Speechless

It seemed like a fine idea.  Longs Peak is only 14,259 feet after all.  Why that's only 4,346 Meters.  What motivation to switch to the metric system.  (Disclaimer, these pics are from a later trek up Longs Peak then the one described)

The youngest of the group, with a friend from school and his older cousin and friends.  We left at a quarter past midnight.  Our headlamps casting dancing shadows in the forest. The evergreens still draped in frost.  The stillness of the night accentuating the beat of my heart, as the air gets thinner. 

Stopping 2 hours from the summit everyone pulls out sleeping bags.  Whoops.  I never have been one for preparation.  For the next 90 minutes I pace for warmth trying to invent an ipod in my mind.  I didn't succeed, it would've been nice to have some music I figured.

As the sun pierces the horizon, the trek continues.

We reach the summit, without much event.  A little chilly, a little tired.  Not my most adventurous peak, not even the most exciting up Longs.  But it was my first.  The first time I felt like I was at the top of the world, looking out at all the other ants.  And I found something so much better then my yet to be invented ipod. 

This is the first time I vividly remember that wave of emotion, that slows everything down and can't be caught by words or time.

You don't have to necessarily climb a mountain for it, but that does seem to work. 

It's that thing that makes you feel minuscule.  The awe inspiring acknowledgement that there is a bigger presence out there. 

 It's a sunrise in the desert.  It's a look.  It's laughing from your gut. It's a real connection with another person.

It's catching a wave. 

Realizing all you can do is ride the chaos if only for a moment.  

It's the abstract moments in life that can't be contained in typical words.  So we paint pictures, write poetry, dance in living rooms, hug, kiss, and even skip and jump on occasion.  

It's a million nuclear explosions inside the sun to warm our skin on a brisk autumn day. 

It's infinite different things that energize the universe around us.  That are so easy to pass right by on our morning commute. 

I suppose, it's probably something different for everyone.  More and more maybe we're just missing the point.  Maybe it's to mushy to acknowledge. or examine. or ponder over. 

Maybe.  
I live for these moments.  Yet, I don't find them everyday, hidden in the details.  Sometimes I lose them in a pile of wants and routine, stress and the feeling that any standing still is merely wasting time.  All the things that destroy mental clarity. 

There is not always a mountain to climb.  Take a deep breath, feel the oxygen invigorate from fingertips all the way into the wiggle of your toes.  Feeling. It's kind of abstract. But sometimes, it's just feeling. 

Filler while I procrastinate a blog on procrastination

 Putting pen to paper, whether your drawing realistic shapes, nonsense, or rattling off word after word.  There is something beautiful to the sound of pen to paper.  Go ahead, try it, it's nice.
 I also find a certain liberation in the clickity-clack of the keys when thoughts are flowing like a mountain stream through your mind.
Extended periods of busy-ness and stress,  without fail resulting in emotions that are tied up in knots all throughout our body need to find a way out.
In my experience, everything and anything can inspire the words that live inside, but I've found that music can be the great muse to draw them out.
Here's five albums, songs, bands (in no particular order) that inspire me, not just creatively (there's plenty of others for that).  This is the music that inspires me to pour myself out to an anonymous piece of paper . . .

1.  Miles Davis - - The Essential Miles Davis
2.  Sigur Ros - - Anything, stuff from "Takk", but really also anything
3.  Iron and Wine - - The Trapeze Swinger
4.  Death Cab for Cutie - - Transatlanticism, the album, but especially the song
5.  The Album Leaf . . . of course!

A introspective century

Buena Vista to Glenwood Springs.  103 miles through Colorado's Rocky Mountains. No doubt to be a long, enjoyable day; full off pain, adrenaline, endorphins, camaraderie, tired legs, light headedness, doubts, sense of accomplishment, and maybe a little dehydration.  Not necessarily in that order.

On a brisk Saturday morning the 25 or so riders chatted and emotionally prepared for the ride in the Best Western parking lot.  Meeting, re acquainting, and a few of us secretly wondering, "what have I gotten myself into"?
Nobody seemed to want to take off first so when finally ones did, I followed close behind.  This impatience, unfortunately caught me in a fast moving lead pack.   I'd repeatedly told myself that this year, I would ride "my ride", and not try to keep pace with superior cyclists.  Apparently the testosterone running through your system wakes up before your brain. Because there I was in the middle of a quick moving group fighting the wind and hills at a swift pace.  Fortunately my early morning digestive system is much less fanciful and more of a realist.  About 30 minutes into the ride, I pulled to the side of the road, stepped off my bicycle, and casually vomited the neon red sport drink I'd been sipping on that morning.

For those of you exerting yourself physically to the point of nausea and are fighting it.  Here is my advice, just let it go.  Yes, I was a new man.  Also I was able to get my head back on, and just enjoy the ride . . .  my ride.

So I continued to pedal, up and down the hills of Highway 24 and eventually Highway 82, in sort of a thoughtful, meditative state for the next 30 miles or so.  Not going fast, but enjoying the scenery and the experience immensely.  Looking back I'm somewhat envious of that person.

With such subtlety it crept in, at first I barely noticed it.  But there was the familiar dull ache on the outside of my knee.  I pedaled through, hoping it would go away.  I took medicine, massaged it, stretched it, rubbed numbing lotion on it.  But still any pedaling was accompanied by increasing pain. Regularly stopping to stretch, saw but a small, momentary bit of relief.  Finally I knew I wouldn't make it to the top of Independence pass, so I got in my SAG wagon of shame and rode to the top.  Demoralized I avoided being in pictures with the other cyclists, and sat and iced my knee.
But hey, it's all down hill from here right!  Unable to sit idle any longer, I pulled off the wrapping, got rid of the ice, and rode down the pass.  Incredible!  The downhill was amazing, unfortunately it was the last bit of riding I was able to do on my bike, on this day.

It was disappointing to not be able to finish, it seemed like a fun ride.  I wanted to be on my bike.
Yes, on the inside I pouted a bit.  Yet, due to the fine company, beautiful scenery, and perhaps the generous amounts of ibuprofen I still enjoyed the whole experience, it was just a different experience then expected.

Thus is life I suppose.  We're always saying it's the journey, not the destination which is important. True, But even then it seems we have a specific journey in mind.  And straying off that course, can really freak our system out.  Causing us to focus more on how much fun, how much more success, how much more or less whatever, everyone else is having and deny ourselves the beauty and originality of our own journey.  On a journey as long as life, we'll be strong and we'll SAG, I guess the key is to keep your eyes open.  Because in both cases there is beauty all around.

For more photos from the ride check out http://teamverticallychallenged.com/ . 

"Your gonna need a bigger boat"

It was a serene Sunday morning in the southern part of California.  As tradition, I woke early, strapped my board to the top of my car and raced the sun towards the beach hoping to beat some of the crowds and catch the morning swell.  To my surprise as I cruised along the dirt road to "Old Mans" break, the beach was nearly empty.  I figured maybe it was a holiday, like "take your grandpa to church" day,  or "pet day" or whatever people are celebrating these days.
The swell was not the biggest I've seen, but I did catch a couple pretty nice, clean, empty waves.  Just me and my 10 footer cruising in the crisp morning air.  It wasn't until later that evening when I discovered the reason for the abandoned waters that morning.  No it wasn't the apocalypse, or nuclear waste in the water, it was the most fear inspiring concept of the deep blue . . .

SHARKS!!!!!

Yes two teenage, nearly 9 foot long Great White sharks had been spotted near the popular break.  Now, while quite rare that close to shore, shark sightings aren't altogether out of the question.  And it takes a lot to keep devoted surfers out of the water.  So what was the hook,  well these two curious teenagers had been reported as knocking into some surfers in the water the previous day!  A classic shark display of either curiosity or aggression.  I guess most informed members of society decided it wasn't worth finding out which one this was.  Fortunately, I was not currently a well informed member of society.  I say fortunately, because I did catch some fantastic waves!

This story came back to mind because we are in the midst, of a week long celebration of all things shark.  Yes, my friends, it is shark week!  The fact that we have a week devoted, if only on the discovery channel, to all things shark is about as fascinating as the notorious fish itself.  What is it about such an able and mysterious predator that is so intriguing?  Humans do seem to love to romanticize killers, even if it is an animal.

The ocean is truly a world unknown and the shark is it's king.
But as a novice, land locked, yet enthusiastic surfer I just hope the sharks keep letting us ride the good waves.

So here's to a lonesome Sunday morning in the surf and in the wise words of Jack Handey "Contrary to what most people say, the most dangerous animal in the world is not the lion or the tiger or even elephant.  It's a shark . . .  riding on an elephant's back, just trampling and eating everything they see."

Clowns riding tiny bicycles

Spiders.  Heights.  Commitment. Darkness.  Or perhaps a clown slowly riding a tiny bicycle down an otherwise abandoned dirt road in rural Colorado on a still October evening.  
What gets your fear meter rising?

A recent poll found the fear of public speaking to surpass death.  One comedian joked; "At a funeral these people would rather be in the casket then be giving the eulogy."
And for some the most fear inspiring of days is the first of seventh grade.  Suddenly this whole world of adults, or at least adults as we view them, becomes somewhat accessible, though radically distorted.

Few 12 year old kids on the verge of the most awkward stages of puberty are comfortable in their own skin.  I was no exception. 

On top of the usual, I homeschooled for my first year of Junior High.  Thus something simple like using a locker, which all my classmates had become experts at in the previous year.  For me was yet another daunting unknown.
My fear, as is the case with most, revolved around the unknown. Kids change drastically year after year.  I had missed a year.  What did it take to be cool these days?  What had I missed? As much as I wanted, even at 12, to be a rebel who didn't care what anyone thought.  It all basically came down to one question.  Will the other kids like me? Don't tell me being a grown up is hard, this anxiety was overwhelming.

I do not remember getting a ride to school or walking through the front doors of the school, or even walking into that first class.  But I do remember the feeling of that hard, uncomfortable desk.  And the panic that overcame me, when the teacher informed us we'd need to pick locker partners.  Locker partners!?!  But I was in a roomful of strangers who all seemed to be best friends with each other.

It wasn't always easy, it was lonely even painful at times, but you know what, I did find someone to share a locker with.  And one foot in front of the other, comparable to scaling Everest I'm sure, I made it through the seventh grade.

In a 2005 Gallup poll of children 13 to 15 and various polls of different adult demographics, 2 fears continually show up.  Spiders and the fear of failure.  There is one key difference, with the adults it is the fear of failure, with the teenage poll it was the fear of being a failure.  At that fragile age it seems every endeavor is out to possibly define you as a person.
Why are we so afraid of failing?  How many times would we have to fail before we are officially labeled a failure?  Who judges what it means to fail?  I don't have the answers, we each find our own, I muse.
Fear can be useful.  If your climbing a  mountain, for example, a proper fear and respect can keep you safe and alive.  But fear can also be paralyzing.  And that is where it is a fantastic enemy.

I decided to write about fear for my opening article because this blog for me, writing down the voice in my head, is a most terrifying prospect.  It's still the first day of 7th grade, and I'm left to wonder; will the other kids like it?  Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote "Always do what you are afraid to do".  So here it goes . . .