exactly what rolling into Portland felt like coming soon.

I picked up the van at 203,446 mi... that's 3,398 all told.

Four Planes, Five Airports, and 2,600 Miles

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How far would you go for a friend? I’m racing to post this from Washington-Dulles, the fourth of five airports I will visit today. Thursday night after entertaining my grandmother I picked up a cryptic voicemail from a friend. I called him back, and he asked me for an unusual favor. He knew I was in the eastern part of the US, and had time on my hands. One of my objectives in being unemployed and traveling has always been to take advantage of spontaneous opportunities, and this seemed right up my alley. My friend had been looking for a Sprinter van to take on climbing trips, and found his dreamride in West Virginia, 2,600 miles from Portland by highway. He asked me to fly to West Virginia, pick up the van, and drive it to Portland- all expenses paid, plus a little extra. I’ll see most of the US in the process, and probably see a few more friends along the way. I’ve got the time for this because of another phone call I got on Thursday…

Despite the good vibe that my touring bike has given me, I got also got a call on Thursday from the mechanic looking at my bike prior to leaving for South America. He was replacing the bottom bracket that was wiggling into oblivion when he noticed a sizable crack in the frame. They figured it was a fatal flaw in an already tired bike. I sent it over to the impeccably built TiCycles to get it welded up, only to have them insist that I not leave the country on the bike. Buyer beware- while I support a re-use economy, I should have just bucked up and bought a new Surly Long Haul Trucker instead of going for the bargin on a used bike. I’ve got a lot of decisions to make about how this bike tour is going to unfold, but the plan is the plan, and sometimes you gotta stick to the plan.

The funny part was the difficulty of getting from Montgomery, AL to Charleston, WV. I was scheduled to fly from Montgomery to Portland via Dallas, but the cheapest ticket we could get on short notice was from Dallas, via Austin and Washington D.C., to Charleston. Probably more of a curse than a blessing, my layover in Dallas was scheduled at 40 min, and 37 min in Austin. My flight from Montgomery ended up being late and suddenly the CrossFit WOD was making it across two terminals in Dallas for a flight (on a different airline that I wasn’t checked in for) that left 19 minutes after I crossed the transom.

I made the flight, made it to Austin, grabbed a sandwich at The Salt Lick kiosk, and jumped on my flight to Washington. I’ve got one more leg to go, and now that I’ve finally finished my addiction to “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest” I might actually get some of the trip planning done that’s I’ve been putting off so far this week.

To Grandmothers House…

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…we go. I’ve been in Montgomery, Alabama since Wednesday morning to visit my grandmother. That Montgomery is different than Portland might be the understatement of the year:
Hot weather and high humidity.
Bad coffee and no bike lanes (or sidewalks!).
Aging infrastructure and racism.
I may be a fish out of water, but I have loved my time here. It’s been 10 years since I paid a visit. My grandmother has always been willing to travel to see me in Chicago or Austin and I’ve not made time to make the long trip southeast. This was overdue, but perhaps just the right time to appreciate the differences and learn from the culture here. My grandmother recently moved into an “active seniors community” (nurses are available, but most residents are pretty happy rolling on their own) and staying with her has been an insightful look both at southern culture and the challenges that senior citizens face. To say the least I am humbled.
I love my grandmother, at 91 she is still lively and game for a good time. I had no clue this time together would be this much fun, or this valuable. I got off the plane in time to face a gigantic lunch of southern food on Wednesday, followed by a live band performance at her residence, a light supper (bad coffee and water only after the soul food lunch), and evening church.

(Angioplasty anyone?!)
Most of the people at church I still remembered from many childhood visits here and folks were frankly thrilled to see me.
I didn’t feel like I hit the groove though until Thursday morning. We took a tour of the Alabama justice building (home of the state supreme court), and the Civil Rights Memorial at the Southern Poverty Law Center. Arguably as moving as the Holocaust Memorial, I left with tears in my eyes and a renewed determination that our society will not truly be sustainable until we manage to treat all people with equality on all levels. I cannot more strongly recommend a visit. At the memorial fountain in front of the building I met a woman named Sara currently serving in the Marines. She was similarly overwhelmed, and suddenly my appreciation for her willingness to serve in our military rose above my general contempt for the military decisions made by our government. Before heading home we checked on tour times for the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr preached from 1954-1960. It was a morning of deep respect for many things.

(Surprisingly stunning architecture at the justice building)

(There’s a picture somewhere of me, here, 20 years ago)

(Touching history)

(The King Memorial Dexter Avenue Baptist Church)
Thursday afternoon saw us running errands and playing dominos with some of the local residents. Funny how the rules change when most of the players have limited short term memory- hilarity ensued. Thursday we headed out to the Hyundai motor plant south of town a ways. I’ve toured a variety of manufacturing plants, but never a complete car assembly center. The scale was enormous, the technology was cutting edge, and the people were exceptionally friendly. Truly an amazing tour if you ever get a chance.
Today we headed back to the Dexter Avenue Church for a full tour, and again I was deeply mover by the depth and significance of the civil rights movement that started right here. Though I’m not attracted to formalized religion at the moment, the Spirit here is unmistakably powerful- kinda wish I could attend a Sunday service here.

(In front of Dr. King’s pulpit)
This afternoon I was the star attraction as I gave a scheduled talk for the residents of the retirement community showcasing my recent trip up Denali. Only a few people fell asleep! For the most part everyone was thrilled to see the photos and I had a blast giving the talk. I suspect volunteering to give my slideshow at other retirement communities could fill a charitable niche that my life has been missing lately. We polished off the evening with two rubbers of bridge and helped my grandmother make some new bridge partners. The rules in Dominos might have gotten a little sloppy but there was no nonsense in the bridge playing. I dished it out as well as I took it and had a blast.

(Average of 60 years of bridge playing each, time to bring the A game)
Safe to say it won’t take me another 10 years to get back here.

stickthefeeling

engineering, adventure, and balance

Category Archives: Traveling

Solo, Part 1

The Tatacoa Desert

The Least Important Thing

Bogota, Colombia

Take-Off!

Beginning Again

The Saga of a Broken Bike

In the West

Four Planes, Five Airports, and 2,600 Miles

To Grandmothers House…