Something'll happen

 Back when I was building decks, we would often come across issues where we had to figure out how to make something work. Though the general construction was basically the same, every design was a little different, and every house presented different challenges. When the solution wasn't immediately obvious, we would let the problem sit in the back of our minds. Sometimes your brain keeps that problem running in the background and a solution will pop up while you are working on something else. Other times you just need to step away to come back with a fresh set of eyes. 

Occasionally a customer would see the problem themselves and would ask us how we were going to solve it. If we didn't yet have the answer, we would say, "Something'll happen". It was shorthand for "We haven't figured it out yet, but are confident that we will. Just give it/us some time."

"Something'll happen" has been the theme of the last few days. 

When I landed in Paris, my bike did not. The cardboard box that held my panniers and other bags showed up, but the bike box was nowhere to be found. I talked to the people in baggage claim and called Iceland Air, but their answer was basically, "Don't call us, we'll call you". Unfortunately, they mistyped my email address, got my home address wrong, and even put down my last name as "Dan" rather than "Day". It took an additional twenty minute call to get that fixed. It didn't inspire confidence. 

Since I had planned to ride my bike everywhere, I had to take an Uber while Rick and Liz rode to hotel from the airport, then another Uber on to the hotel in Paris the following day. Every next move and plan was prefaced by, "Well, if you get your bike..." There was one plan with, and one plan without a bike. We tried to stay positive, stay in the moment, and continued to work the plan as variables kept changing. Something'll happen.

We had planned for one full down day in Paris to let me recover some sleep, finish getting set up, and race by a few touristy spots. When we hadn't heard from the airline at the end of that second day, we spent an additional day looking around to see if I could rent a bike for two weeks. We struck out in Paris. Not only was it a long holiday weekend, but there was also a championship soccer/football final that weekend. The city was more overrun than normal, and everything was more expensive. Our already expensive hotel was due to double in price the second day, but Liz was able to sweet talk them into letting us stay on another day at the original price. 

We looked at taking a train to a smaller town on the route to see if we could pick up a bike there, but still no luck. As each hour and day ticked by, I became less and less confident my bike would ever show up, much less late, or that we would be able to figure out a work around. 

Before arriving, I had worried about throwing a wrench in their trip if my hip made it too difficult to keep up. The last thing I wanted to do was show up and screw up this epic trip they were on. Now I didn't even have a bike to fail on. I told Rick and Liz that I was planning to go home early, to let them continue the trip and ride without me. It broke my heart. They understood how I felt, but we set aside any final decisions until the next day. We went out and had a wonderful dinner, then slept on it. 

I could have shifted gears and made a new vacation plan for myself. After all, I was in Europe for the first time in thirty years. Why not spend some time, see the sights. But that wasn't what this trip was going to be about. It was about riding along rivers and through countrysides. It was about spending time with family I love, and finding small places and moments together that would be missed on a normal journey. I travel by myself all the time, but again this wasn't what this trip was about. I was pretty crushed, but still ready to make the difficult call to go home. 

I woke up at 3:30 and couldn't fall back asleep. I looked at changing my flight ($540 charge), for hotels anywhere between Paris and the airport (nothing under $200), our previously planned route and other things while fighting insomnia. I was finally able to sleep for an hour and then met Rick and Liz for breakfast. My new suggested plan was to take a train to Rouen (which was on our planned route), to spend another day with them before finding my way home. Paris had been a mess, and I just wanted to see a smaller town, and have a day where we didn't have to come up with any contingency plans. We found  an apartment in Rouen where we could stay for two nights. 

I had not heard a peep from the airport or the airline in all this time, even though I had corrected all the information they took down (except my last name was still Dan since that was somehow unchangeable). There was however a website where I could log in to see if they had found my bag. I had checked it every couple of hours over the three days, and checked it again in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. Still no sign of my bag.

I checked the website one more time after breakfast. The bike was now at the airport. 

Liz had finalized the reservation in Rouen just minutes before, so the train was still the plan. Scrambling ensued. Rick and I took an Uber to the airport, grabbed the bike, and took a taxi back, taking about three hours in the process. We assembled the bike in the street, loaded up our gear and rode to the train station. Another three hours later, we were in Rouen. The trip was back on. 

I am thankful that Rick and Liz are so flexible in the way they travel, always ready to figure out the next solution to the next problem. Even after I had given up hope, they were ready to roll with what came next. 

 Something'll happen.

Oh how I have missed this stupid box

Ready to ride

But first, a train. 

Getting my gear in gear

 The previous times I've done multi-day bike trips were a two week ride from Seattle to San Francisco in 2006, and one a week ride loop from Whitefish Montana to Canada and back to the US through Waterton Lakes and Glacier National Park in 2007. Both were amazing experiences I will never forget. 

Both were also charity rides for the American Lung Association. The first ride in 2006, I didn't know a soul on the trip when I started, but within a few days it felt like the other riders were already friends. Many of those riders signed up for the Glacier ride the next year, and it was a wonderful reunion ride through a spectacular part of the country.

On both of those trips, we were camping. Each night you set up the tent, rolled out your sleeping bag, and in the morning you did everything in reverse to break camp. But, there was a support truck that followed along, so we didn't have to carry anything beyond what we needed for each day's ride. We would throw our duffel bag in the U-Haul in the morning, and grab the duffel bag out of the pile when we rode into camp each night. Rinse and repeat.

This trip in France we aren't camping, instead staying in hostels or cheap hotels, but there will be no SAG wagon following behind us carrying our stuff like a mechanical Sherpa. Everything from start to finish needs to fit on the bike. 

I originally planned on using the same road bike that I used for the charity rides, just needing to figure out how to retro-fit racks to carry things. However, I found out there were going to be a number of sections where we were riding on dirt and gravel, and my skinny tire road bike wasn't going to work very well. 

A buddy loaned me his mountain/hybrid bike that had wide tires and a rack, but it was too big. I looked for used bikes in every shop and also online, but couldn't find anything that seemed to be a good fit. The more I looked, the more I didn't want to get something that would only sorta work. I didn't want to fly all the way there, for basically a once in a lifetime kind of trip, and be miserable on an ill-fitting bike. 

So I bought another bike. 

The bike is specifically designed for touring. Lots of places to bolt on racks and fenders, wide tires to tackle any terrain, and a steel frame that will probably outlive me. Ever since those charity rides fifteen years ago, I have wanted to do another long distance ride. Take off for a week, camp out and unplug. See the contours of the land at a much slower pace. This trip finally gave me the push to get set up to do just that, so now no excuses.

The bike is basically set up now. I took a few things off my road bike, and bought what I couldn't scrounge. Rick and Liz had some extra panniers (saddle bags) they loaned me, so I that was a big help. 

It seems there are a hundred tiny things I still need to do and get to be ready, but the big pieces are in place.

One of the remaining hurdles is fitting it all in. I chronically overpack, and this is not a trip where that is going to work out. Room is limited, and anything I carry, I have to carry over each hill I ride. I'd like to think I have learned my lesson to pack light, and only the essentials from previous backpacking trips, but I can be a slow learner sometimes. 

Two wheeled adventure

I have this weird thing with vacations, and maybe anticipation in general. 

For vacations, it isn't real until I check in at the airport, or drive away with a loaded up car. Something can always go wrong I suppose, so don't spend the energy on anticipation. But once vacation brain is turned on, I am all in. A switch is thrown and living in the moment is where I want to be. 

This trip is a little different, while being more of the same for my pre-vacation brain. 

There is much more planning involved this time around, though to be fair a lot of it is being done by the people I am joining. This time I can't wait until the last minute to run to the store, pack my bag, procrastinate as is my habit. There are just too many boxes to be checked, and small boxes to squeeze into. 

I am going on a two week bicycle trip through France. I leave in about a week. 

My cousins have been planning this trip for quite some time. I can't remember when they first told me about it, but in the first sentence or two they said, "You should join us!"

Yes, yes I should. 

There have been other opportunities to join friends on some cool trips before. I went on a number of them, but I have passed on couple I definitely regret, like the trips to Hawaii and Ireland. There were valid or semi-valid reasons to not go at the time, but I didn't want to let this one slip by and live to regret it. This trip is one I know I will love, but probably wouldn't have planned on my own, and I am so excited to travel with Rick and Liz. 

Their ride started in Portugal and they have been biking for almost a month now. They are currently in France, biking from Bordeaux to Paris, which is where I will join them. After a day in the city, we will ride west to the Normandy area on the coast. We will then head north along the coastline toward Dunkirk. There are general plans, but no set schedule of how far we will ride each day, or where we will stop each night. My sense is that they have been planning a few days out, but remaining flexible to hiccups and joys that make them pause or change their plans. I am not sure of how far I will get in the two weeks I will be with them, but at some point I will have to peel off and hop a train back to Paris to fly home. They will continue on to eventually finish in Amsterdam. 

Even though there has been planning in the background, I didn't tell a lot of people about the trip. Beyond the usual things that can throw a wrench in your plans, Covid has kept its two-plus year hold on things. Add to that my arthritic hip, and I wasn't sure how getting on the bike would feel. The answer is not great so far, but that is a story for another post. 

The hurdles can still trip me up, but the excitement is building. I have been fortunate to travel to some cool places in my life, and have even taken week-long and two-week-long bike trips in the past. However, it has been fifteen years since the last long bike ride, and it will be almost exactly 30 years since I was last in Europe. It feels crazy when I say things like "it has been 30 years since I...", but getting older doesn't mean getting old (just yet). Right? 

For at least a couple of weeks, the Views From Two Wheels blog will be a bit more literal. 

2019 Big Sur Marathon

The alarm clock went off at 2:30am. The day was finally here and it was going to have an early start.

The marathon route is held entirely on Highway 1 which is mostly shut down for the runners. The only way to the start line is to ride the school buses south. I had selected the hotel I was staying at for its proximity to the race expo and so I could walk to the bus pick up. One less logistic.

The string of yellow buses extended for several blocks, as did the line of runners waiting to get on. When I got to the head of the line there were just a few spots left on the current bus, I almost said I would wait for the next one to ensure I would get a seat up front (motion sickness) but decided not to. After climbing the stairs, a seat up front was waiting. Things were clicking into place.

As I mentioned before, I was not particularly well trained for this race. I did what I could in the days leading up to the race to try and get the best out of what I had. Flying down a day early to provide extra time, lots of fluids and electrolytes the day before to top off the tank, and I shut the lights off at 8:00 the night before to try and get a halfway decent night's sleep. You run with what you have, and I tried not to screw up anything at the last minute.

The buses traveled for ten minutes just to get to the finish line, and then headed south twenty six miles on the very route we would be running on. It was before sunrise so you couldn't see much, but you couldn't miss how often the road climbed and descended. Though I always study the elevation profile to see what is in store, I don't view the actual course ahead of time if I can help it. It can be discouraging to see how long it takes to drive twenty six miles, and that doesn't boost your confidence when it comes time to run it.

This time however I found it helpful. The elevation profile can show only so much detail, and as we drove on through the dark I discovered there were more hills at the end than expected. Better save something in the tank for the finish.

Click to enlarge

We were at the start almost two hours before the gun would go off. We each tried to find a spot of grass or a curb to sit on, but many just spread out on the pavement. The time passed surprisingly quickly, except when you were waiting in the porta-pottie lines.

Almost ready to start.

The sun rose around 6:15 and the first wave of runners went out at 6:45. No headphones again for this race so the morning quiet was soon filled with the slap of shoes hitting pavement, and runners chatting to friends and strangers alike. The first five miles were generally downhill and in among the trees. Since the highway is shut down, and the route does not pass through any real towns, there would be few spectators, but we would occasionally come upon a local who thoughtfully gave up sleeping in on a Sunday just to cheer us on.

After mile five the trees disappeared and we were running through more open, pastoral countryside. The sun still had not broken through however. Colors were somewhat muted and fog hugged the hillsides. One runner commented that the green hills and pastures made it feel like we were running through Ireland. We were warned that this four mile stretch would be where the headwinds would hit in most years, but there wasn't even a breath of wind today. The road climbed slowly and the runners began to spread out.

I had no specific time goal this time around. The training was just too spotty and the course too hilly to make much of a prediction. My sincere goal was just to finish and enjoy the day as much as possible. All I had to do was to finish in under six hours to beat the sweeper bus. As I sat on the start line, I thought if I finished in under five hours, I would be happy with that.

I didn't look at my watch much and just ran by feel, but the pacing groups with their little time flags let me know roughly where I was. In the first few miles I passed the five hour pacers, then the 4:45 pacers, and then stayed in the general vicinity of the 4:30 group. I would lose them when I stopped for a drink or more often a photo, but then would catch up to them again. The hills hadn't really begun yet, so it was all sort of meaningless, but the thoughts about time were planted.

After the forest and green pastures, we reached the coast around mile nine. After a steep downhill we were onto the longest climb of the day, Hurricane Point. It was a two mile climb with about 500 feet of elevation gain, the road twisting and turning providing false hope with each false summit. Time to just settle in and get it done.

The first mile of the climb was the steepest. At the halfway point we were not only rewarded by the easing of the slope, but by the Taiko drummers pounding out some motivating beats. Truly a great visual and audio boost. It felt like I stopped for much longer in than this video indicates.

During the course of the two mile hill I bridged the gap between the 4:30 and 4:20 pace groups. This meant I was probably taking the hill on a bit too ambitiously but I was still feeling pretty good when we reached the summit. The shorter hills on the rest of the course would end up being more difficult, so I probably should have taken it easier. I lost the 4:20 group as soon as I stopped for the next picture and did not see them again for the rest of the day.

After a steep mile downhill we were at the halfway point and the iconic symbol of the race, Bixby Bridge. I had seen many photos of it before but it really is something to see it in person. It was already going to be a special halfway-there marker, but there is the added tradition of a a man playing piano at the end of the bridge. I don't know how often he played this song during the day, but he was playing Chariots of Fire when I walked up.

After shooting another short video and taking some more pictures from this side of the bridge, it was time to take on the second half of the course. I said out loud as I rejoined the race, "I love this day!"

In the race packet description of the course it mentioned that the hill at mile 15 was sort of a barometer of how the rest of your day would go. It was not nearly as long as the climb up to Hurricane Point, but your legs are tired from that previous climb and reality swaps in for excitement around this point. They said if you struggle on this hill, you may be in for a long afternoon. I made it to the top without pause, but only just. I would walk some portion of every hill after that one.

The sun had still not burned through the cloud cover but it was beginning to feel a bit warm and muggy. It always feels like I fail when it comes to nutrition and hydration during races, but I did my best to keep the fires stoked. The elevation profile indicated that it was relatively flat between miles 16 and 21, but it felt like we were always climbing or descending small rolling hills.

Rather than succumbing to the "run til it hurts too much, then walk" pattern that I normally employ, I walked earlier and a bit more often. It felt like I was more in control, this more of a strategy than desperation. I was here to enjoy my experience as much as possible, and I was not going to bury myself in order to save a few minutes or seconds.

Still...

As much as I ran for experience over time, I started to wonder what my finish time would be. Just can't help it I suppose. At mile eighteen I started doing a little math, and if I was figuring things correctly I could slow to a brisk walk and still make it in under five hours. I still had a long way to go, but this was encouraging. Each time I slowed to a walk on a hill, I expected the 4:30 pace group to pass by but I managed to hold them off until somewhere around mile 24.

At mile 25 there is this inflatable finish-line-banner-looking-thing put up by one of the sponsors. It is at the base of the last hill before the finish and called the "Time to Fly Zone." There was a DJ blasting out music and a couple people cheering us on.

As I approached, a Def Leppard song was finishing up and the next thing out of the speakers was "Everybody Dance Now!" scream/sung by the woman in the band C&C Music Factory. The woman runner next to me said, "this is the perfect song right now" and it was. The singers voice, the energy, the volume - I got that runners high that only seems to be brought on my music or when my mind is truly in the magnitude of the moment. A tingling wave rushed across my skin and it felt like there was a smile on my soul as well as my face. I would like to say that the song carried me up the hill at a dead run, but my heart felt like it was going to explode with emotion, so I was soon walking to get it to calm down.

I made it to the top of the hill and a race volunteer told us it was the last one. I seemed to remember from the morning drive in that that there was a climb at the end so I half jokingly asked, "You wouldn't lie to us now would you?" Too many times well meaning spectators tell you that you are "almost there" when the reality is quite different, but the volunteer said it was the truth. Thankfully it was.

Just shy of the finish there was a runner on the pavement getting medical attention. He seemed to be conscious and had the help he needed, but it was a sobering reminder to the rest of us what a challenge to the human body and spirit these marathons are.

Soon the finishing chute was in sight. Suddenly there were hundreds of people cheering us on when we had been mostly alone on the course. I picked out a particular man that I saw leaning over the railing and clapping his hands. I ran toward him, my hand outstretched for a high/low five. He smiled and reached out his hand in response. There is something in the meeting of hands in that moment that crosses all barriers, and once again it felt like my heart was too full and my lungs too empty. I hyperventilated and wept my way across the finish line.

As has been the case in my last several marathons my calves and hamstrings were tight to the point of straining, and my left heel had been hurting for much of the race. That said, I did not bury myself physically as I have in the past. It felt like I ran this race well, and with purpose. Sure I could have shaved some seconds or minutes here or there, but that was not what success meant this time. My body was depleted but not broken, and it was my heart that was properly rinsed from this day.

Still, the clock is always ticking, so once I had regained my composure, I had to check.

4:34:52.

My heart is full, if strained.

And I loved this day.

A walk down a shifting memory lane

Each time I come home, things look a little different.

I have made a point to get back to Seattle about every six months since my move south. Visiting this frequently does not allow much time for change, but it happens anyway. Just driving in from the airport, on ramps have changed, buildings have been knocked down and replaced, Quest Field is now Century Link Field, etc.

Recalling another native that returned after moving south, a friend asked if I had a strong reaction to coming home. That other friend grew misty crossing Lake Washington with Mount Rainier in the background after years in the desert. Since I have been visiting with some frequency, the reactions aren't as dramatic, but I have been gone long enough to have forgotten the particular mixture of gray and green here in the wintertime.

In many ways, it is like I never left. I joked on Facebook that I was "Sleeping in my parents' house, borrowing their car, eating their food, watching Rockford Files on tv, and I have a pimple on my nose. Time travel IS possible." 

I am lucky to be able to pick up with friends after a long absence and there is no weird tension or distance. For some it has been only six months, but I caught up with a great friend that I hadn't seen in almost two years. Much had changed in our lives since then, but conversation flowed as if I had seen him just last week.

Of course progress and chaos still have their hand in things. Just across the street from my friend's house, my old elementary school had been razed and rebuilt. Gone were the sprawling, one story buildings, replaced with a three story structure with interior hallways out of the rain. My high school across the street had also had a face lift, though it was at least recognizable.

Unfortunately, a couple of my friends' marriages are also being torn down, and they are still in the rubble stage. It is depressing, disheartening, and I don't wish that on anyone. Whatever is rebuilt in their place will be very different and may not be recognizable, but I can only hope that it is something strong and beautiful in its own way.

Rather unintentionally, I have ended up visiting several of my previous homes. After visiting Buzz and seeing the new elementary school, it was just another few minutes to the house I grew up in. It was strangely similar even after having gone through a period when it was used as a retirement home. While visiting another friend up north, I stopped by my house from when I was married. The bright red coat of paint still looked great, and only the car in the driveway gave away that it had changed hands.

Today I went for a walk around Green Lake with Tami. We talked about all that had changed and the struggles we were all having. Though the subjects have changed, the walk was familiar, as were several things around the neighborhood. The same woman was sitting at the end of the off ramp waving and asking for change, and there is still a block-sized crater just off the lake where a builder ran out of money years ago. Struggles continue.

As I was driving away, it dawned on me that I was only a few blocks from a house I had rented a decade ago. I lived there for a year or two, taking the place over after Matt and Holly moved back to San Diego. We all live together these days, but the Green Lake house was passed off like a baton on their way out of town. That house was my first rental with a backyard, and allowed me to adopt my pooch Sierra.

I stopped by to take a photo of the house both for myself and to send to Matt and Holly. When I pulled up, there was a family out front, letting their toddler and dog run around the yard. Not wanting to freak them out by taking a photo of their house, I introduced myself and mentioned that I had lived there previously. We got to talking, and it turns out they had moved up from San Diego only months before. We swapped stories about the house and my current town. The baton had been passed once more.

Nothing is completely stable, change is constant, the past is consistently being rewritten. But there are certain anchors that keep us tethered. My address has changed, and there are two places I call home, but family and friends are my anchors, and they keep me from drifting too far away.

The chaos and quiet of the season

Vacatons always feel busier than my normal life, and this one is no different.

The first part of vacation has been largely about seeing friends, and it feels like I haven't even had a chance to unpack or get any sleep. We were up past three in the morning at the sleepover party this weekend, getting in as much fun as possible, and for one night denying our age. There were a few surprise guests, and it was a great way to kick off the Christmas trip.

Speaking of packing, that has changed significantly over the years. I always over pack and that part hasn't changed, but what comes along sure has. I brought two bags for this trip, and one was almost entirely devoted to running. My duffel bag was stuffed with shoes, clothing, warmer clothing, gadgets, water bottles and food.

And all the cords, cords, cords (in my best Grinch voice). Cords to charge and cords to sync. Phone, camera, laptop, GPS, iPod, Kindle - they all need their juice and I am forever looking for an open outlet. I definitely do not unplug on vacation.

As a side note, one bonus of reading on the Kindle is that I can bring as many books as I like and not worry about space or that my suitcase will be overweight. The disadvantage is not being able to read on the plane during takeoff and landing when all electronic devices have to be shut off.

But there have been some unplugged moments as well. I have been out for a few runs in the mizzle, and I am headed up to the mountains to play a round of golf in a few minutes. I managed to forget my sunglasses, but so far that hasn't been an issue. I had forgotten how gray the winters here can get, but at least it looks like there won't be any snow this year.

While the first part of the week has been a rush to see as many people as possible, the second part should be a bit more relaxed as the focus switches to time with the family. It really is a fine mix of chaos and quiet, and it is almost as neatly separated as my luggage.

Family time

I was back up in Washington again, for over a week this time. Since my move to San Diego, I have tried to get up there about every six months, but was fortunate through airline miles and generosity to make two trips in the past month. I couldn't afford the time away from work, but felt I couldn't miss this trip.

When I was a kid, my mother's side of the family seemed to get together every month. With nine cousins to go with uncles, aunts and grandparents, there was always a birthday or other holiday to celebrate. As we got older, lives became more complicated, our generation started having kids, and the group reached some sort of critical mass where it was difficult to get us together under one roof. Our visits went from monthly to maybe twice a year.

But through the years, there was always a week in the summer that was sacred. My extended family has been gathering each summer for some 30 years to spend a week together.

It began at Sun Lakes in eastern Washington. The cabins were old and run down, but they were an air-conditioned spot near the lake. Nearly everyone learned to water ski there. Older cousins taught younger ones, who then went on to teach the next generation. They'd float next to you in the water holding your skis, a stabilizing and calming presence before the boat would jerk you out of the water with a shout of "Hit It!"

About 15 years ago, we moved our annual summer week to Crescent Bar on the Columbia River. The old cabins were exchanged for nicer condos, the small lake for a wide, slow moving (and colder) river. There are more toys and even more people. You'd need six or seven hands to count them all. Boyfriends and girlfriends have become husbands and wives, and more children are bringing new friends. The annual trip has the same heart, just in a different place. There is a little less excitement as an adult, but no less joy.

I hadn't been in three years. Last year I just couldn't make it happen, and in 2009 I just couldn't handle it. I was in the thick of the divorce and I just wasn't ready to face my family. But this year it was back to restorative waters and family, especially since it might be the last time.

The condominiums are built on land leased from the Public Utility District. The condos were built during a 50 year lease term, and owners were given every indication that the lease would be renewed when it expired in 2012. Some locals have argued that the public land should be made into a park with additional campgrounds, with the condos being knocked down to build a parking lot.

The non-renewal of the lease seems to be out of spite rather than to benefit the county. A renewed lease at market rate would likely bring in more revenue than a campground, especially considering the current one is often not full. The condos are primarily rentals, so they already bring in tourist dollars to nearby Quincy.

I also don't imagine any level of government has the money to invest to convert the island to a new use. There is already a public beach on the island, and it is not expanded in the new plan. The rest of the island will likely sit dormant for quite some time, not available for public or private use, and not producing much-needed revenue for the county.

So since this trip might be the last to Crescent Bar, I wanted to be there just in case. The weather wasn't as nice as normal, and there was a figurative cloud hanging over as well. My uncle and cousin also spent some time in the hospital, so it was a rougher week all over.

But it was still a wonderful week. I am blessed in the family and friend department. We all enjoy time with friends, but not all of us want to spend extended periods with siblings, cousins and uncles as adults. I am pretty lucky to have a group that still enjoys hanging out after all these years.

If Crescent Bar does come to an end, there is talk about starting over again somewhere else. It won't have the same feel, and we will be one more step removed from where we started. But the trip is more about time with the family than where we are sitting. Wherever we go, it will have the same heart, just in a different place.

Some animals were harmed during this production

The radiator of my truck after a week on the road.

Grand Canyon morning

I heard several times that I had to see Grand Canyon at both sunrise and sunset. The look of the canyon can change dramatically depending on the angle of the sun, and the cliff walls really come to life when the sun is low on the horizon. I had already been at rim's edge as the day came to a close, and the plan was to get up before the sun breached the horizon the next day.

When considering where to stay, I had originally planned on staying in nearby Tusayan. The town is only about five miles from the park, and I had even toyed with riding my bike to and through the park. But the more I thought about it, I figured since I was only going to be there for around 24 hours, I might as well spend the extra $30 to stay within the park. It would mean less hassle, more time in the park, and of course a few extra minutes of sleep before meeting the sunrise.

I am really fortunate that I made that choice. Road construction near the entrance caused delays of up to 45 minutes, which would have been frustrating as I drove in and out of the park at the start and end of the day.

I was scheduled to run six miles on Thursday, and I thought running through Grand Canyon National Park at sunrise would be pretty spectacular. There is a paved and gravel trail along the rim of the canyon, connecting the village to many of the viewpoints and overlooks. It was about three quarters of a mile from my hotel to the rim trail. The alarm went off sometime around 5:00am after another short night of sleep, and I set out about a half hour before sunrise.

Before I even started, I threw out any thoughts of maintaining any training pace. Not only would I be stopping regularly to take in the view, but the park sits at about 7000 feet of elevation. I had previously biked at around 6500 feet, so I knew that living at sea level and exercising at 7000 feet would not be very comfortable. No, the goal of the day would be taking my time to savor the moment.

Here is a picture of the route I ran (click to enlarge):

The first bit was a decent path through the park and the trees, but the show really began once I turned onto the rim trail. As you can see from the picture, for much of the time, the path is within tripping distance of the edge. The center of the picture where it says 'Grand Canyon' is where the restaurants and nicer hotels are. I was unsure how many people I would see along the path, so I lingered a while early on the rim trail before I reached 'civilization'.

When I reached the village, I found a number of people out to greet the sunrise, but it was in no way crowded. The sun was still below the horizon, but it was already light out. I paused in a number of spots, trying to decide on the best place to be at sunrise. I decided to run past the village and out toward the Hermit's Rest route I had traveled by bus the day before. I had intentionally skipped the first couple of viewpoints, figuring I would run to them in the morning.

In the above picture, the Hermit's Rest route begins where my red running route makes a right turn toward the top of the picture. I saw a sign as I entered this portion of the path that said something about a "worship center" 300 yards ahead. I hadn't heard mention of it before, and I didn't know what to expect, but I have to assume that this is what they were talking about.

I also didn't have a picture in my head of the 'ideal' spot to watch the sunrise, but once I saw this, I knew I had found what I was looking for. There was no one else around, so this little platform would be my own private meditation spot. With a little timer assisted photography to capture the moment, this corner of the park was all my own as the new day began.

After watching the sunrise, I pressed on to Maricopa Point and the Trail Overlook viewpoints. Maricopa Point was my turnaround point, and the trail branched off to a lookout point that seemed suspended over the canyon. I met another runner there, and we both leaned on the rail and took in the dawn without a word spoken. I stopped by the Trail Overlook on the way back, and met another runner. He was more chatty and we talked about the Bright Angel Trail that snaked into the canyon below us.

You stare at a thing of beauty for too long, and it can become less spectacular. Spending several hours at various viewpoints the day before, my eyes began to glaze over and the incredible details began to fade a bit. I don't know if it was just stepping away for the evening, or if being out there nearly-alone on foot had something to do with it, but the canyon seemed new again, and I think I enjoyed it even more the second day.

I ran back to the hotel, getting in the required six miles marked on my training calendar. With the altitude, steep trail, and multiple stops to enjoy the view, it took about two hours to complete. But moving any faster through this glorious morning would have been a mistake.

I showered, grabbed a quick breakfast, checked out of the hotel and hit the road once again around 10:00am. I decided to leave the park from the east exit, and stopped at a couple more viewpoints along the way. Once again, it was beautiful, but the magic was beginning to slip away (again). This part of the canyon was different and beautiful in its own way, but I didn't linger quite as long. It was time to move on.

Below are some of the photos from the second day, both during the run and on the drive out.



Now it was on to the Phoenix area, and some time spent with friends I hadn't seen in a year. Out of the woods and back to civilization.

The Grand Canyon

"No language can fully describe, no artist paint the beauty, grandeur, immensity and sublimity of this most wonderful production of Nature's great architect. [The Grand Canyon] must be seen to be appreciated."

~ C.O. Hall, Grand Canyon visitor, 1895

After fueling up on gasoline and caffeine in Williams Wednesday morning, I headed north to the park. The road is a pretty straight shot through barely populated land. Much of the area was covered in low trees, short and round like all they had to do was dry out to become tumbleweeds. There was some road construction, so it took a bit longer than planned, but I still made it into the park by 9:30am.

I headed straight to the nearest viewpoint, and it...was...stunning. It would be the first of probably ten different viewpoints I would visit, and I would end up taking some 250 pictures trying (futilely) to capture the spectacle. I knew no picture would ever tell the story, but I couldn't help trying.

Grand Canyon National Park has several shuttles that will take you around the village and to all the different viewpoints (all included for the price of admission). It is a great system and eliminates all the crazy traffic that would otherwise exist.

After dropping off the truck, I spent a couple of hours along the Hermit's Rest route. A recorded voice would announce the next viewpoint as we drove along the route. I had planned on going straight to the end and working my way back, but I could not resist getting off the bus when I heard "now approaching The Abyss" (so named for the sheer drop off). Of course you are largely looking at the same canyon, but each viewpoint offered a slightly different perspective.

After grabbing some lunch, I listened to an interesting lecture on the California Condor. The endangered bird has been brought back from the edge of extinction, and there are a number of these huge birds that now call Grand Canyon their home.

After belatedly stopping by the visitor center, I checked into the hotel. It was not one near the rim, but it was still great to be staying in the park. It was a more traditional place with a tv and fridge, but it still felt a little rustic since this was the view from the room.

After getting settled, I headed back to the village. I wanted to see the sun go down over the canyon before grabbing some dinner. It was a beautiful night, and there were many people along the rim taking in the nightly show. Once again, pictures could not capture the beauty of the light playing off the rock walls, but we all kept trying just the same. And we would put the cameras down for long moments, trying to savor the images in real time.

Below is a small sample of the pictures I took the first day. The next morning, the Grand Canyon experience was somehow, even better. More on that tomorrow.

Williams, Arizona - gateway to the Grand Canyon

The rough schedule was to spend a day or so at the Grand Canyon on my way out to see friends in Phoenix. It is about a nine hour drive from San Diego to the Grand Canyon. I decided to stop off in Williams for the night as it is only an hour short of the canyon, and the hotels were about 60 % cheaper. The next morning I would drive the 60 miles into the park and start the day fresh.

Williams of course survives on people doing the exact same thing as I was doing. When I looked online, there were around 25 hotel options in the small town. I ended up choosing the least expensive lodging, and it ended up being a pretty cool choice.

The appropriately named, Grand Canyon Hotel claims to be the oldest hotel in all of Arizona. It opened in 1891 and once the railway to the canyon opened in 1901, the city and hotel became the launching point for people around the nation to visit our own 'wonder of the world'.

The historic route 66 runs right down main street of Williams, so the hotel and city also benefited from people passing through on "America's Highway". However, once I-40 pulled travelers off of route 66, fewer people traveled directly through Williams, and the hotel stood empty for about 35 years.

A couple bought, restored and reopened the hotel in 2004. The hotel has been restored, rather than remodeled. The wood floors look original, the rooms are small, and for many, the bathroom is down the hall. It is definitely a period piece, and they proudly advertise "25 beautiful individually decorated television free rooms." Williams still has that small town feel, and they have capitalized on the route 66 kitsch. The hotel fits right in, and it was great.

And I found a appropriately kitschy restaurant to complete the experience. I sat out on the patio for dinner, and there was a local guitar player doing covers and singing some of his own stuff. He was actually pretty good. I lingered for a while after dinner, relaxing after the long drive, and looking forward to the next day.

On to the Grand Canyon!

The road trip

The call of the open road. It is probably an American ideal especially, what with our expansive country, relatively cheap gas, and intricate freeway system. With a single tank of gas, we might be able to cross state lines, yet even with three months on the road it would be difficult to see it all.

The road trip, or even the Sunday drive used to be a thing in and of itself. There was plenty to see along the way. That like life, it was as much about the journey as the destination. Today the journey seems to be a hassle on the way to our destination. Airplanes can't get us there fast enough, and our frustration pushes flight attendants to the emergency slide.

As a teenager it was completely different. Like most men I imagine, cars were an important part of growing up, and we would look for any excuse to go for a drive. A couple friends of mine would ditch class to drive to eastern Washington just to go to the U-Tote-Em Drive In for lunch. We had plans at one point to drive to California - each of us in our own cars, because we all wanted to drive.

I of course don't get as excited about driving these days, but the road still speaks to me. As I prepared for the trip out to Arizona, the drive wasn't just a hurdle to cross in order to get to where I was going. The drive was going to be part of the experience.  I dug through the CDs and grabbed a large handful for the drive. I charged up the iPod as well, but I was really looking forward to listening to some music I hadn't heard in ages. Before long, I was belting out some 80's classics as I drove down the interstate. (There are some definite advantages to driving alone).

The first car I owned was a '67 Ford Mustang. I bought it for $1,300 (it clearly wasn't in "classic" shape) and had the car for over 15 years. It was my daily driver for most of those years, and I was thinking about that car as I climbed some mountain passes today.

My Mustang had power nothing, and certainly no air conditioning. My friend always called it "2-55 A/C" - 2 windows down driving 55 mph. But it was worse than that. Whenever I headed over the pass to eastern Washington, not only was there no A/C, but I would crank the heat in hopes of preventing the engine from over-heating. As I climbed the passes, I would be physically sweating as I watched the engine temperature tickle the red zone. Once I was done climbing and on the downslope, I would shift into neutral (it was a stick shift) and turn off the car completely. As I coasted down the road with the engine off, I would watch the temperature gauge fall back down to normal. Good times.

Today, I was crossing over the moonscape that is eastern California, and the temperatures were above 110. My truck is now 11 years old, so to be safe I turned off the A/C on the uphills. That seemed to be enough to keep it out of the red zone, so at least I didn't have to turn the heat on.

My route today took me north on I-15 to I-40 east. I-40 is the interstate that killed old route 66. Route 66 was dubbed "The Mother Road" and was the first to connect Chicago to Los Angles in a reasonable fashion. Many small towns along Route 66 blossomed as so many Americans took to their cars to see the country. The year after I-40 was finished, Route 66 was decommissioned. Several of those small towns withered, but several others (including Williams,AZ where I stayed this evening) have latched onto the kitsch of 66, and remain as business loops off of I-40.

The interstate highway system does an amazing job of connecting this great nation of ours, the size of which boggles the mind when you stop to think about it. When I turned onto I-40, there was a sign that said, "Wilmington N.C. 2554 miles". It is pretty amazing to think that I can drive that far on a single road (assuming I would want to drive to North Carolina).

But there is something lost with the increase of speed and the skipping by of small town America. As Charles Kuralt said when I-40 was completed in the 1980's, "Thanks to the interstate highway system, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything."

I can't claim that I took the long way here today, but I am really glad I stopped at Williams for the night. It is a great little town semi-preserved in time from the heyday of Route 66. The journey is pretty good so far, and the Grand Canyon is only an hour away.

More about that tomorrow(ish).

A brief departure

When it is all stripped away, what would you do if there was nothing holding you back?

As a follow up to yesterday's post, I have been thinking about what I could/should/might do with this life of mine. In the past year or so, several things have been stripped away from my own ledger. No spouse, no house, and smaller expenses. I still have my own obligations and debt that must be tended to, and I am mostly treading water at this point, but the load is lighter than it once was. Not that this is where I wanted to be, but this could be looked upon as a golden opportunity. With a lighter obligation side of the ledger, and with my decisions mostly affecting only myself, I could get busy pursuing my bliss.

But were the obligations really holding me back? Many of us strain against these real and imagined chains that hold us back from pursuing our bliss. "If only I could cut my bills in half, get a different job, buy a smaller place, had more time, I could get on with LIVING!" But so many of us when given the time, we don't know what to do with it. We might be suddenly unemployed, and have an extra 40 hours a week that we didn't have before, but rarely do we use that time to chase after our bliss. Suddenly those chains that we thought were holding us back fall away, and we realize that we still aren't moving forward.

We cannot wait for those perfect circumstances to arrive before we pursue our life goals and follow our bliss. We must start along the road before it is entirely open. So many success stories start with something like, "I got up at 4:30am every day before the world was awake so I could write/study/create." Once we start carving out spare minutes and moving forward, we begin to evaluate and adjust how we spend our time to prioritize what is important.

For my own part, I never really felt like I was being held back. I had it pretty good, with enough time that I could waste it. No, it wasn't for lack of time or the chains of obligation, it was from lack of a clear idea of what bliss might mean. Now, I have all the time I need to stare at the ocean for answers, but still none have bubbled up from the foam.

But we all have some vague thoughts of what we would like to do, if we could. What were my dreams if I could turn my back on my life for a while? One recurring image is Thoreau-like. To go off to a cabin in the woods to strip away all the excess, live simply, and see if beneath all the clutter there wasn't something I had been missing. I somehow believed in this little fantasy that I would suddenly begin to write like I had always wanted to. But like those imagined chains, I don't need to make drastic changes to be able to write. I have all the time I need right now, but I so often stare at the blank page (when I bother to sit down in front of it).

One of the other visions I have had looks a little like this:

I have long had the desire to take a few months and see this great country of ours. To hit the road with only the vaguest of plans, gathering adventures, stories, and yes a few souvenir stickers along the way. The original plan was by motorcycle, but these days a Honda Element is more the imagined vehicle. Of course my car would have a bike rack instead of a canoe rack. And biking across America remains a dream as well.

It is still possible, and who knows, I may just make it happen. I know the pooch would not enjoy the journey, so that is of course something to consider. But there are always solutions, and I don't need to imagine any more barriers than already exist.

I actually briefly considered the Jet Blue "All You Can Jet Pass". The pass allowed you to fly anywhere Jet Blue flies, for a month. It was tempting, but I decided it wasn't what I was looking for (they sold out almost immediately anyway). For now, I am headed out on a little one-week adventure. I was already planning on visiting a friend in Arizona for a long weekend, and now work has slowed enough that I can extend it to a week. I have decided to visit the Grand Canyon on the way. I haven't seen it in almost, *cough*, 35 years, so why not!? It is a natural wonder of the world for crying out loud, just a day's drive away. And I have the time.

I don't have to run off to the woods to clear away the clutter - sometimes just being on the road for a while will do. And maybe the expansive canyon will hold more answers than the ocean has proposed so far. At any rate, I hope to get some writing done. I may disappear for a few days, depending on wifi access, but I will resurface, hopefully with a story worth telling.

I love San Diego

"Michael, I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything that I thought it could be."

~ Peter from "Office Space"

My kind of offer

Luxury Resort Offers $19 room - sans bed

By Associated Press SAN DIEGO (AP) - A luxury resort in San Diego is offering rooms for $19 a night - if you don't mind sleeping in a tent.

The Rancho Bernardo Inn boasts three pools, a spa and golf course. It typically charges more than $200 a room. But business is down. So from Aug. 16 to 31, guests can get a "Survivor Package" that charges them less for each amenity they give up.

For $19, guests give up breakfast, air conditioning, lights, sheets and even the bed. Staff will remove the mattress and headboard and leave a small tent instead.

Oh, and bring your own toilet paper.

General manager John Gates says the hotel hopes people who try the promotion will return at full price.

Here is the graduated list of the savings you get with each thing you give up.

Camping in luxury, in San Diego...I'm on my way.

KOMO news story
Link to resort

Airport adventures

I flew down to San Diego two weeks ago. As I was carrying tools down in my luggage, it was going to be tough to come in under the 50 pound limit. I did some packing and weighing a couple days early and found out that some of the tools would need to stay home. When I weighed the bags at the airport, both came in at 48 pounds. whew.

When I got on the plane, someone was sitting in my seat. As I approached him in the crowded aisle, I did the pointing at him, pointing at me, pointing at the seat number motion. When I reached him and explained he was in my seat, rather than looking at his own ticket, he asked what seat numbers the couple next to him had. Not sure how that clarifies his seat assignment. He finally checks his ticket and realizes he was a row off. I should have kept quiet.

When I sat down I realized that the man next to me was rather large. He needed to flag down the flight attendant to get a lap belt extender. There was no question of fighting over who gets the armrest as he was a good six to ten inches into my seat. I'm no waif myself, so I spent the flight down twisted sideways, and started the week stiff and sore before ever lifting a hammer.

Our landing was in a pretty severe side wind. The plane was being pushed around, and the pilot had it angled into the wind until the last second. Probably the most scary landing I have experienced. I recalled a video a friend had forwarded to me. The landing felt a little like these:



I had sent home some things with the wife, so my luggage was hopefully lighter for the flight home. They came in at 48 and 44 pounds. Then she asked for my ID. "Did you know this is expired" she asked. Nope. It had expired two days earlier and I hadn't realized it. As a birthday present she flagged my ticket with a red mark that must mean 'trouble-maker'. When I got to security, the gentleman checking tickets kind of chuckled and asked what I did wrong. There was no chuckling at the metal detector and scanning area.

I was placed in a plexiglass box while my bags came through the scanner. Though there was no top to the box, someone had thoughtfully drilled some air holes in the door. Some ladies ahead of me were kind of laughing, so I scratched on the glass like a dog trying to get out. At least they had a sense of humor.

After patting me down and swabbing my bags for explosive residue, I was sent on my way. It was all very professional, and my fault for not renewing my license before I headed out of town. Back at the gate I had looked into changing my seat assignment as I was in a center seat toward the back of the plane. The other available seats were also center seats, but much closer to the front. I decided not to do any switching this time and it turned out for the best. The two guys I was sandwiched between were pleasant, as was the flight home.

The trip to the DMV this morning wasn't too painful either. Things are turning around.

Tour de Dog

My friend Holly passed along this link this morning. Dogs and bikes - somehow she knew I'd be interested. Her friend bumped into David and Chiva when they were in San Francisco last weekend.

David is pedaling across the United States with his dog Chiva in tow. Their trip started in Seattle in mid-March, and they are currently somewhere near Santa Cruz, California. His rig including equipment, his and Chiva's weight is about 350 pounds. While traveling across the U.S., he and Chiva will hit all of the lower 48 and attempt to climb the highest point in each state. He will also be trying to raise funds to fight animal cruelty. Here is a map of their planned route.

When he hit the Oregon coast and mentioned the Seven Devils Road, I realized he had crossed paths with our route on the Pacific Coast ride in 2006. He travels through the Redwoods of California hitting several of the same small towns that we did. He has some great pictures and stories of friendly folks helping him out along the way.

He seems to post once or twice a week, and you can check in on their progress at: http://bikingdog.blogspot.com/

If you would like to start from the beginning (actually before the trip as he is preparing) you can go here: Before heading out on the trip, he visits some outdoor retailer conferences for sponsorship and equipment ideas, then heads to Alabama for some last minute advice from both his grandmothers (stay out of jail and have fun). You can then move forward along his trip by hitting the newer post link at the bottom of the page.

Weekly numbers

Well, actually two weeks of numbers. I rearranged some training and weigh ins to work around vacation last week. So I weighed in the Friday before leaving, and I was still at 179. Training numbers for that week were:

Running: 21.25 miles
Biking: 0 miles
Swimming: 1/2 mile

As I mentioned, our vacation was at an all-inclusive resort, so there was lots of good food and many empty cocktail calories. I took in my share. I did run three times and swam while we were there, but I was pretty worried about a big jump in weight. Fortunately I was only up a pound to 180 this morning. I couldn't have realistically asked for better. Training numbers were:

Running: 23.5 miles
Biking: 0 miles
Swimming: a few hours in the ocean

End of radio silence.

A friend called to ask if I was trapped under something heavy, but actually the wife and I were off on vacation for the last week.

It was a beautiful toes-in-the sand, do-very-little type of vacation that the wife needed. We spent the week in Puerto Vallarta with five other friends. We chose an all-inclusive resort which meant we didn't even need to think about where we were going to eat. We have been on a few cruises in the past ten years, and this was like a cruise without a ship. This particular resort also included your cocktails in the price, so our livers might have been the only thing working hard all week.

I had plans of blogging while gone, but again it didn't happen. I wrote the April 5th entry while on the plane, then posted it at the L.A. airport. After that nothing. I probably should have been reflecting on my life as I stared at the ocean, but it was much more fun trying to master body surfing the waves.

As I write, the photos are downloading from camera to computer. I haven't looked at many yet, so hopefully there are some winners in there. There are 261 so odds are relatively decent. Thank you inventor of the digital camera.

I have heard some people say they are anxious to get home from vacation. I don't recall a vacation where I wasn't thinking "how can I swing a couple more days". The wife made an effort to miss the plane ride home, so I think we were on the same page this time. Once the trains, planes and automobiles journey home begins of course, I'm ready for it to be over. We fell into bed somewhere around 1:00 in the morning, and it did feel good to be home. The only thing missing was the pooch who was still at a friend's house.

I ran 13 miles this afternoon, met some running friends later to plan our next big adventure, then spent the evening catching up on blog reading while watching the final round of the Masters. The pile of mail and hundreds of e-mails wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I am still on vacation.

Pictures are done.

Resort

Beanbag chairs on the beach

One beautiful sunset after another