Better Than A Thousand Words?

It's been awhile since I posted anything. I've written, sure; but nothing that felt worthy of publishing. There's so much going on that it's been difficult to step back and reflect on all of the changes.

So in an effort to get back with the program, I thought I'd share a little update. 20 Questions, what's different? Or if you prefer, what's not different?

Yes, I am looking a little white trashy. Give me a break though. It's November and it's warm enough to wear cropped pants and a tank top.

No, this is not my new house. While I did buy a house in Ridgway this summer, this is Stephen's place in Mancos (about two hours away). He's been working on this place since long before I joined Team Barnes. With new siding and windows, this place looks better each weekend - and it's warmer inside, too!

Yes, that is Kilz primer I'm using. I do not know what it's made of, but I am aware it is toxic. That's why I'm outside. However, it still smells better than whatever crap the neighbors are currently burning in their backyard. Not that you can smell it, you'll have to trust me. Ridgway and Mancos are similar small towns in southwestern Colorado, but I'm pretty sure you'd be drawn and quartered in my hood for torching your yard like that.

But I digress.

No, I haven't been eating donuts lately. That's a baby growin' in there! Stephen and I are super excited and the whole process is magical. I am a believer in listening to your body and trusting your intuition; but this experience takes it a huge step further. It's an awesome life lesson in letting go of control and allowing your path to lay itself at your feet. Okay, enough deep thoughts... all I'm really sayin' is it's pretty freaking cool.

Couple of answers to your potential questions:

- We're all healthy. I've never paid this much attention to my diet before, I'm saving tons of money on alcohol, and I'm choosing to be amused by the dramatic changes in my body rather than getting unhinged by the additional pounds and curves.

- We don't know the baby's sex yet and we definitely don't have any names picked out.

- We are due in late March. I doubt I'm gonna send Mighty Aphrodite this year and I'm not sure I'll ski the steeps; but it doesn't feel like a sacrifice. At all.

I'm sure there's more to say, but I've got several more months to blab on about choosing this new path and the wonders of pregnancy.

Peace!

Just Like Riding a Bike

In a typical summer, I can be found anywhere..... except Colorado. Trekking in Asia, climbing snowy slopes in Washington, scaling rock walls in Canada; it seems my singular purpose was to leave the very place I'd chosen to call Home.

This is the year I decided to actually be a resident of Colorado, and not just for tax purposes. Being here for the summer months has provided me an opportunity to put down some roots, hike with the ladies, swing on tire swings, and enjoy new activities that engage its full-time residents.

So, ever been mountain biking? It's more of an assumption than a question with folks around here. People have quivers of bikes like they have quivers of skis.

Now truth be told, I'm not a total stranger to biking. Long before I moved to Colorado, I came here in the summers to ride my bike. I spent two days in a car with a bike strapped to the back to ride in the very hills I live in now! Maybe not the best example of irony ever, but I think it's on the podium somewhere.

Back in the day, I rode the lifts at the Summit County resorts, sped through wildflowers in Crested Butte, and I even explored this corner of the state on my way out to the slickrock of Utah. I had a dining room painted a brilliant green, that we called Colorado. I also had a bedroom called Moab... you can guess the color.

I was, by many definitions, a mountain biker.

But somewhere along the line, I got away from it all. As my life took twists and turns, it led me to new pursuits and away from those summer vacations in Colorado.

So after four winters in Colorado and not an inch of singletrack in my wake, I gave my mountain bike to the neighbors thinking my 13" frame would be good for their tweeners until they outgrew it.

I suppose Murphy's Law dictates what happened next.... that the very next summer I would be here amongst the mountain biking elite. As the days grew too warm for rock climbing in the sun and my partners scattered across the country, it seemed worth a try.

Some days you feel your age? I never thought I'd be old enough to say, 'it's been 15 years since I've been on a mountain bike.' But there it is. Like the DOB on your driver's licence, unavoidable.

Showing my age also came through with the bikes themselves. Brakes are different, wheels are different, shocks - um... well, shocks exist, and fancy bikes even come with a brain! Yes, my old bike did not have a single shock, front or rear. That's what you get when you buy a 'mountain' bike in the flatlands of Chicago.

My guess is it'd be like getting back to climbing after cams came on the scene, or maybe like discovering shaped skis. Anyway, I digress. Let's just say I have some catching up to do.

So what am I learning?

1. It's so much fun to embrace being a beginner.
   I learned a long time ago that Satisfaction = Expectations - Reality. While that applies anywhere, it is a required mindset when you head out on the trail with Adventure Racers, single speeders, and a work-hard-play-harder crew. With expectations so low that any trip that ends back at the car is a success, it's easy to have a good day.
   
   
2. Speed is your friend. Until it's not.
   Let's just say after a few encouraging days out, I got a little cocky. In one 24-hour period, I experienced over the handle bars, bike-passenger separation in mid-air, no-no-no-no-no-no I can't pull this drop off, and the slow fall. Just for the record, the slow fall was my least favorite.
   
   
3. Every sport has it's own language.
   Getting called out for my 'cat 6 tatoo' (i.e., gumby, beginner, newbie) was only made funnier by the fact that I had no idea what it meant. And conversely, climbing references (jokes about french freeing the trail by grabbing trees) might be funny, yet they are lost on a non-climbing audience. As a 'participant observer' on the trail, it was much easier to notice the cryptic language and how the syntax itself binds its participants together.
   
   
4. While each sport has unique qualities, there is more that ties them together than makes them different.
   I fully expect my days on a mountain bike, re-learning to embrace the flow, the feeling of letting go, and speed (caveat: see lesson #1) to translate to the slopes this winter. And I believe the 'go-get-it' feeling of committing to a stretch of trail will help me continue to think UP on the rock. Recognizing that my new biking humor will not translate, I'll have to leave the stand-up to Elena Kagan.
   
   
5. Wear your helmet.
   So I'm a beginner who is exploring my limits... again. Why not take simple precautions? I think we've covered this one before as it relates to climbing. All of us know someone who would be better off today if they'd taken an extra moment to consider the potential consequences of their actions. Think of that loved one next time just before you rack up, click in, or pick up that paddle and do the thing you wish they'd done.
   
   

It took me a few weekends to pick out a new bike.... complete with shocks and a brain. I justified my extravagant purchase with the home buyer tax credit that it looks like I will NOT be receiving, but I'll save my bitch session about that for another day.

It's not just the biking... did I mention fun on a tire swing? After so many summers running away, my heart feels full right here in the San Juans.

Roadtrip

Between mountains tonight. The volcanic, old-growth alpine is behind me now. The rain chases me, but I am faster than the clouds. Even with a rocketbox.

I watch the setting sun light the grass in the field like no Hollywood studio could recreate. It turns out that nature's last green is gold, too.

Halfway there, by any unit of measure, I nestle into the comfort of my sleeping bag. Using clothes at my back, kitchen bins for a table; I crack the laptop and prepare for this evening's feature film. If only I had popcorn.

I watch the sun set further, hoping no farmers will come to check on their fields until after I’ve crept away when the sun's chariot returns in the morning.

I think I am alone, but my phone keeps me company with its chirping and vibrating. I am not alone at all.

Cracking open a cool PBR from my fridge, I greet some new neighbors, simply looking for a quiet place themselves. My clothes bear the look and smell of our tribe's uniform.

The sun falls too low now to set the field on fire. My world closes in to the size of my Outback. It's movie time.

I am home.

Wanna Hear a Little Funky Avocado?

I love Michael Hedges - one of the best guitar players of all time.

"I'm not trying to play guitar. I'm trying to play music. That's the difference right there."

I miss Michael Hedges. I remember the day I heard of his untimely death in 1997. I was headed to a work dinner and stopped on the way to purchase every Michael Hedges album that I did not already own. I wanted to collect as much of him and his music as I could, as if I could somehow hold him close and erase the picture of his BMW driving off the Pacific Coast Highway.

I've been listening to a lot of him lately, and I began to wonder about the source of my love of the guitar. As a teen, my Saturdays were devoted to piano and composition lessons. Between lessons, we'd eat pizza and listen to a friend play guitar in the park. This was my first real exposure to the fullness and diversity of sound created by this compact, stringed instrument. My piano was far less entertaining, and undebatably less mobile.

Anyway, around the same time, I was introduced to Michael Hedges by a dear friend. I remember the first time he played Breakfast in the Field (Hedges' first album) for me. The music was surreal and I found it unbelievable that one man could create and perform these pieces. Check out Funky Avocado, which is THE song that made me a fan for life (not the best audio ever, sorry).

I first saw him play live in college. In the years that followed, I lost track of the number of times I saw him perform, but I never missed an opportunity. I witnessed the evolution of his look and his art. I watched his hair grow from a mess of long braids to gone altogether. I watched him add to his performance with a piano, his voice, and a bouncy ball. The last time I saw him, he even performed Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky.

In addition to his own compositions (which are fabulous), I've watched him cover Hendrix, Prince, the Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Madonna, the Fine Young Cannibals, and whoever it was that recorded Buffalo Stance. (If you're in the mood for just one cover, watch Hendrix's All Along the Watchtower. Two? I'm fond of Love Bizarre. Oh hell, they're all great to watch; that's why I posted them. And you're already here reading my blog, so what do you really need to do that's more imporant?)

He walked the line between yuppie and hippie, as he describes in the intro to this performance of Dirge. (OK, so we've already established you're not so busy that you can't catch a few tunes while you multitask. Start this one, watch his intro, and then go check Outlook while you listen to the song.)

So enough with the links. Sorry. Too much, I know; but for me, every one of these clips is stacked with memories, so it's difficult to choose. Imagine how much time I wasted picking them out!

Anyway, he got a little out there as his style progressed (did I mention Jabberwocky?), developing interests beyond the compositions that formed the base for this art. I suppose that's what artists do though, right? I remember the last concert I saw, thinking to myself that I hoped he would get back to his roots again in the next album or two. I would gladly pay to watch him hop around on stage or play the piano, if I could hear him again today.

I still love the guitar... and there are lots of amazing performers out there. But there was only one Michael Hedges. Youtube's great and all, and I'm happy to see so much of his music being shared there; but it's not like the real thing. I feel fortunate to have experienced his magic while I could actually feel the energy he generated in the room.

Hope you like him.

Hanging On and Letting Go

I've been climbing the last few weeks around Moab, Utah; and today I'm taking a well-deserved, long-overdue rest day.

For those of you unfamiliar with rest days, they are the non-climbing days of a climbing trip. Sometimes voluntary, often involuntary, they provide the time and space for reflection and a couple of fish tacos. Living in the desert, these side trips also provide the only link to the real world - and by that I mean showers, beer, laundry, and the internet.

So what am I learning out here? There's been some interesting duality to my spring - learning about both holding on and letting go.

By holding on... I mean hanging in there when the climbing gets tough. Trying harder. Falling on my on-sight attempt of Quarter of a Man was disappointing, but I believe it also opened a door. I tried hard. I failed. But trying hard and failing felt better than giving up or not trying at all. Somehow, ironically, that failure helped me unearth some confidence. Sounds crazy, sure; but in the 24 hours following that attempt, I red-pointed three new climbs. Just like that... go figure.

By letting go... I mean freeing your mind of all the noise in the past, the future, and the sideways (for more on sideways, see Lost, Final Season) and fully experiencing the present. My friend Mary Beth is about to begin a 10-day vipassana meditation; but I'd like to believe that through the potent energy of the desert, I have a window into similar lessons without the knee pain.

I'm also learning about happiness, by reading Dan Gilbert's Stumbling on Happiness. He's sort of a cross between Malcolm Gladwell and David Sedaris. I had the pleasure of dining with him years ago in Paris, where he told me my life is all about rejecting the status quo. I'm not sure that was a compliment, but I liked hearing it at the time. Sort of a psychological explanation for my life's twists and turns. Anyway, his book is less self-help than why self-help doesn't work. Check him out.

A few other musings from my world out here:

1. To the guy trying to fix his Eurovan here in the bakery by calling every store in a six-hour radius with a potential radiator hose to sell, I have two words for you.... indoor voice.

2. When the topo says 'do not approach in a storm,' perhaps there is a reason. Ever fishtail on mud? I didn't even make it to the 'steep switchbacks,' and I have mud embedded in my tires that will likely outlast the remaining warranty on my car.

3. Next time I climb the North Face of Castleton, I will tape my forearms. The next time I climb Fine Jade, I will sack up for my lead.

4. Listen to your belayer when he says 'your gear's good... now climb.' Better yet, develop the inner voice to tell that to yourself.

5. Fish tacos. Yum. I may not forgive the Wake and Bake cafe for switching the bookstore and cafe to opposite sides of the store (makes me feel like I'm in a funny house with distorted mirrors); but the fish tacos go a long way to make up for it.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Faffing with an Open Mind

faffing: 1) to aimlessly waste time doing useless tasks. 2) my new favorite word.

I returned last night from a week's worth of climbing in the desert. While I take a brief hiatus from the newly-blooming flowers and warming temps, I will heal my bruised hands and feet, file my quarterly taxes, and check in on the non-progress of purchasing a short-sale property (you may be doing well on the stock market, Wells Fargo, but your ability to process my offer sucks big time).

Okay, truth be told, I will also log some Facebook time, catch up on Lost (enjoying it, but sort of over it, too), get in on the new season of Glee (when no one is around), watch video clips (SNL, thank you for bringing back Tina), and read all of my friends' recent blog entries.

Now that I'm somewhat of a blogger myself, I enjoy reading ruminations about life, climbing, medical conditions, house renovations. In particular, I enjoy my friend Pat's blog. His latest entry compares a newsworthy event depicted on both the NYT and Fox News web sites. As I faf away here in the land of electricity-that-doesn't-require-a-generator, I decided to check out Fox News' home page myself to check it out first-hand.

In the headlines, I was thankful to see Obama's name in the headlines. I noticed earlier this morning on Google News that every story under 'US News' was graced with a picture of Sarah Palin. I started to wonder if leadership of our country changed hands while I was unplugged in the desert.

Next, I noticed, in extra large print, Terror Plot Details Revealed. Again thinking I'd missed some important event of epic proportions, I opened the story with interest. The 'details' were pretty thin (lacking when this attempt at terror actually took place), so I looked for other stories. Turns out this mega-headline on FoxNews.com is a follow-up to a story from May, 2009. Important news? I suppose. Breaking news? Hardly. Maybe it's a slow news day, but it seemed like the story was there more to remind us to be afraid than to impart any real information.

Then I took the 'How can the govt expand revenue' quiz and found that start to finish, this was an excellent demonstration of how to skew data. For those of you who know me as a dirtbag climber with a mystery job, I do a lot of this in my work (i.e., create surveys, skew data). I'll spare you the details, but 'tax the rich' seems laden with sarcasm. To be fair (and balanced), FoxNews disclosed that this was not a 'scientific poll.' Um, yeah.

I found a section called Fox Nation, which seems to hold their opinion columns. Maureen Dowd may have a deserved reputation for antagonism in her musings, but she's got nothing on the anonymously-written articles here. Today there are two new columns: 1) why Obama is the most naive president ever, and 2) Obama might be insane. Thanks Fox, this now concludes my morning on your web site.

While it may not sound like it to my Fox-loving friends, I have put a lot of energy into approaching today's divisive political world with an open mind. In addition to reading some of the apocalyptic propaganda in my inbox and viewing Fair and Balanced news without Jon Stewart's interpretation, I had the most productive political debate I've ever had in the Creek yesterday.

The lasting lesson of my desert discussion was to have correct intentions before you open your mouth. With the intention to listen openly and to seek understanding, the entire conversation took on a different purpose. Yesterday was an experience in self discovery that also led to a deeper understanding of the topic at hand in a way that no red herring, circular debate about Obama's birth certificate could ever be.

Once everyone gets out of the dualistic us/them mindset, leaves the rhetoric behind, and gets genuinely interested in what others have to say, there is so much to learn. Not so much about the topic of healthcare or the topic du-jour, but understanding how our unique life experiences shape how we see the world.

• I want healthcare reform, but I can also relate to the person with a five-figure tax bill who doesn't want to subsidize it. Imagine freeloaders eating your food, drinking your beer, and sleeping on your couch. Forever. Legally mandated.
  That said, I think you can also argue that healthcare is already costing us a ton. That same taxpayer already subsidizes it. The freeloader is already on your couch - reform isn't letting him in, it's giving him a blanket.
  
  
• I see the cracks in a system that works for healthy people on group policies, but not folks in the fringes. (Ironically, it seems to work especially well for our citizens on Medicare.) We have a system built on assumptions of how people live their lives. I was one of those mainstreamers for over a decade, and back then I wouldn't have understood what it's like to play insurance defense like I do today. In a recently purchased insurance policy, I was required to complete three surveys to reveal anything that would allow them to deny me coverage later. (I was told this was standard policy.) Does this sound like good customer service to you? Does it sound ethical?
  
  
• I've also spent my consulting career trying to help people cope with change - realizing that change is not easy under the best of circumstances and real change develops over generations, not in days or weeks. We are a society with extremely high expectations and no patience.

Wow, that's a rant. Sorry. What's my point?

I guess it's that I am trying to find my voice and my own perspective in this national debate. I feel surrounded by dualistic, divisive stimuli (e.g., Tea Party... sorry if you're a tea partier, but 'we need to reload' is basically divisive by definition). Intimidation, fear-mongering feels like noise to me and it shuts me down. I find the irrelevant, sour-grapes debates about the legitimacy of Obama's presidency unworthy of my energy. (You didn't vote for him. You don't like him. I get it.)

However, yesterday opened my eyes to a new way to engage. Genuinely seeking greater understanding of yourself and others by exploring these huge challenges we face as a nation - now that is rich. It's less divisive - and ultimately it is far more useful. If we could replace some of the noise with some more of this, I have some hope for us all.

'And that's just about all I have to say about that.'

Pat, please don't write about Glenn Beck... I think he'd raise my blood pressure and I'm not sure when coverage for that kicks in with this new insurance.

Thanks for listening. Could someone please give me a hand off this soapbox?

It's Not the Destination, It's the Journey

I'm getting ready to head to the desert for some rock climbing. (That is, after I ski the 18" of snow that fell overnight here in the San Juans.) I hope to have better luck this trip than last time I went out, about a week ago...

Philippe and I planned to get in our first days' rock climbing for the season at Indian Creek (about an hour southwest of Moab, see photo). I had visions of writing about my transition back to rock climbing, the feel of taped gloves on my hands, the grit of the rock embedded into my clothing. But it turns out that the Creek wasn't my meaningful experience of the weekend.

But before I begin, let me just share that I hate driving at night. First and foremost, I don't see well at night. Next, things jump out in front of your car (e.g., deer, cows). Typically, I plan so that I don't need to drive at night. That said, sometimes the schedule doesn't accommodate daytime driving. Headlights it is.

There isn't much on this drive. Lots of open range and beautiful scenery (Paradox Valley?!?), and very little in the way of infrastructure. One gas station in 3 hours' driving, two grocery stores, and a bakery (that is worth the stop). But that's about it.

Near the Colorado/Utah border, something popped unexpectedly in our headlights - two people walking in the snowy, cold night (weather that had us questioning our plan to climb rock so soon after this storm... call it determination, or perhaps denial). Although the woman waved us down, instinct stopped our car more than anything.

Lest you think this was my strangest late night hitchhiker/rescue/ person to wander in front of my headlights.... I'm afraid the grim reaper in Boulder Canyon may always hold that title (i.e., 7 foot tall man with long hair and big black jacket). Did I mention he was on mushrooms?

Anyway, back to last weekend:

"We need a ride to Salt Lake City."

"We aren't headed that way at all," replied Philippe.

"That's okay. Anywhere is fine."

Um,... first of all, we are about 6 hours' drive from SLC. And not only are we not headed to SLC, the 'anywhere' we are headed has no hotel, no restaurant. Hell, there's no water, no phones, and the only building for miles is the one outhouse shared by all the climbers. Hardly someplace you'd hitch a ride to.

As Philippe pointed out later, a woman who wants desperately to get into your truck (with no real backseat, mind you) to go 'anywhere' is a big red flag.

I should describe these late-night hikers a bit further.... a woman in her thirties (Jen), with an eight year-old daughter (Anna), and their cat. Anna was frightened, crying, and cold. It was as if the mother and daughter slipped out of their home in the early evening hours to wander on an empty road, headed towards Bedrock. Another red flag.

Ever seen Thelma and Louise? Bedrock is the store where they stop to use a payphone.... Brad Pitt's there, which is usually how women remember the scene. Anyway, I'm sure there was plenty there as they filmed, but without Brad Pitt there's no nuthin' in Bedrock.

Well, we piled mom and daughter into our backseat, settled the cat in the truckbed, and motored off to...? Well, we'd figure it out as we got going. As we drove west, Philippe did his best to figure out what this woman had going on. Yes, she smelled like alcohol; but she didn't seem drunk or on drugs so much as she just seemed completely overwhelmed and unprepared for a journey into the night and away from whatever she left behind. Somehow Anna had a backpack with schoolbooks, gloves, and a bucket of change; but Jen had no cell phone, no credit cards, no cash, no plan, and not even the phone number of the sister in SLC to where she was supposedly running.

We didn't get many answers on the drive... The couple left Ft. Lupton, CO a week earlier to live on Boyfriend's 70 acres of land. He had no job because he broke his hand in some steel accident. She hadn't worked in over a year, and they were living on social security provided for Anna because of the death of her father. Or something like that.

My dad used to call me 'oily' when I wasn't straight with him. This wasn't oily so much as it was like trying to see through a big bucket of mud. Or like opening a 1000-piece puzzle box and trying to mentally put the puzzle together. It wasn't so much lieing as it was a series of seemingly poor choices and unfortunate circumstances that just didn't add up to anything coherent. So much for a clear backstory.

As for the night in question, after living a week in nowhere-land, Boyfriend kicked them out because she wasn't helping enough as he fixed a broken sink? It was as if Jen just kept throwing new puzzle pieces into the picture, stirring them around a bit.

Giving up on mom and their story, I focused my attention to Anna. She was warm now, less frightened, and began showing me things from her backpack. We discussed the new school she had started in La Sal Junction (which I thought was just a post office, but apparently there is a school around there somewhere). I couldn't help but wonder how many therapy dollars would be required to deconstruct the damage being done to this girl. Made me sad. I suppose we all have experiences that effect us in positive and negative ways. That's what makes us who we are. At the same time, I couldn't help but wish to alleviate the life lessons imprinting her at this very moment.

We eventually called Sister in SLC from our phone, but got no answer, Jen left a cryptic message, 'we need a ride. we'll try to get to Moab tonight. answer the phone if you don't recognize the number.' The number of times Anna called Sister crazy made me wonder if Sister would even respond to their cry for help. And this was their only hope?

So the moral question is..... what do you do? I am a big believer in the Kindness of Strangers, but once you step in are you fully committed? If not fully committed, then where do you draw the line?

We considered taking Jen and Anna to Moab (first city in their direction of travel), but with no plan and no money; where would we take them? We decided the best option for them was a place to 'camp' for the night. We thought of a Rest Area (behind Hole in the Wall) where they would have lights, heat, water, bathrooms, a phone, vending machines, and a chance to find another ride to get to Moab. What a sucky best option.

I gave them some dinner and helped them move Bluie the Cat out of the truck. And then we pulled away... feeling completely unsettled and uncertain about whether we were right to leave them there. But what else should we do? Where else should we take them?

Where do you draw the line on helping others? Was our help tonight enough? Was it help at all? Again... what do you do?

Philippe was the one who found a solution to our moral dilemma - he decided someone needed to look in on these two. In his opinion, the responsibility did not rest with the next passerby, or some restaurant waitress after they found a ride into Moab. In Philippe's view, this was the function of the police - to protect. I can't articulate why, but my first feeling was that calling the police would be ratting them out. Without a better idea, I decided to embrace Philippe's optimism about Utah's State Troopers. Then I said I hoped Jen wouldn't be angry with us.

We made a call to 9-1-1 and got patched through to local police, who thanked us and promised to send a trooper to check on them immediately.

I wish I had some further information about what happened to the family; but I am only left to speculate on 1) what kind of policeman showed up... a helpful one I hope, 2) what situation they actually left behind.... I can assume it was something bad, but who knows, really, and 3) what situation they will find ahead of them.

I am not optimistic for Jen. Makes me sad to admit that, but that's what my gut tells me. More than anything, I hope that Anna will survive the next 10 years with her head and heart intact.

So my question to the universe is... what would you do?

And the Creek? We finally made it out there. It was cold and muddy. I got sick that night. And to top it all off, the rock was too wet to climb in the morning. I'd like to believe we were where we needed to be that night.... helping out some strangers and their cat.