Friday, August 29, 2008
upheaval in Thailand
this post is a little off-topic, but right now I'm following the chaotic political situation in Thailand closely as family and many friends are affected. you can view articles, photos and videos of recent events at http://www.nationmultimedia.com/. my parents and youngest brother are currently in Bangkok. please keep this nation in your prayers. thanks, laisha
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
next to last day...a rest day at Zion National Park
So..."rest day" at Zion National Park. We finally finagled a campsite on the river and after setting up camp, wandered the town of Springdale. I began to realize that it would not be wise to continue much further on my trip. Camille got a well-deserved rest and a quick trip to the bike shop for a new back tire...way too many flats in the last couple of days. Foolish me climbed Angel's Landing. This is one of the world's best great short hikes...only five miles round-trip with 1500 ft of elevation gain, it starts at the Grotto and follows the Virgin River along a lazily snaking trail that winds steadily upward. We started the hike in the late afternoon and it was pretty hot at first. Nothing like a rest day!
lots of these little guys running around. helped to keep my mind off the swarming deer flies that just loved me!
amazing views of the park became evident as we trekked steadily higher.
stunning views of the park rose through the trees
water etches the rock walls...perhaps a waterfall when the snow melts in the spring
view of the valley
prickly pear cactus in bloom
looking back down at the first section of the climb, we turn upward into Refrigerator Canyon where it cools off quickly.
along the walls are strange rock formations that give me the creeps! it feels like faces are staring out from the walls as we pass by!
the towering slabs of rock continue to amaze in endless variety of hue and formation.
a quick peek over the edge shows the road and the Virgin River now far below. have I mentioned my fear of heights...?
we ascend to Scout's Lookout via Walter's Wiggles and are treated to more amazing views. only a half mile left to the top, but it's a doozy!
the wildlife doesn't mind the drop-offs, but scurries fearlessly about in search of a meal.
the last half mile is a narrow ledge complete with sheer drop-offs on either side - 1200 feet on one side and 800 on the other.
hang on to that chain...it's a long way down!
no longer peeking over the edge, but rather standing on it and clinging with both hands to the chain, the acrophobia wins out. down we go!
back down Walter's Wiggles, a series of 21 tight switchbacks that are close to vertical. absolutely amazing the amount of work it must have taken to build this and to haul the materials up the trail to this point!
lots of these little guys running around. helped to keep my mind off the swarming deer flies that just loved me!
amazing views of the park became evident as we trekked steadily higher.
stunning views of the park rose through the trees
water etches the rock walls...perhaps a waterfall when the snow melts in the spring
view of the valley
prickly pear cactus in bloom
looking back down at the first section of the climb, we turn upward into Refrigerator Canyon where it cools off quickly.
along the walls are strange rock formations that give me the creeps! it feels like faces are staring out from the walls as we pass by!
the towering slabs of rock continue to amaze in endless variety of hue and formation.
a quick peek over the edge shows the road and the Virgin River now far below. have I mentioned my fear of heights...?
we ascend to Scout's Lookout via Walter's Wiggles and are treated to more amazing views. only a half mile left to the top, but it's a doozy!
the wildlife doesn't mind the drop-offs, but scurries fearlessly about in search of a meal.
the last half mile is a narrow ledge complete with sheer drop-offs on either side - 1200 feet on one side and 800 on the other.
hang on to that chain...it's a long way down!
one of the trip's high points!
no longer peeking over the edge, but rather standing on it and clinging with both hands to the chain, the acrophobia wins out. down we go!
back down Walter's Wiggles, a series of 21 tight switchbacks that are close to vertical. absolutely amazing the amount of work it must have taken to build this and to haul the materials up the trail to this point!
view of the valley from high above on the Angel's Landing trail. it was a spectacular climb and I can't wait to go back and do it again...all the way!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
i wonder as i wander
I have spent a remarkable percentage of my travels in thought. Whether memories of the past or visions of the future, even the agonizing dissection of the present, it permeated every moment of my journey. I contemplated all things even as I churned up pavement. The bicycle is a remarkable invention. One can fly without wings and under one's own power. A wonderful creation.
Each day, I tried to find new material for thought, and largely succeeded. Every hill was a test of continuity. I would begin with a thought at the bottom of a mountain climb and see how far oxygen deprivation would take me from my original subject. Fascinating, really!
I'd like to say that I came to some conclusions, but I mainly gathered new and better questions. It remains to be seen if answers will come to them.
It sounds rather glamorous to some people, doing nothing but riding every day, camping in the wilderness of state parks and worrying about nothing but the road before you. There is an addiction to the simplicity of life that this involves, the wildness and untamed beauty of the earth that one encounters in an unbelievably real way. While I fly without wings, I touch the elements.
There is definitely a downside. The mountains don't move or shrink just because you're beyond the limits of exhaustion. The weather is sure to be extreme. But in the losing of oneself to the road, the smallness of your tiny wheels to the mountains and vast deserts, you feel a peacefulness and contentment that is unmatched in busy city life. When you encounter towns, you laugh at the joy of escape, knowing that your life looked like that of the busy people you meet not so long ago.
It's truly amazing to think that one can, in less than a year, go from knowing nothing about biking to wheeling day after day, mile after mile, mountain after hill from country to country, thousands of miles. Even though I only completed half of my proposed trip, I am content for now. Each day was filled with thousands of moments that live on only in my memory, but are very sweet. (aside from RV's, logging trucks, shoulder less roads, monster rain and heat waves, freeways, roadside debris, roadkill, etc. etc. etc.) I can hardly wait to return and face the remainder of the burning, desolate wastes of Utah, the Rockies of Colorado, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone and the long road home via the Lewis and Clark trail. It calls to me and I burn once more for the open road ahead with no end in sight.
Each day, I tried to find new material for thought, and largely succeeded. Every hill was a test of continuity. I would begin with a thought at the bottom of a mountain climb and see how far oxygen deprivation would take me from my original subject. Fascinating, really!
I'd like to say that I came to some conclusions, but I mainly gathered new and better questions. It remains to be seen if answers will come to them.
It sounds rather glamorous to some people, doing nothing but riding every day, camping in the wilderness of state parks and worrying about nothing but the road before you. There is an addiction to the simplicity of life that this involves, the wildness and untamed beauty of the earth that one encounters in an unbelievably real way. While I fly without wings, I touch the elements.
There is definitely a downside. The mountains don't move or shrink just because you're beyond the limits of exhaustion. The weather is sure to be extreme. But in the losing of oneself to the road, the smallness of your tiny wheels to the mountains and vast deserts, you feel a peacefulness and contentment that is unmatched in busy city life. When you encounter towns, you laugh at the joy of escape, knowing that your life looked like that of the busy people you meet not so long ago.
It's truly amazing to think that one can, in less than a year, go from knowing nothing about biking to wheeling day after day, mile after mile, mountain after hill from country to country, thousands of miles. Even though I only completed half of my proposed trip, I am content for now. Each day was filled with thousands of moments that live on only in my memory, but are very sweet. (aside from RV's, logging trucks, shoulder less roads, monster rain and heat waves, freeways, roadside debris, roadkill, etc. etc. etc.) I can hardly wait to return and face the remainder of the burning, desolate wastes of Utah, the Rockies of Colorado, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone and the long road home via the Lewis and Clark trail. It calls to me and I burn once more for the open road ahead with no end in sight.
a sad, sad tale with a happy ending...
I suppose it's time I told the whole story of the accident. The last thing I remember before the accident is a water break that Don and I took. We saw a bicyclist pass us without a helmet and had a long conversation about the necessity of wearing protective gear because freak accidents do occur. Little did I expect to participate in such an occurrence, least of all within the next ten minutes! We set off and that's the last thing I remember before I began to regain consciousness in the ambulance. Don was riding behind me and we went down a hill and around a curve in the mountainside. I was going about 30 mph and beginning to take the turn when my front wheel hit some roadside debris, exploded and caused me to lose control. I was going too fast to do anything but follow Camille into the curb and face-plant the mountainside. According to Don, I lay on the ground intertwined with Camille, my face full of dirt and blood, moaning. Not quite the entrance to San Francisco I was hoping for.
An ambulance came and loaded me up. As we neared the hospital I slowly began to emerge from the haze. My first moments were full of questions. Where was I? Who was the guy leaning over me? Why couldn't I move my neck? I asked the medic what country I was in. When I found out I was in the US and more specifically California, I was surprised. California? Why would I be there? He informed me I had had a bicycle accident. I was even more puzzled...why would I be in California on a bicycle? He told me I was on a 6,000 mile bicycle trip with a friend. WHAT? This didn't sound at all like anything I would do and my fragmented memory took a while to piece it all together. Meanwhile I arrived at the hospital where I was confused and overwhelmed by the activity and questions. I didn't understand what was going on and decided I wanted to leave, but when I asked if I could, I got a very definite "no" as answer. Despite my refusal to be treated, they took very good care of me and talked me back to my senses. A final catalogue of my injuries consisted of a broken molar, tar, asphalt and gravel road rash from above right elbow to right hip, sprained arm muscle, numerous bruises, scrapes to the right side of the face, a black eye which took a day to manifest its full glory and a doozy of a concussion which resulted in a rather large lump on the head. Finally, very woozy and a oozing mass of pain, I was allowed to depart, with promises to the good doctor that I would stay off the bicycle for a while. I carefully avoided asking for an exact definition of "a while" and headed off in search of pain meds and a bed.
I have to say that the Best Western of Corte Madera was utterly fabulous. Not only did they pick us up from the hospital, but they sent breakfast up to the room and then took us to the police station in the morning to pick up poor Camille. Camille was desperately in need of a repair shop and a kind highway patrolman dropped us off at the nearby REI where Camille was rushed into surgery and left for a few days of intensive care. Meanwhile, my cousin John met us and whisked us off to his home south of San Francisco where several wonderfully hazy days were followed by a burning desire to burn up some more pavement. Three days after the accident we were on the road again and tried to take it easy. My only regret is that those days from San Francisco south are so hazy in my memory.
I am very grateful that Don was riding with me at the time of the accident...it was only his second day of riding with me! I am also very grateful that I hit a mountainside rather than going off a cliff into the ocean and that I didn't break anything worse than a tooth.
An ambulance came and loaded me up. As we neared the hospital I slowly began to emerge from the haze. My first moments were full of questions. Where was I? Who was the guy leaning over me? Why couldn't I move my neck? I asked the medic what country I was in. When I found out I was in the US and more specifically California, I was surprised. California? Why would I be there? He informed me I had had a bicycle accident. I was even more puzzled...why would I be in California on a bicycle? He told me I was on a 6,000 mile bicycle trip with a friend. WHAT? This didn't sound at all like anything I would do and my fragmented memory took a while to piece it all together. Meanwhile I arrived at the hospital where I was confused and overwhelmed by the activity and questions. I didn't understand what was going on and decided I wanted to leave, but when I asked if I could, I got a very definite "no" as answer. Despite my refusal to be treated, they took very good care of me and talked me back to my senses. A final catalogue of my injuries consisted of a broken molar, tar, asphalt and gravel road rash from above right elbow to right hip, sprained arm muscle, numerous bruises, scrapes to the right side of the face, a black eye which took a day to manifest its full glory and a doozy of a concussion which resulted in a rather large lump on the head. Finally, very woozy and a oozing mass of pain, I was allowed to depart, with promises to the good doctor that I would stay off the bicycle for a while. I carefully avoided asking for an exact definition of "a while" and headed off in search of pain meds and a bed.
I have to say that the Best Western of Corte Madera was utterly fabulous. Not only did they pick us up from the hospital, but they sent breakfast up to the room and then took us to the police station in the morning to pick up poor Camille. Camille was desperately in need of a repair shop and a kind highway patrolman dropped us off at the nearby REI where Camille was rushed into surgery and left for a few days of intensive care. Meanwhile, my cousin John met us and whisked us off to his home south of San Francisco where several wonderfully hazy days were followed by a burning desire to burn up some more pavement. Three days after the accident we were on the road again and tried to take it easy. My only regret is that those days from San Francisco south are so hazy in my memory.
I am very grateful that Don was riding with me at the time of the accident...it was only his second day of riding with me! I am also very grateful that I hit a mountainside rather than going off a cliff into the ocean and that I didn't break anything worse than a tooth.
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