7/29
From Wyoming I had quite a bit of land between me and home with not a lot of intent to stop and see much. I left the Grand Tetons at around 7:00am and started riding east. After battling through miles of road construction, I ran into some nasty cold, wet, and windy weather just east of the Bighorn mountains. Realizing that I needed to take a break to unthaw, I pulled off the road to refuel. My fingers were so cold I couldn't feel the turn signal switch with my thumb to indicate my turn.
I managed to fill up and then went inside to warm up. It was still early morning, and I wasn't very hungry, but I ordered a bowl of chili and a cup of hot chocolate from the food counter inside. It didn't matter that chili wasn't much of a breakfast food or that hot chocolate was far from a good complement. They were both producing steam, and I sat down at a booth and hovered over them as if I was warming myself around a campfire.
The chili was bad and didn't mix well with the chocolate, but I left the gas station warmer than when I entered. I even managed to put my pen to a few postcards.
The weather became worse as I made the pass through the Bighorns, but I emerged on the eastern slopes to sunny skies and warm air. Mountains have an amazing effect on weather. I dropped my postcards off at the post office in Buffalo and kept on trucking. I crossed the border into South Dakota as the sun was getting low in my mirrors. I needed to find a place to camp and soon. I picked up a South Dakota highway map at a rest stop and set my sights on the nearest state campground. The little park just north of Spearfish, SD wasn't ideal as I had hoped to make it to the Badlands for the night, but after a summer of experience, I knew the importance of setting up camp before dark, and I still needed to buy food.
I stopped at the local grocery and bought soup and bagels. By the time I exited the store a steady rain had begun. I grabbed my rain gear from the bag which was strapped to my bike and went under the store's awning to put it on. By the time I mounted the bike and ignited the engine to life the rain had turned to a down pour and I became discouraged. Cold, wet, hungry, and alone I envied the four teenagers who scurried through the parking lot giggling as they jumped in their parent's car to drive home and watch a movie. I wanted to ask them if I could join.
Perseverance, the trained and determined motivator, kicked in, and I pressed on according to the plan. Fortunately, the rain passed, and I arrived at an empty and very eerie Belle Fourche Reservoir with the trip odometer reading 11994 miles. I set up camp quickly and quietly as not to wake any sleeping giants. The setting was very quiet and still. I was the only person in the park and there were no fisherman on the lake. The sunset lit up the post-storm sky and provided probably the most brilliant display of the summer. It felt like my lone companion, and after my bowl of soup had been wiped clean with the bagel, I tucked myself away in the tent under its watchful care.
Grand Tetons- "whoa bear"
7/27
In the morning we headed back into Jellystone, but after a few disappointing hours at Mammoth Springs and Old Faithful, I was ready to get away from the hoards of people and back into the mountains. It was a challenge to find a spot where you could view Old Faithful without feeling like you were waiting for the Chicago Bears to rush onto the field. They have stadium seating and lodges built on three sides.
We were several miles down the road toward the Grand Tetons when I received a call from my friend Brad. He was with a group from Taylor and Wheaton that had been doing field study in the Black Hills and were now touring through Yellowstone. He and the group were at Old Faithful, and so I turned around at the opportunity to see him and to relive the great spectacle one more time.
It was faithful.
My fellow travelers had gone ahead to secure a camping spot for the night in the Tetons. They left me a message as to their location, and I arrived at the turnout after dark with the trip odometer reading 11457 miles. I pulled onto the gravel road and noticed a sign on my right that read, "No fires or camping without permit." Hoping my friends had gathered the appropriate permits I continued on down the road. I pulled in next to their parked cars and followed the distant flickering light to a small fire surrounded by two tents and my friends who were warming themselves and dishing out hot, freshly prepared vegetable soup. I hardly mentioned the sign at the bottom of the hill prohibiting all of the actions we were participating in. They shrugged it off and said that there were others just down the road in a camper. After a long day, and with the setting wonderfully prepared: warm food, warm fire, friends, and tents, I didn't object.
We sat around the fire eating soup and going through every conceivable bear situation. I tried my best to recall the various deterrent techniques outlined in the video I was required to watch before heading into the backcountry in Glacier NP. We had fun clapping and exclaiming "whoa bear" with various accents and inflections. I hope the bears sitting watch in the shadows were as amused as we were. The girls seemed to think that the bottle of parking lot pepper spray and the can of aerosol hairspray would provide ample defense against a full grown male grizzly. I begged to differ.
In the morning I woke early and was happy (or maybe slightly disappointed) to see that no grizzly had torn the door off of the car that had 30 lbs of cherries in the back seat. I made a few phone calls looking for a shop that could replace my worn rear tire. With no luck, I was beginning to get discouraged when I noticed a white truck pull up slowly next to our vehicles. When I saw the green emblem on the door, I knew our fate. It was a park ranger. Emily had woken up just in time to be asked by the ranger for her ID. I provided mine as well and went to wake up the others.
The fine was $125 and would be split among the five of us. This was gracious considering we each deserved a full fine.
We solemnly packed up and headed south to the Jenny Lake visitor's center to make plans for hiking and legal camping for the night. There, we acquired backcountry permits for Surprise Lake. The others went ahead while I went over to the lodge to further my search for a new rear tire. More dead ends. The Sturgis rally was sucking up all of the resources from Wyoming to Wisconsin.
I started the five mile hike up to Surprise Lake around 4:30pm and hauled up to meet the others. The site was awesome, and I had to congratulate them on their fine discovery. After a cool dip in the lake, we cooked up some lentils. Warm, garlic, goodness.
Unfortunately, our bear deterrent techniques worked a little too well, or the girls prayed too hard because although there had been many recent sightings of bears in the area, we saw none.
In fact, I just talked to my friend Brad who made the same hike one day after us. He encountered a bear and her cub on the trail. Unbelievable!
In the morning we headed back into Jellystone, but after a few disappointing hours at Mammoth Springs and Old Faithful, I was ready to get away from the hoards of people and back into the mountains. It was a challenge to find a spot where you could view Old Faithful without feeling like you were waiting for the Chicago Bears to rush onto the field. They have stadium seating and lodges built on three sides.
We were several miles down the road toward the Grand Tetons when I received a call from my friend Brad. He was with a group from Taylor and Wheaton that had been doing field study in the Black Hills and were now touring through Yellowstone. He and the group were at Old Faithful, and so I turned around at the opportunity to see him and to relive the great spectacle one more time.
It was faithful.
My fellow travelers had gone ahead to secure a camping spot for the night in the Tetons. They left me a message as to their location, and I arrived at the turnout after dark with the trip odometer reading 11457 miles. I pulled onto the gravel road and noticed a sign on my right that read, "No fires or camping without permit." Hoping my friends had gathered the appropriate permits I continued on down the road. I pulled in next to their parked cars and followed the distant flickering light to a small fire surrounded by two tents and my friends who were warming themselves and dishing out hot, freshly prepared vegetable soup. I hardly mentioned the sign at the bottom of the hill prohibiting all of the actions we were participating in. They shrugged it off and said that there were others just down the road in a camper. After a long day, and with the setting wonderfully prepared: warm food, warm fire, friends, and tents, I didn't object.
We sat around the fire eating soup and going through every conceivable bear situation. I tried my best to recall the various deterrent techniques outlined in the video I was required to watch before heading into the backcountry in Glacier NP. We had fun clapping and exclaiming "whoa bear" with various accents and inflections. I hope the bears sitting watch in the shadows were as amused as we were. The girls seemed to think that the bottle of parking lot pepper spray and the can of aerosol hairspray would provide ample defense against a full grown male grizzly. I begged to differ.
In the morning I woke early and was happy (or maybe slightly disappointed) to see that no grizzly had torn the door off of the car that had 30 lbs of cherries in the back seat. I made a few phone calls looking for a shop that could replace my worn rear tire. With no luck, I was beginning to get discouraged when I noticed a white truck pull up slowly next to our vehicles. When I saw the green emblem on the door, I knew our fate. It was a park ranger. Emily had woken up just in time to be asked by the ranger for her ID. I provided mine as well and went to wake up the others.
The fine was $125 and would be split among the five of us. This was gracious considering we each deserved a full fine.
We solemnly packed up and headed south to the Jenny Lake visitor's center to make plans for hiking and legal camping for the night. There, we acquired backcountry permits for Surprise Lake. The others went ahead while I went over to the lodge to further my search for a new rear tire. More dead ends. The Sturgis rally was sucking up all of the resources from Wyoming to Wisconsin.
I started the five mile hike up to Surprise Lake around 4:30pm and hauled up to meet the others. The site was awesome, and I had to congratulate them on their fine discovery. After a cool dip in the lake, we cooked up some lentils. Warm, garlic, goodness.
Unfortunately, our bear deterrent techniques worked a little too well, or the girls prayed too hard because although there had been many recent sightings of bears in the area, we saw none.
In fact, I just talked to my friend Brad who made the same hike one day after us. He encountered a bear and her cub on the trail. Unbelievable!
Yellowstone- "Eh Boo-Boo?"
7/26
I woke up to Alex shaking my shoulder. To be honest, I had been awake for a while, watching him pack up through the slits in my eyelids, savoring the last moments on the comfy couch and hoping he would give up and decide to ride into Yellowstone with me.
"Kyle, I'm leaving."
I acted surprised and followed him into the kitchen and out the door helping him carry a few of his items to be strapped onto the bike. We hugged and smiled.
"It's been a good trip, man. Tell Alyse I said hi. Ride safe. I'll see you in Chicago."
"I look forward to it. Call me if you need anything."
And with that, I watched Alex complete one last karate-kick-my-legs-are-too-short motorcycle mount and ride off down the alleyway behind the house. Goodbye wasn't too hard, and I knew I would see him again in Chicago. He was doing the right thing and I admired him for it.
I went back in the house and munched on a bowl of cereal while I sat examining a map trying to determine my route into Yellowstone. It didn't take long for me to pack up (I've had a few days of practice) and soon I was riding out the same alley Alex had exited on about an hour before.
I stopped at a gas station to fill-up and tried to call my friends about a meeting place and time in the park. No luck. A pair of Harley riders down from Canada occupied the pump next to mine. They came over to ask about my travels. They were nice and after chatting about routes and roads they returned to their hogs where I overheard them discussing the days ride. I wanted to turn to Alex and ask him his opinion for the day's route. A brief moment of fear was overcome by feelings of excitement at being alone in a strange place free to explore, free to make wrong turns, and free to embellish my stories. I was the lone perpetrator of all the day had to offer.
Back on the road I exercised my freedom and made a last second decision to turn east heading toward the Beartooth mountains. This would allow me to ride highway 212 from Red Lodge to Cooke City over the Beartooth pass. From there, I could enter the park at the northeast entrance and hopefully by that time receive word from my friends on where to meet.
The ride was both beautiful and challenging, and I was careful how I navigated the tight, mountain turns with a worn back tire. The road led me past some spectacular mountain viewpoints and eventually to the treeless tundra surrounding the summit. Road construction slowed my decent and I arrived in Cooke City staring at some potential rain.
I entered the park with rain gear on and soon encountered all three of the things that caused me to dislike my time in Yellowstone: rain, road construction, and miles of tourist traffic. The ride west to Mammoth Springs was wet, slow, and void of any of the magnificent scenery that I had found so captivating during my time in the other parks to date (and even on the ride in).
I finally arrived in Mammoth Springs with the trip odometer reading 11346 miles and managed to meet up with my friends Emily and Liz before the sky let loose again. We found refuge under a store awning and stood huddled together eating the bread, cheese, cherries, and apricots that they had brought from Washington.
The rain eventually passed, and we went our in search of a campsite for the night. We decided that leaving the park would be our best option for vacant, cheap, tourist-free camping and we exited through the north entrance all piled into Emily's little Toyota.
A few miles down a bumpy, gravel road (that made me thankful I had left my motorcycle back at Mammoth) we came across an ideal spot on a lake, surrounded by mountains, and with plenty of firewood to get a roaring blaze started. We settled in, set up the tent, and Liz began making homemade tortillas while Emily and I gathered wood for the fire. The evening was fun and we enjoyed the company of two on Liz/Emily's friends that made the drive down from Colville, WA and would be joining us over the next few days.
We sat around the fire and talked through the essentials: books, travel, and fruit. Great stuff!
I woke up to Alex shaking my shoulder. To be honest, I had been awake for a while, watching him pack up through the slits in my eyelids, savoring the last moments on the comfy couch and hoping he would give up and decide to ride into Yellowstone with me.
"Kyle, I'm leaving."
I acted surprised and followed him into the kitchen and out the door helping him carry a few of his items to be strapped onto the bike. We hugged and smiled.
"It's been a good trip, man. Tell Alyse I said hi. Ride safe. I'll see you in Chicago."
"I look forward to it. Call me if you need anything."
And with that, I watched Alex complete one last karate-kick-my-legs-are-too-short motorcycle mount and ride off down the alleyway behind the house. Goodbye wasn't too hard, and I knew I would see him again in Chicago. He was doing the right thing and I admired him for it.
I went back in the house and munched on a bowl of cereal while I sat examining a map trying to determine my route into Yellowstone. It didn't take long for me to pack up (I've had a few days of practice) and soon I was riding out the same alley Alex had exited on about an hour before.
I stopped at a gas station to fill-up and tried to call my friends about a meeting place and time in the park. No luck. A pair of Harley riders down from Canada occupied the pump next to mine. They came over to ask about my travels. They were nice and after chatting about routes and roads they returned to their hogs where I overheard them discussing the days ride. I wanted to turn to Alex and ask him his opinion for the day's route. A brief moment of fear was overcome by feelings of excitement at being alone in a strange place free to explore, free to make wrong turns, and free to embellish my stories. I was the lone perpetrator of all the day had to offer.
Back on the road I exercised my freedom and made a last second decision to turn east heading toward the Beartooth mountains. This would allow me to ride highway 212 from Red Lodge to Cooke City over the Beartooth pass. From there, I could enter the park at the northeast entrance and hopefully by that time receive word from my friends on where to meet.
The ride was both beautiful and challenging, and I was careful how I navigated the tight, mountain turns with a worn back tire. The road led me past some spectacular mountain viewpoints and eventually to the treeless tundra surrounding the summit. Road construction slowed my decent and I arrived in Cooke City staring at some potential rain.
I entered the park with rain gear on and soon encountered all three of the things that caused me to dislike my time in Yellowstone: rain, road construction, and miles of tourist traffic. The ride west to Mammoth Springs was wet, slow, and void of any of the magnificent scenery that I had found so captivating during my time in the other parks to date (and even on the ride in).
I finally arrived in Mammoth Springs with the trip odometer reading 11346 miles and managed to meet up with my friends Emily and Liz before the sky let loose again. We found refuge under a store awning and stood huddled together eating the bread, cheese, cherries, and apricots that they had brought from Washington.
The rain eventually passed, and we went our in search of a campsite for the night. We decided that leaving the park would be our best option for vacant, cheap, tourist-free camping and we exited through the north entrance all piled into Emily's little Toyota.
A few miles down a bumpy, gravel road (that made me thankful I had left my motorcycle back at Mammoth) we came across an ideal spot on a lake, surrounded by mountains, and with plenty of firewood to get a roaring blaze started. We settled in, set up the tent, and Liz began making homemade tortillas while Emily and I gathered wood for the fire. The evening was fun and we enjoyed the company of two on Liz/Emily's friends that made the drive down from Colville, WA and would be joining us over the next few days.
We sat around the fire and talked through the essentials: books, travel, and fruit. Great stuff!
Livingston- parting ways
7/25
We took off our cowboy hats, hung up the flannel, and left the ranch life behind. Our next destination was not far, only about 30 miles south to Livingston, MT, but this would be our final leg of the trip riding together.
On the way out of Wilsall we pulled off to the side of a country road to discuss the situation. Alex, engaged to be married in September, had spent a long two months away from his fiance. Final details for the wedding ceremony and reception were due in a week and he felt that it would be best to be with Alyse as they made those decisions together. If he left, it would be a 1,400 mile trip, in two days, riding alone. It also meant that I would be finishing the last 2,000 miles of the trip solo.
God, in his mercy, provided us with some assistance. For Alex: Alyse's dad, a biker as well, agreed to ride out from Chicago and meet Alex halfway in Sioux Falls, SD. For me: a few friends that we had met during our time in Washington would be touring Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons at the same time I would. They invited me to share in their camping and traveling adventures over the next week. And so it was, we were not alone.
With the decision made the next few moments were a bit sappy as we prepared to ride together one last time. We agreed to get back together and reflect once the journey was over.
And with that, we jumped back on the bikes and rode into Livingston, MT. There we met up with Patrick and his wife, both recent Taylor grads. Alex and I loved talking with them about life on Third East Wengatz, outdoor adventures, and his love for off-roading. (My next motorcycle trip will be through Canada and Alaska... Banff, Jasper, Denali.)
We took off our cowboy hats, hung up the flannel, and left the ranch life behind. Our next destination was not far, only about 30 miles south to Livingston, MT, but this would be our final leg of the trip riding together.
On the way out of Wilsall we pulled off to the side of a country road to discuss the situation. Alex, engaged to be married in September, had spent a long two months away from his fiance. Final details for the wedding ceremony and reception were due in a week and he felt that it would be best to be with Alyse as they made those decisions together. If he left, it would be a 1,400 mile trip, in two days, riding alone. It also meant that I would be finishing the last 2,000 miles of the trip solo.
God, in his mercy, provided us with some assistance. For Alex: Alyse's dad, a biker as well, agreed to ride out from Chicago and meet Alex halfway in Sioux Falls, SD. For me: a few friends that we had met during our time in Washington would be touring Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons at the same time I would. They invited me to share in their camping and traveling adventures over the next week. And so it was, we were not alone.
With the decision made the next few moments were a bit sappy as we prepared to ride together one last time. We agreed to get back together and reflect once the journey was over.
And with that, we jumped back on the bikes and rode into Livingston, MT. There we met up with Patrick and his wife, both recent Taylor grads. Alex and I loved talking with them about life on Third East Wengatz, outdoor adventures, and his love for off-roading. (My next motorcycle trip will be through Canada and Alaska... Banff, Jasper, Denali.)
Wilsall- follow your dreams
7/24
Our friend Seth is a perfect example of someone who abides by the "follow your dreams" motto. Growing up in the Midwestern suburbs, going out west and becoming a cowboy on a big ranch was something that Seth was rarely able to experience outside of the occasional Louis L'Amour novel.
After two years at Taylor it was time, and Seth left with his associates degree to pursue cattle management at Montana State. Since he left two years ago, every time I see him he fits the image a little more. But it was always out of context, back here in Indiana amongst corn fields, not on the open range.
Alex and I arrived in Wilsall, MT around 8:00pm with the trip odometer reading 10950 miles and parked on the street between two big, muddy 4x4 pickups. We could see the whole town from our parking spot, and I got out my phone to call Seth. Just as I placed the phone next to my ear, a tall figure wearing a cowboy hat that shaded a flannel that was tucked into a pair of Wranglers that covered the tops of some slick boots emerged from the diner down the street from where we stood.
His walk and mannerisms gave him away immediately. I put the phone away and Alex and I walked down to meet our friend on the sidewalk where he grinned, let out a little laugh, and gave each of us a hug. "Welcome to Wilsall."
Seth acted amazed to see us like we had dropped out of the sky. He poked and prodded our bikes like one of his cattle and kept saying, "I can't believe you guys are in Wilsall." Seth has always displayed this wide eyed amazement and plays that he is surprised by all that is in the world. But he is clever, clever enough to transplant himself from little burbs to big sky.
We followed Seth into the diner where I warmed over some bread and soup while Alex filled with a Montana sized burger. He told us a bit about life on the ranch and the misunderstandings of people back home. "My friends and family back home think I live the romantic life, riding my horse into the sunset and branding a few cattle, all while having a few drinks with my fellow hands. The truth is, it's a lot of hard work." Tromping around in a mixture of mud and manure up to your knees doesn't seem to make it into the beer commercials and paperbacks.
Although we missed the storms, it had been raining all day in Wilsall, and as Alex and I followed Seth's truck back to the ranch he worked on the road conditions deteriorated. By the time we pulled into the final drive up to his living quarters the road had turned to mud. I hit the final turn a little to fast, and standing on the foot pegs almost spilled in mud that would have been tricky to cross in a dirt bike let alone my street cruiser. Safely parked, I looked back at Alex who was walking his bike up the drive. The bikes were covered in mud, but we didn't care.We were there.
That night we rode with him up to a high point on the ranch. The sky was beautiful and we sat pondering life. Friends are good, and relationships are valuable and worth pursuing.
In the morning we whipped up a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Alex and I raided Seth's closet for a game of man-dress-up cowboy style. After a brief trip into town where Seth educated me on boots, hats, and electric fences we returned to the ranch and hopped on a couple of four-wheelers to explore the range. He took us to some beautiful viewpoints.
After a few hours zipping around through the sage brush, it was time to leave. Seth was sad to see us go, but released us after one final group shot.
Our friend Seth is a perfect example of someone who abides by the "follow your dreams" motto. Growing up in the Midwestern suburbs, going out west and becoming a cowboy on a big ranch was something that Seth was rarely able to experience outside of the occasional Louis L'Amour novel.
After two years at Taylor it was time, and Seth left with his associates degree to pursue cattle management at Montana State. Since he left two years ago, every time I see him he fits the image a little more. But it was always out of context, back here in Indiana amongst corn fields, not on the open range.
Alex and I arrived in Wilsall, MT around 8:00pm with the trip odometer reading 10950 miles and parked on the street between two big, muddy 4x4 pickups. We could see the whole town from our parking spot, and I got out my phone to call Seth. Just as I placed the phone next to my ear, a tall figure wearing a cowboy hat that shaded a flannel that was tucked into a pair of Wranglers that covered the tops of some slick boots emerged from the diner down the street from where we stood.
His walk and mannerisms gave him away immediately. I put the phone away and Alex and I walked down to meet our friend on the sidewalk where he grinned, let out a little laugh, and gave each of us a hug. "Welcome to Wilsall."
Seth acted amazed to see us like we had dropped out of the sky. He poked and prodded our bikes like one of his cattle and kept saying, "I can't believe you guys are in Wilsall." Seth has always displayed this wide eyed amazement and plays that he is surprised by all that is in the world. But he is clever, clever enough to transplant himself from little burbs to big sky.
We followed Seth into the diner where I warmed over some bread and soup while Alex filled with a Montana sized burger. He told us a bit about life on the ranch and the misunderstandings of people back home. "My friends and family back home think I live the romantic life, riding my horse into the sunset and branding a few cattle, all while having a few drinks with my fellow hands. The truth is, it's a lot of hard work." Tromping around in a mixture of mud and manure up to your knees doesn't seem to make it into the beer commercials and paperbacks.
Although we missed the storms, it had been raining all day in Wilsall, and as Alex and I followed Seth's truck back to the ranch he worked on the road conditions deteriorated. By the time we pulled into the final drive up to his living quarters the road had turned to mud. I hit the final turn a little to fast, and standing on the foot pegs almost spilled in mud that would have been tricky to cross in a dirt bike let alone my street cruiser. Safely parked, I looked back at Alex who was walking his bike up the drive. The bikes were covered in mud, but we didn't care.We were there.
That night we rode with him up to a high point on the ranch. The sky was beautiful and we sat pondering life. Friends are good, and relationships are valuable and worth pursuing.
In the morning we whipped up a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Alex and I raided Seth's closet for a game of man-dress-up cowboy style. After a brief trip into town where Seth educated me on boots, hats, and electric fences we returned to the ranch and hopped on a couple of four-wheelers to explore the range. He took us to some beautiful viewpoints.
After a few hours zipping around through the sage brush, it was time to leave. Seth was sad to see us go, but released us after one final group shot.
Glacier NP- a long post
7/21
The road to Glacier NP was nice, but Alex and I were not too interested in the scenery. We were ready for some mountain backpacking. We arrived at the park a little late to enter and decided to camp a night outside of the park. While buying some food at the local supermarket, the cashier led us to Flathead Lake, a beautiful, large, recreational lake southwest of the park. The only problem was that everyone else found it nice as well and had taken all of the vacant campsites by the time we arrived. In a situation that felt frighteningly similar to our drive up Oregon's coast, we took some advice from a lucky camper and headed east towards Swan Lake.
We arrived after dark and found a site next to two fellow bikers. They were out from Denver on a two week trip off-road through British Colombia and were now on their way home. We shared our food with them: hot soup (the generic, chunky-in-a-can kind), baked beans (the expensive smothered-in-savory-brown-sugary-sauce-and-BBQ kind), and bread (the normal-needs-no-explanation-found-in-every-kitchen-in-America-sliced kind)... a new favorite. One was a physician's assistant and the other a fifth grade teacher, they had some wild stories. It made me wonder what my teachers and doctors were doing when they weren't molding my young mind or operating on my delicate body. Hmmm?
The next morning, with the trip odometer reading 10525 miles, we rode into the park, went to the backcountry office, and acquired permits for Otokomi Lake. The six mile hike in was mild and mostly tree covered but it did allow us to christen our new sandals on the trail and is an ice cold waterfall.
We arrived at the lake a few hours before sunset and quickly set up camp. It was immediately realized that we would be dealing with mosquitoes as long as we were within a mile of the lake. Memories, or nightmares rather, from Yosemite began to run through our heads.
With the tent set up we wasted no time in setting up our poles and walking down to the lake. Expectations were high as we had been told that the fish were spawning. What we had heard was true, and the big fish were in the clear, shallow water. They were rising all over and Alex and I hammered them as they ate almost anything we threw at them. We caught about 20 beautiful, big Yellowstone Hybrids.
This would have been fish heaven, but the mosquitoes nearly carried us off. We left the lake and returned to the tent to escape the fighting beasts. We even skipped diner after an unsuccessful attempt at cooking a meal in a cloud of buzzing bloodsuckers.
In the morning we packed up food and water and scrambled up the nearest peak with the buzzing in hot pursuit.
Our goal was to hit the ridge and then make our way around the bowl that surrounded Otokomi.
The climb to the ridge was more than we had bargained for and took several hours. The loose, flaking, red rock made for a slow accent. Finally at the top, we were able to see new snow capped peaks and mountain lakes in the distance.
Alex and I were low on water and made it a priority to follow the ridge to a wonderful mountain lake not far from where we stood. Distance and depth can be deceiving and we worked hard scaling some pretty hairy ridge lines to reach the precious goal. Fortunately, we ran across a stream running from a snow melt and were able to filter some water that would sustain us as we worked toward our mountain prize.
After some wild vertical that tested our nerve and skill a little more, we arrived at the lake, removed our packs and garments, and dove from the rocks into the icy blue below. It was a refreshing dip, but we exited like dogs, paddling ferociously to the waters edge and scrambled to land shaking and shivering.
After drying, we cooked up a huge meal. The night before without food left us with double the daily ration and we enjoyed the healthy, full clean-up.
Drunken on the food or full of our ambitions and pride we packed up and attempted the most difficult climb of the day (and probably our lives to date :) ). The route from the lake to the high ridge above was steep and we soon found ourselves pushing our limits. Rocks would loosen under the weight of our hands and feet and fall tumbling 2-300 feet to the next floor below. When the climb became nearly all vertical, Alex stayed behind while I pushed on hoping to find a feasible route. I hit several dead ends and gave into the voice of reason and sense and turned around.
The slow climb down was even more difficult. Alex and I called out foot and hand holds for one another. A few hours later and we were back at the mountain lake. Now we still had a rather sizable decent to our campsite at the lower Lake Otokomi. While there were sections of slow going, we made use of several snow melts and slid hundreds of feet on each which was a blast! Check out our methods of decent...
Back at camp we quickly jumped in the tent avoiding the mosquitoes. This night we went to bed full and free from the pesky little bugs. At one point we counted over 100 on the mesh tent walls between us and the rain fly. Alex and I made a game of flicking them from their landing spot on the tent walls and into the rainfly. If you did it just right it made this pleasant "popping" sound and a few even smacked so hard into the rainfly behind them, they fell to their death. Justice.
We woke up early and tried to pack up before the mosquitoes knew breakfast was out and about. The hike back to the bikes was brisk and hastened to a trip as drizzle turned to downpour. Back at the campstore, the sky let loose and darkness surrounded the mountains. Fortunately, there was a nice big porch where we were able to spread out our stuff, sit down, relax, drink hot coffee, read, write, and visit with the various other people who had gathered under its shelter.
At around 1:00pm the inclimate weather had passed and blue was revealed. Alex and I packed up and lit a shuck for Montanee!
The road to Glacier NP was nice, but Alex and I were not too interested in the scenery. We were ready for some mountain backpacking. We arrived at the park a little late to enter and decided to camp a night outside of the park. While buying some food at the local supermarket, the cashier led us to Flathead Lake, a beautiful, large, recreational lake southwest of the park. The only problem was that everyone else found it nice as well and had taken all of the vacant campsites by the time we arrived. In a situation that felt frighteningly similar to our drive up Oregon's coast, we took some advice from a lucky camper and headed east towards Swan Lake.
We arrived after dark and found a site next to two fellow bikers. They were out from Denver on a two week trip off-road through British Colombia and were now on their way home. We shared our food with them: hot soup (the generic, chunky-in-a-can kind), baked beans (the expensive smothered-in-savory-brown-sugary-sauce-and-BBQ kind), and bread (the normal-needs-no-explanation-found-in-every-kitchen-in-America-sliced kind)... a new favorite. One was a physician's assistant and the other a fifth grade teacher, they had some wild stories. It made me wonder what my teachers and doctors were doing when they weren't molding my young mind or operating on my delicate body. Hmmm?
The next morning, with the trip odometer reading 10525 miles, we rode into the park, went to the backcountry office, and acquired permits for Otokomi Lake. The six mile hike in was mild and mostly tree covered but it did allow us to christen our new sandals on the trail and is an ice cold waterfall.
We arrived at the lake a few hours before sunset and quickly set up camp. It was immediately realized that we would be dealing with mosquitoes as long as we were within a mile of the lake. Memories, or nightmares rather, from Yosemite began to run through our heads.
With the tent set up we wasted no time in setting up our poles and walking down to the lake. Expectations were high as we had been told that the fish were spawning. What we had heard was true, and the big fish were in the clear, shallow water. They were rising all over and Alex and I hammered them as they ate almost anything we threw at them. We caught about 20 beautiful, big Yellowstone Hybrids.
This would have been fish heaven, but the mosquitoes nearly carried us off. We left the lake and returned to the tent to escape the fighting beasts. We even skipped diner after an unsuccessful attempt at cooking a meal in a cloud of buzzing bloodsuckers.
In the morning we packed up food and water and scrambled up the nearest peak with the buzzing in hot pursuit.
Our goal was to hit the ridge and then make our way around the bowl that surrounded Otokomi.
The climb to the ridge was more than we had bargained for and took several hours. The loose, flaking, red rock made for a slow accent. Finally at the top, we were able to see new snow capped peaks and mountain lakes in the distance.
Alex and I were low on water and made it a priority to follow the ridge to a wonderful mountain lake not far from where we stood. Distance and depth can be deceiving and we worked hard scaling some pretty hairy ridge lines to reach the precious goal. Fortunately, we ran across a stream running from a snow melt and were able to filter some water that would sustain us as we worked toward our mountain prize.
After some wild vertical that tested our nerve and skill a little more, we arrived at the lake, removed our packs and garments, and dove from the rocks into the icy blue below. It was a refreshing dip, but we exited like dogs, paddling ferociously to the waters edge and scrambled to land shaking and shivering.
After drying, we cooked up a huge meal. The night before without food left us with double the daily ration and we enjoyed the healthy, full clean-up.
Drunken on the food or full of our ambitions and pride we packed up and attempted the most difficult climb of the day (and probably our lives to date :) ). The route from the lake to the high ridge above was steep and we soon found ourselves pushing our limits. Rocks would loosen under the weight of our hands and feet and fall tumbling 2-300 feet to the next floor below. When the climb became nearly all vertical, Alex stayed behind while I pushed on hoping to find a feasible route. I hit several dead ends and gave into the voice of reason and sense and turned around.
The slow climb down was even more difficult. Alex and I called out foot and hand holds for one another. A few hours later and we were back at the mountain lake. Now we still had a rather sizable decent to our campsite at the lower Lake Otokomi. While there were sections of slow going, we made use of several snow melts and slid hundreds of feet on each which was a blast! Check out our methods of decent...
Back at camp we quickly jumped in the tent avoiding the mosquitoes. This night we went to bed full and free from the pesky little bugs. At one point we counted over 100 on the mesh tent walls between us and the rain fly. Alex and I made a game of flicking them from their landing spot on the tent walls and into the rainfly. If you did it just right it made this pleasant "popping" sound and a few even smacked so hard into the rainfly behind them, they fell to their death. Justice.
We woke up early and tried to pack up before the mosquitoes knew breakfast was out and about. The hike back to the bikes was brisk and hastened to a trip as drizzle turned to downpour. Back at the campstore, the sky let loose and darkness surrounded the mountains. Fortunately, there was a nice big porch where we were able to spread out our stuff, sit down, relax, drink hot coffee, read, write, and visit with the various other people who had gathered under its shelter.
At around 1:00pm the inclimate weather had passed and blue was revealed. Alex and I packed up and lit a shuck for Montanee!
Colville- the rocky road to a fun few days
7/19
I arrived back in Seattle around 9:00 in the morning, met Alex at the airport, and we made the final turn towards home. Heading east on highway 20 we encountered the beauty of the North Cascades. I was dead tired, though, and spent our break in the national park sleeping on a bench outside of the visitor's center.
After an hour or so Alex was itching to get back on the road and we pressed on, riding east towards Colville, WA. The North Cascade Highway is beautiful, but can be a bit of a trick to follow as it jogs and is constantly changing directions and names. On one eventful ocasion, late in the day, Alex was leading us and discovered the highway took a jog to the left. He saw the sign late, reacted, and made the turn with little asphalt to spare. I, riding close behind and still a bit tired, reacted not so fast to his lead, braked hard, atempted the turn, felt my back tire break lose, bailed out of the turn, and soon found my way through the ditch and into a nice grassy pasture. Laughing, surprised at my fortunate safety, I turned the bike around in the grass and drove the bike back onto the road where a very petrified Alex had returned expecting to find me wrapped around a tree. I couldn't stop giggling. He didn't understand what was so funny and rode away. I followed a little more intently.
The drive to Colville was deceivingly long. We went through dozens of quaint mountain towns, some thriving on tourism, and others dead as a doornail. The setting sun brought a new danger which we were alerted to by a phone call from our next host. Deer were everywhere, and I began to pray a prayer that I have uttered almost every day of the trip: "Lord keep us safe from the animals and keep the animals safe from us." And while we did see probably 8-10 deer, several of which were in the road, we remained safe from one another.
After a disappointing wrong turn, we finally made it to our destination with the trip odometer reading 10156 miles. We were met by our host, Jenny, who called us in to the correct driveway as Alex and I sat in the road contemplating if this was in fact the correct place. Your margin for error becomes frighteningly small after 11:00pm. You really don't want to be waking the wrong folks up at midnight, standing at their door, wearing black leather.
Jenny didn't seem to mind our lateness or leatherness. She was happy we made it void of any deer and invited us inside for some cherries. (We soon found out that east Washington has excellent orcharding.) She listened to a few of our stories from the past few days before we retired to bed in the prepared camper outside.
The next few days were such a blast as we were able to go to church, relax/read/write in the hammocks, ride horses, do some yard work, fish, enjoy meals together, exchange stories. It was excellent. I am just encouraged time an time again at the hospitality and willingness of people to open their homes to us. Alex and I are very thankful.
Something you may or may not know about Alex: he has a tendency to throw little mini temper tantrums, something left over from childhood. Here is a rare look at one caught on film as he was fishing in a lake near the house.
I arrived back in Seattle around 9:00 in the morning, met Alex at the airport, and we made the final turn towards home. Heading east on highway 20 we encountered the beauty of the North Cascades. I was dead tired, though, and spent our break in the national park sleeping on a bench outside of the visitor's center.
After an hour or so Alex was itching to get back on the road and we pressed on, riding east towards Colville, WA. The North Cascade Highway is beautiful, but can be a bit of a trick to follow as it jogs and is constantly changing directions and names. On one eventful ocasion, late in the day, Alex was leading us and discovered the highway took a jog to the left. He saw the sign late, reacted, and made the turn with little asphalt to spare. I, riding close behind and still a bit tired, reacted not so fast to his lead, braked hard, atempted the turn, felt my back tire break lose, bailed out of the turn, and soon found my way through the ditch and into a nice grassy pasture. Laughing, surprised at my fortunate safety, I turned the bike around in the grass and drove the bike back onto the road where a very petrified Alex had returned expecting to find me wrapped around a tree. I couldn't stop giggling. He didn't understand what was so funny and rode away. I followed a little more intently.
The drive to Colville was deceivingly long. We went through dozens of quaint mountain towns, some thriving on tourism, and others dead as a doornail. The setting sun brought a new danger which we were alerted to by a phone call from our next host. Deer were everywhere, and I began to pray a prayer that I have uttered almost every day of the trip: "Lord keep us safe from the animals and keep the animals safe from us." And while we did see probably 8-10 deer, several of which were in the road, we remained safe from one another.
After a disappointing wrong turn, we finally made it to our destination with the trip odometer reading 10156 miles. We were met by our host, Jenny, who called us in to the correct driveway as Alex and I sat in the road contemplating if this was in fact the correct place. Your margin for error becomes frighteningly small after 11:00pm. You really don't want to be waking the wrong folks up at midnight, standing at their door, wearing black leather.
Jenny didn't seem to mind our lateness or leatherness. She was happy we made it void of any deer and invited us inside for some cherries. (We soon found out that east Washington has excellent orcharding.) She listened to a few of our stories from the past few days before we retired to bed in the prepared camper outside.
The next few days were such a blast as we were able to go to church, relax/read/write in the hammocks, ride horses, do some yard work, fish, enjoy meals together, exchange stories. It was excellent. I am just encouraged time an time again at the hospitality and willingness of people to open their homes to us. Alex and I are very thankful.
Something you may or may not know about Alex: he has a tendency to throw little mini temper tantrums, something left over from childhood. Here is a rare look at one caught on film as he was fishing in a lake near the house.
Seattle- no motors?
7/15
From Corvallis Alex and I rode north through Portland and met up with a few friends from Taylor who are on a bike trip of their own... only they forgot their motors. Kevin, Amy, and David are peddling their road bikes from Vancouver, BC to San Fransisco, CA. It will be quite a feat, and you can follow their progress and stories on their blog: jakkd.info.
We met up at a little county park near Longview, WA where they had prepared an awesome lunch for us all to enjoy. We swapped stories and experiences. I really have to give them props for riding the coast. Alex and I tried to hold in the truth, on our way up we had passed a lot of peddlers looking ragged walking their bikes up the treacherous hills.
They look happy now. I am interested to see the post ride pictures :).
Back on the road, we soon arrived in Centralia, WA about an hour south of Seattle with the trip odometer reading 9673 miles. Alex stayed here with a friend while I went on to the Seattle airport to fly out for a wedding of two of my good friends in Minneapolis. Alex enjoyed a few days of rest and relaxation while I enjoyed seeing friends at the wedding. Two days and I was back and we hit the road making our final turn east.
From Corvallis Alex and I rode north through Portland and met up with a few friends from Taylor who are on a bike trip of their own... only they forgot their motors. Kevin, Amy, and David are peddling their road bikes from Vancouver, BC to San Fransisco, CA. It will be quite a feat, and you can follow their progress and stories on their blog: jakkd.info.
We met up at a little county park near Longview, WA where they had prepared an awesome lunch for us all to enjoy. We swapped stories and experiences. I really have to give them props for riding the coast. Alex and I tried to hold in the truth, on our way up we had passed a lot of peddlers looking ragged walking their bikes up the treacherous hills.
They look happy now. I am interested to see the post ride pictures :).
Back on the road, we soon arrived in Centralia, WA about an hour south of Seattle with the trip odometer reading 9673 miles. Alex stayed here with a friend while I went on to the Seattle airport to fly out for a wedding of two of my good friends in Minneapolis. Alex enjoyed a few days of rest and relaxation while I enjoyed seeing friends at the wedding. Two days and I was back and we hit the road making our final turn east.
Corvallis- uno
7/14
After a night of frustration, we awoke and got the heck out of dodge. The beautiful, curvy mess-of-a-road that lead us inland to Corvallis, OR helped to ease the pain of a disappointing night void of the coast. The ride was fantastic giving us a taste of the richness of Oregon's lush, green, pine, mountain country.
Friends of Alex's family took us in and shared their food and a few beds which we were very thankful for. After a tour of Oregon State's campus, we returned to the house where I inhaled a bowl of ice cream, dominated two rounds of UNO, and then hit the sack.
After a night of frustration, we awoke and got the heck out of dodge. The beautiful, curvy mess-of-a-road that lead us inland to Corvallis, OR helped to ease the pain of a disappointing night void of the coast. The ride was fantastic giving us a taste of the richness of Oregon's lush, green, pine, mountain country.
Friends of Alex's family took us in and shared their food and a few beds which we were very thankful for. After a tour of Oregon State's campus, we returned to the house where I inhaled a bowl of ice cream, dominated two rounds of UNO, and then hit the sack.
Oregon Coast- Everything's Bigger in Alaska!
7/13
The next morning we rode west to the coast. The ride from Redding to 101 is on the the best highways we have ridden.
We stopped to take a bread at a roadside turnout and met one of the funniest people I have ever talked to. Paul, a hippie living in Trinity County, was hitchhiking east trying to make it to the next town over to deliver some court papers. He had been arrested 66 times for various things (protests, hitchhiking, etc.) but never been convicted of anything. He had recently been released from jail after spending two and a half years in a county holding cell. The DA could not find any evidence on which to convict him and he was free.
He had a lot to say about corrupt cops, growing pot, rainbow gatherings, and time behind bars. Note: keep your eyes out for a cookbook Paul wrote while in the slammer entitled, Haikuking (Haiku-cooking), a guide to fine cuisine written all in Haiku format.
He also told us about Texans who are so proud of their big state. "Everybody in Texas thinks 'Every Thing Is Bigger In Texas.' They haven't been to Alaska. The tide goes out two miles. Anchorage has skyscrapers with huge mountains behind it. The day lasts all day and the night lasts so long people kill themselves. And the deer, man. The deer are moose. And moose, they kill trains, man!
We laughed hysterically at Paul's rants for about and hour before jumping back on the bikes and hitting the road. The ride up 101 into Oregon was fun, but that fun soon turned to frustration when we struggled to find a suitable place to camp. We had hoped to find an ideal spot on the beach, and when that failed we ended up at some lame state park a few miles from the ocean overrun with dune-happy ATV freaks.
We arrived after dark with the trip odometer reading 9360 miles and paid $17 dollars for a junky spot. Angry and tired we ate our meal in silence and then went to bed disappointed at being unable to hear the waves crashing outside our tent.
The next morning we rode west to the coast. The ride from Redding to 101 is on the the best highways we have ridden.
We stopped to take a bread at a roadside turnout and met one of the funniest people I have ever talked to. Paul, a hippie living in Trinity County, was hitchhiking east trying to make it to the next town over to deliver some court papers. He had been arrested 66 times for various things (protests, hitchhiking, etc.) but never been convicted of anything. He had recently been released from jail after spending two and a half years in a county holding cell. The DA could not find any evidence on which to convict him and he was free.
He had a lot to say about corrupt cops, growing pot, rainbow gatherings, and time behind bars. Note: keep your eyes out for a cookbook Paul wrote while in the slammer entitled, Haikuking (Haiku-cooking), a guide to fine cuisine written all in Haiku format.
He also told us about Texans who are so proud of their big state. "Everybody in Texas thinks 'Every Thing Is Bigger In Texas.' They haven't been to Alaska. The tide goes out two miles. Anchorage has skyscrapers with huge mountains behind it. The day lasts all day and the night lasts so long people kill themselves. And the deer, man. The deer are moose. And moose, they kill trains, man!
We laughed hysterically at Paul's rants for about and hour before jumping back on the bikes and hitting the road. The ride up 101 into Oregon was fun, but that fun soon turned to frustration when we struggled to find a suitable place to camp. We had hoped to find an ideal spot on the beach, and when that failed we ended up at some lame state park a few miles from the ocean overrun with dune-happy ATV freaks.
We arrived after dark with the trip odometer reading 9360 miles and paid $17 dollars for a junky spot. Angry and tired we ate our meal in silence and then went to bed disappointed at being unable to hear the waves crashing outside our tent.
Redding- quick click fix
7/12
After some fantastic times in Yosemite it was time for Alyse to return to Chicago. Alex and I split ways, he headed to Fresno to take Alyse to the airport while I rode northeast through Carson City and Reno. The plan was to meet up later that day in Redding, CA.
This was our first day riding apart, and it felt strangely free. My bike had been making a terrible "clicking" noise when I accelerated, and I hoped to get it looked at. I stopped at a Denny's for brunch and called every motorcycle shop in the Carson City/Reno phone books. Everyone was closed on Sunday.
I pressed on hoping to find some shop in Redding that would be open first thing in the morning. Once I got back into California, the ride was beautiful: a curvy, low traffic wonderland of pines, mountains, and streams. In a small town about 50 or so miles into CA I passed a garage with several motorcycles parked outside and a big sign that read "High Sierra Cycles." The doors were open to the garage, and I did a U-turn hoping to find someone who could take a look at my bike.
Inside, I met Andy, the mechanic, who had just opened up the shop the day before. I explained my situation, and he said that he would be more than happy to take a look. He advised me to run across the street and grab an ice cream while he finished what he was doing. I did just that celebrating the find with a rootbeer shake, a family favorite.
Back at the shop, he put my bike up on the lift, jacked up the rear tire, and spun it a bit by hand. Immediately he realized the problem. An O-ring sealing one of the links on my drive chain was shot and was causing a kink as it past through the rear sprocket. He shot some chain lube on it which loosened it up. After 6000+ miles of no lube and a long trip through the desert I shouldn't have been surprised.
Andy told me to keep the chain lubricated and sent me away only charging me $10 for the bottle of lube.
Back on the road the clicking was gone and I rode north through the volcanoes of Lassen NP. The ride was great, and I arrived in Redding with the trip odometer reading 8964 miles just before nightfall where Alex had been hanging for about an hour. We enjoyed a stay with a former residency student of Alex's dad.
After some fantastic times in Yosemite it was time for Alyse to return to Chicago. Alex and I split ways, he headed to Fresno to take Alyse to the airport while I rode northeast through Carson City and Reno. The plan was to meet up later that day in Redding, CA.
This was our first day riding apart, and it felt strangely free. My bike had been making a terrible "clicking" noise when I accelerated, and I hoped to get it looked at. I stopped at a Denny's for brunch and called every motorcycle shop in the Carson City/Reno phone books. Everyone was closed on Sunday.
I pressed on hoping to find some shop in Redding that would be open first thing in the morning. Once I got back into California, the ride was beautiful: a curvy, low traffic wonderland of pines, mountains, and streams. In a small town about 50 or so miles into CA I passed a garage with several motorcycles parked outside and a big sign that read "High Sierra Cycles." The doors were open to the garage, and I did a U-turn hoping to find someone who could take a look at my bike.
Inside, I met Andy, the mechanic, who had just opened up the shop the day before. I explained my situation, and he said that he would be more than happy to take a look. He advised me to run across the street and grab an ice cream while he finished what he was doing. I did just that celebrating the find with a rootbeer shake, a family favorite.
Back at the shop, he put my bike up on the lift, jacked up the rear tire, and spun it a bit by hand. Immediately he realized the problem. An O-ring sealing one of the links on my drive chain was shot and was causing a kink as it past through the rear sprocket. He shot some chain lube on it which loosened it up. After 6000+ miles of no lube and a long trip through the desert I shouldn't have been surprised.
Andy told me to keep the chain lubricated and sent me away only charging me $10 for the bottle of lube.
Back on the road the clicking was gone and I rode north through the volcanoes of Lassen NP. The ride was great, and I arrived in Redding with the trip odometer reading 8964 miles just before nightfall where Alex had been hanging for about an hour. We enjoyed a stay with a former residency student of Alex's dad.
Yosemite- hiking yosa-mighty
7/9
In the morning we packed up as usual and then added another backpack and another person. The result can be seen below.
The ride back to Yosemite was much better. We were rested, and had an adventure to look forward to. After stopping several times so that Alyse could regain feeling in her legs, we finally arrived in Tuolumne Meadows with the trip odometer reading 8573 miles.
The three of us packed up our hiking packs and hit the trail towards Glen Aulin. Our goal for the next three days was to take the High Sierra loop and finish on the John Muir trail. Yosemite, which we renamed, Yosa-MIGHTY, is full of beauty and wonder. We spent some time battling the mosquitoes, blisters, and had a few bouts with the altitude, but we came away awe-inspired at the majesty of creation.
In the morning we packed up as usual and then added another backpack and another person. The result can be seen below.
The ride back to Yosemite was much better. We were rested, and had an adventure to look forward to. After stopping several times so that Alyse could regain feeling in her legs, we finally arrived in Tuolumne Meadows with the trip odometer reading 8573 miles.
The three of us packed up our hiking packs and hit the trail towards Glen Aulin. Our goal for the next three days was to take the High Sierra loop and finish on the John Muir trail. Yosemite, which we renamed, Yosa-MIGHTY, is full of beauty and wonder. We spent some time battling the mosquitoes, blisters, and had a few bouts with the altitude, but we came away awe-inspired at the majesty of creation.
The Road to Yosemite- Surprise!
7/8
Alex led us through the lighted, sleepless city and over the Bay Bridge towards Yosemite. Riding at night is exhilarating at first, then becomes a bit eerie, and finally exhaustion sets in.
We set out on an extremely cold and curvy route to Tuolumne Meadows on the northwest side of Yosemite. We had to stop several times to put on more clothes in an effort to warm our freezing bodies. I think I got up to two pars of pants, two t-shirts, two long-sleeves, and two jackets.
At just before 6:00am we arrived at the wilderness office. Falling frozen off of the saddles we hobbled over to a patch of sunlight that had eluded the shade of the towering pines.
How can it be so cold?
Alex fell asleep against a tree and I wend back to the permitting office to wait in line. Another hiker hopeful had arrived taking his place behind my motorcycle helmet which I had left as a placeholder before we went to warm ourselves in the sun.
He wore a blue puff thermal jacket and smelled of months void of a shower. The stench filled the little overhang and I did my best to keep a strait, smiling face during our introduction. The smell told his story which he confirmed. He was a PCT through hiker and was about two months in to his journey. Having spent some time on the AT, I was accustomed to his kind. He had completed the AT and this was his second trip on his way to completing the triple crown of hiking (the final being the Continental divide). We talked about nothing, complained, and waited tired and impatient for the office to open, a necessary inconvenience to seeing the great wild wonder of the outdoors.
Alex and several other hopefuls joined us just before the office door was unlocked. I was worried about him joining me inside and wasn't sure how I would get three, instead of two, permits without his knowledge. By God's mercy and humor, Alex received a phone call from his friend Brian as we were all shuffling inside to do our business. I emphatically assured him that I could take care of securing the permits and that he should feel free to pursue the call outside in the parking lot.
The ranger must have been at least a little suspicious of our reasons for visiting as I rushed through the process and provided quick impatient responses to all of her questions all while constantly looking over my shoulder and through the window to the parking lot outside. I was sure Alex would walk through the door any second as she said, "Are you sure one bear canister will be enough for three people, you better take two." She convinced me to take two but only because I didn't have time to stay and argue. We would later return one.
We now had permits but lacked a very essential component, Alyse. I was in need of a visit to a doctor for some simple routine tests. Over the past few days, I had fed Alex the story that the tests would need to be done in Fresno because the hospital there was the only one on my medical insurance plan. He now contested this plan and even went into the permitting office to ask if there were any hospitals closer to the park. Of course there were, but I held fast to my story. I couldn't let Alex lead himself unknowingly away from the arms of his lover.
We set out for Fresno around 9:00am. We made it exactly 17 miles down the road before stopping for a nap. Both exhausted, we pulled of at a turnout, walked down the embankment about 20 yards, laid down under a big pine tree, and fell asleep. Alex didn't even remove his helmet to which he still is convinced is the best pillow and is even useful when laying face down.
We woke up two hours later to biting ants and got back on the road refreshed. The ride into Fresno was long, slow, hot, and boring.
I checked into the ER at 2:30pm. We left at 9:30pm. Apparently, I wasn't in enough pain to be seen sooner or the finger prick blood sample was more complicated than it looked. The hospital was in bad shape. They were horribly understaffed. The waiting room was overflowing and patients were being treated and kept in the hallways because all of the private rooms were full.
When we finally left, we were hungry, tired, and discouraged having had no food and very little sleep since San Fransisco. At least I saw the purpose. Alex had no idea that Alyse would be arriving on a plane in an hour. I think by now Alex hated me.
I cheered him up by stopping at In-and-Out for burgers (2x2), fries (animal style), and milkshakes. While stretching our shriveled stomachs to fit the form of greasy, American fast food, I received word that Alyse had landed and set the rendezvous point to be a local grocery store. We needed to get food for the hike, and this was the only place I had a chance convincing Alex to follow me to. He had already begun looking near the parking lot for bushes that could hide his seeping body.
The walk around the grocery store seemed to last for hours as I waited for the signal that Alyse had arrived. With three hours of sleep in the past 36, we were like walking zombies. I grabbed an extra of all we bought which frustrated a confused Alex, but he was too tired to argue.
At just before midnight we checked out and started packing our bags in the parking lot. Minutes later a par pulled into the nearly empty lot stopping in front of our bikes. The passenger side window lowered and behold, a fiance was born.
"Hi!"
Alex couldn't trust his tired eyes. He dropped the water bottle he was holding, and walked slowly to the car without saying a word. I think the surprise knocked the wind out of him. What followed was all joy, and any tired feelings were swept out the window.
We abandoned the bush idea and checked into a motel across the street for a decent nights rest before setting out on our adventure the next day.
Alyse and I exchanged high-fives, proud of our accomplishment and then began fielding questions from a bewildered but grateful friend and fiance.
Alex led us through the lighted, sleepless city and over the Bay Bridge towards Yosemite. Riding at night is exhilarating at first, then becomes a bit eerie, and finally exhaustion sets in.
We set out on an extremely cold and curvy route to Tuolumne Meadows on the northwest side of Yosemite. We had to stop several times to put on more clothes in an effort to warm our freezing bodies. I think I got up to two pars of pants, two t-shirts, two long-sleeves, and two jackets.
At just before 6:00am we arrived at the wilderness office. Falling frozen off of the saddles we hobbled over to a patch of sunlight that had eluded the shade of the towering pines.
How can it be so cold?
Alex fell asleep against a tree and I wend back to the permitting office to wait in line. Another hiker hopeful had arrived taking his place behind my motorcycle helmet which I had left as a placeholder before we went to warm ourselves in the sun.
He wore a blue puff thermal jacket and smelled of months void of a shower. The stench filled the little overhang and I did my best to keep a strait, smiling face during our introduction. The smell told his story which he confirmed. He was a PCT through hiker and was about two months in to his journey. Having spent some time on the AT, I was accustomed to his kind. He had completed the AT and this was his second trip on his way to completing the triple crown of hiking (the final being the Continental divide). We talked about nothing, complained, and waited tired and impatient for the office to open, a necessary inconvenience to seeing the great wild wonder of the outdoors.
Alex and several other hopefuls joined us just before the office door was unlocked. I was worried about him joining me inside and wasn't sure how I would get three, instead of two, permits without his knowledge. By God's mercy and humor, Alex received a phone call from his friend Brian as we were all shuffling inside to do our business. I emphatically assured him that I could take care of securing the permits and that he should feel free to pursue the call outside in the parking lot.
The ranger must have been at least a little suspicious of our reasons for visiting as I rushed through the process and provided quick impatient responses to all of her questions all while constantly looking over my shoulder and through the window to the parking lot outside. I was sure Alex would walk through the door any second as she said, "Are you sure one bear canister will be enough for three people, you better take two." She convinced me to take two but only because I didn't have time to stay and argue. We would later return one.
We now had permits but lacked a very essential component, Alyse. I was in need of a visit to a doctor for some simple routine tests. Over the past few days, I had fed Alex the story that the tests would need to be done in Fresno because the hospital there was the only one on my medical insurance plan. He now contested this plan and even went into the permitting office to ask if there were any hospitals closer to the park. Of course there were, but I held fast to my story. I couldn't let Alex lead himself unknowingly away from the arms of his lover.
We set out for Fresno around 9:00am. We made it exactly 17 miles down the road before stopping for a nap. Both exhausted, we pulled of at a turnout, walked down the embankment about 20 yards, laid down under a big pine tree, and fell asleep. Alex didn't even remove his helmet to which he still is convinced is the best pillow and is even useful when laying face down.
We woke up two hours later to biting ants and got back on the road refreshed. The ride into Fresno was long, slow, hot, and boring.
I checked into the ER at 2:30pm. We left at 9:30pm. Apparently, I wasn't in enough pain to be seen sooner or the finger prick blood sample was more complicated than it looked. The hospital was in bad shape. They were horribly understaffed. The waiting room was overflowing and patients were being treated and kept in the hallways because all of the private rooms were full.
When we finally left, we were hungry, tired, and discouraged having had no food and very little sleep since San Fransisco. At least I saw the purpose. Alex had no idea that Alyse would be arriving on a plane in an hour. I think by now Alex hated me.
I cheered him up by stopping at In-and-Out for burgers (2x2), fries (animal style), and milkshakes. While stretching our shriveled stomachs to fit the form of greasy, American fast food, I received word that Alyse had landed and set the rendezvous point to be a local grocery store. We needed to get food for the hike, and this was the only place I had a chance convincing Alex to follow me to. He had already begun looking near the parking lot for bushes that could hide his seeping body.
The walk around the grocery store seemed to last for hours as I waited for the signal that Alyse had arrived. With three hours of sleep in the past 36, we were like walking zombies. I grabbed an extra of all we bought which frustrated a confused Alex, but he was too tired to argue.
At just before midnight we checked out and started packing our bags in the parking lot. Minutes later a par pulled into the nearly empty lot stopping in front of our bikes. The passenger side window lowered and behold, a fiance was born.
"Hi!"
Alex couldn't trust his tired eyes. He dropped the water bottle he was holding, and walked slowly to the car without saying a word. I think the surprise knocked the wind out of him. What followed was all joy, and any tired feelings were swept out the window.
We abandoned the bush idea and checked into a motel across the street for a decent nights rest before setting out on our adventure the next day.
Alyse and I exchanged high-fives, proud of our accomplishment and then began fielding questions from a bewildered but grateful friend and fiance.
San Fransisco- the Wacky Jacky
7/6
In the morning after some breakfast Alex and I gave our bikes a bath, which was long overdue, and left for a clean cruise up the coast on CA-1. We arrived in San Fransisco just before dark with the trip odometer reading 8041 miles.
We were met on the sidewalk of busy 19th avenue by Alex's Uncle Billy a jolly dude with a sweet goatee. He gave us hugs and helped us back our bikes out of the traffic and into the garage under the house. The house, which was built in the 30's was home to Alex's grandfather through most of his life, at one time 19th ave was not so big and busy.
Billy insisted we come inside. Alex's grandmother had been pacing around the house in anticipation of our arrival and he was sure she was going to wear a hole in the floor. We all ate together and I listened as Uncle Billy and Grandma told stories and showed pictures of Alex as a little guy. Funny stuff!
Exhausted, I fell asleep early and woke to Alex's insistence that I go on a run with him down to the beach. I love the smell of the salty air, and the breeze made the run on the hard packed sand nice and cool. We finished on the beach to search for treasures amidst the rocks and shells. The walk back was long, uphill and we weren't running. Finally back in the house we loaded up on San Fran sourdough and set out with Billy to explore the city.
Billy, a union worker and deep sea fisherman, was a perfect tour guide. He parked his little car in the pier outside the warehouse he manages and we strolled out towards the fisherman's wharf. He wanted to show us the Wacky Jacky, the boat he fishes off of. On the way we stopped for pictures of the Bay Bridge, Alcatraz, and the Golden Gate (I could just hear the Full House theme song playing through my head).
Jacky wasn't around, but Billy knew most of the fishermen, and they whistled acknowledging "hellos" to each other which made me feel less like a tourist. He inquired about the catch of the day and then took us down the street for some tasty clam chowder. We grabbed a trolley for a quick trip back to the car and then drove down Lombard Street, the curviest street in the world, on our way back to the house. (I want to make a joke about not much being strait in San Fran... is that ok?)
Back at the house, I tried to iron out the final details of Alyse's surprise arrival in Yosemite, finalize our hiking plans and permits, and fix the clicking sound that had developed in my bike during acceleration. Alex and I would need to leave at 1:00am from San Fran to make it to the permitting office in Yosemite in time and then would need to leave from there to go to Fresno to meet up with Alyse. After taking apart and cleaning the front sprocket and putting it back together the bike still made the "click" when I took it for a test ride, but at least it worked.
At 12:30am we packed up silently, opened the garage door, and pushed our motorcycles out onto the sidewalk. The city was still alive. After hitting the button and sliding under the closing door, we were back on the road.
In the morning after some breakfast Alex and I gave our bikes a bath, which was long overdue, and left for a clean cruise up the coast on CA-1. We arrived in San Fransisco just before dark with the trip odometer reading 8041 miles.
We were met on the sidewalk of busy 19th avenue by Alex's Uncle Billy a jolly dude with a sweet goatee. He gave us hugs and helped us back our bikes out of the traffic and into the garage under the house. The house, which was built in the 30's was home to Alex's grandfather through most of his life, at one time 19th ave was not so big and busy.
Billy insisted we come inside. Alex's grandmother had been pacing around the house in anticipation of our arrival and he was sure she was going to wear a hole in the floor. We all ate together and I listened as Uncle Billy and Grandma told stories and showed pictures of Alex as a little guy. Funny stuff!
Exhausted, I fell asleep early and woke to Alex's insistence that I go on a run with him down to the beach. I love the smell of the salty air, and the breeze made the run on the hard packed sand nice and cool. We finished on the beach to search for treasures amidst the rocks and shells. The walk back was long, uphill and we weren't running. Finally back in the house we loaded up on San Fran sourdough and set out with Billy to explore the city.
Billy, a union worker and deep sea fisherman, was a perfect tour guide. He parked his little car in the pier outside the warehouse he manages and we strolled out towards the fisherman's wharf. He wanted to show us the Wacky Jacky, the boat he fishes off of. On the way we stopped for pictures of the Bay Bridge, Alcatraz, and the Golden Gate (I could just hear the Full House theme song playing through my head).
Jacky wasn't around, but Billy knew most of the fishermen, and they whistled acknowledging "hellos" to each other which made me feel less like a tourist. He inquired about the catch of the day and then took us down the street for some tasty clam chowder. We grabbed a trolley for a quick trip back to the car and then drove down Lombard Street, the curviest street in the world, on our way back to the house. (I want to make a joke about not much being strait in San Fran... is that ok?)
Back at the house, I tried to iron out the final details of Alyse's surprise arrival in Yosemite, finalize our hiking plans and permits, and fix the clicking sound that had developed in my bike during acceleration. Alex and I would need to leave at 1:00am from San Fran to make it to the permitting office in Yosemite in time and then would need to leave from there to go to Fresno to meet up with Alyse. After taking apart and cleaning the front sprocket and putting it back together the bike still made the "click" when I took it for a test ride, but at least it worked.
At 12:30am we packed up silently, opened the garage door, and pushed our motorcycles out onto the sidewalk. The city was still alive. After hitting the button and sliding under the closing door, we were back on the road.
San Luis Obispo- foodies and bike races
7/4
We left LA behind us and headed north to San Luis Obispo. The college town which is inland of the coast by about 10 miles is home to Cal Poly and Alex's Aunt Tess and Uncle Dan. We arrived around noon in SLO ("slow") with the trip odometer reading 7808 miles.
It was the Fourth of July an we sat outside under the beautiful California sun scarfing down hot dogs and finger foods. These weren't your normal, run of the mill, Upton Sinclair, meat mess hot dogs, though. There was something special about them. I'm not sure what it was, but they were good. Alex's aunt graduated with a food sciences degree from Cal Poly and is what some would call a "foodie." I wouldn't call myself a food critic (beggars can't be choosers), but I sure did appreciate her taste throughout our stay.
The next day they took us on a little tour of the area. We went down to the beach and watched fishermen (and women) pull sardines up by the dozens and put them in their little coolers. Back in town, we visited the university and walked around the college town including a stop at "bubble gum alley."
There was a bike race (criterium) going on downtown and the city was full of activity. We stayed to watch the 1/2/pro race which had a fantastic finish!
Normally our hosts enjoy asking us questions about our travels and any funny situations we have encountered along the way, but in SLO the roles reversed as Alex and I found out that Tess and Dan had been on some interesting trips of their own. Alex's Uncle took two years sailing from California to New Zealand on a 36' sailboat with one other friend. He pulled out the photo album and shared some stories... fasinating, not to mention he is in two books! As a married couple, Tess and Dan set out on their own adventure. They sold thier belongings, put the money in the bank, bought a VW vanagon, and took off on an 18 month trip around the US visiting family and friends. We loved hearing about their travels and seeing familier pictures (rocks don't change but clothing styles do).
We left LA behind us and headed north to San Luis Obispo. The college town which is inland of the coast by about 10 miles is home to Cal Poly and Alex's Aunt Tess and Uncle Dan. We arrived around noon in SLO ("slow") with the trip odometer reading 7808 miles.
It was the Fourth of July an we sat outside under the beautiful California sun scarfing down hot dogs and finger foods. These weren't your normal, run of the mill, Upton Sinclair, meat mess hot dogs, though. There was something special about them. I'm not sure what it was, but they were good. Alex's aunt graduated with a food sciences degree from Cal Poly and is what some would call a "foodie." I wouldn't call myself a food critic (beggars can't be choosers), but I sure did appreciate her taste throughout our stay.
The next day they took us on a little tour of the area. We went down to the beach and watched fishermen (and women) pull sardines up by the dozens and put them in their little coolers. Back in town, we visited the university and walked around the college town including a stop at "bubble gum alley."
There was a bike race (criterium) going on downtown and the city was full of activity. We stayed to watch the 1/2/pro race which had a fantastic finish!
Normally our hosts enjoy asking us questions about our travels and any funny situations we have encountered along the way, but in SLO the roles reversed as Alex and I found out that Tess and Dan had been on some interesting trips of their own. Alex's Uncle took two years sailing from California to New Zealand on a 36' sailboat with one other friend. He pulled out the photo album and shared some stories... fasinating, not to mention he is in two books! As a married couple, Tess and Dan set out on their own adventure. They sold thier belongings, put the money in the bank, bought a VW vanagon, and took off on an 18 month trip around the US visiting family and friends. We loved hearing about their travels and seeing familier pictures (rocks don't change but clothing styles do).
Hollywood- living in the land of film
7/3
From San Diego Alex and I headed north to LA. Right before we left Alex's dad called to remind us to stay away from gangs. We didn't run into any gangs, but we did hit a bit of traffic either from the San Diego County Fair or Jackson fans heading to Neverland. We navigated the mess by taking advantage of California's "motorcycle down the center lane" rule. We had to dodge a few side view mirrors and lucky for us no one decided to open their doors for a whiff of fresh LA air. After a few minutes of center lane weaving we decided to return to the HOV lane and didn't have much trouble making it to our hosts home in north Hollywood.
We arrived with the trip odometer reading 7403 miles. The house was home to five college guys, two of which were Taylor grads, and all of which were in the film industry in one form or another. While there were remnants of college life (Halo being played on the big screen). I must commend them on their anti-college cleanliness and class. The home would make their mothers proud.
That night the guests started pouring in. It was movie night, go figure, and a bunch of their friends from church (where "Buster" from Arrested Development is an elder) came over for a packed out showing of Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction. The film, which I hadn't seen in a few years, was as good as I remembered it, and as with many second viewings, I noticed new things.
It was encouraging to see some fellow TU alums following their dreams, living together, and participating in intentional, Christ-centered community. They would make Bonhoeffer and mom smile. Way to go!
From San Diego Alex and I headed north to LA. Right before we left Alex's dad called to remind us to stay away from gangs. We didn't run into any gangs, but we did hit a bit of traffic either from the San Diego County Fair or Jackson fans heading to Neverland. We navigated the mess by taking advantage of California's "motorcycle down the center lane" rule. We had to dodge a few side view mirrors and lucky for us no one decided to open their doors for a whiff of fresh LA air. After a few minutes of center lane weaving we decided to return to the HOV lane and didn't have much trouble making it to our hosts home in north Hollywood.
We arrived with the trip odometer reading 7403 miles. The house was home to five college guys, two of which were Taylor grads, and all of which were in the film industry in one form or another. While there were remnants of college life (Halo being played on the big screen). I must commend them on their anti-college cleanliness and class. The home would make their mothers proud.
That night the guests started pouring in. It was movie night, go figure, and a bunch of their friends from church (where "Buster" from Arrested Development is an elder) came over for a packed out showing of Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction. The film, which I hadn't seen in a few years, was as good as I remembered it, and as with many second viewings, I noticed new things.
It was encouraging to see some fellow TU alums following their dreams, living together, and participating in intentional, Christ-centered community. They would make Bonhoeffer and mom smile. Way to go!
Whitewater Rafting Photo
I just received this photo that was taken last month in Denver when my family came out to visit. I am so proud of my mom not only for going but for smiling in this picture. Way to go Mom!
San Diego- the countdown and surfing
7/1
We left Phoenix at 8:00 am and it was already stifling hot. The drive west to San Diego on I-8 was long, windy, boring, and yes... you guessed it... HOT! We stopped briefly at a Wendy's for Frosty's (our usual moral booster) and I was rewarded with a receipt that allowed me to take a short phone survey for a free quarter pounder. Yipee! Alex and I considered digging through the trash bins to see if there were any disregarded survey receipts, but we held our composure and retained our dignity.
We passed through several Border Patrol checkpoints and miles and miles of hot desert sand before finally crossing into some small mountains where the increased elevation brought a break in the heat. Soon we were in San Diego, the land of mysteriously perfect, temperate weather. As we pulled up to the house, the trip odometer rolled over to 7464 miles, and we were met by my good friend (and former roommate), Jay, and his girlfriend, Chelsea.
As I tell many people who ask how this whole trip got started, Jay was the dreamer who got this ball rolling in the first place. Jay was my roommate my sophomore year at TU. We used to lay in bed thinking up crazy trips we wanted to take if we ever had the chance... kayak the Mekong, hitchhike Europe, etc. One of his dreams was to ride a motorcycle from Alaska to the southern tip of South America. He did some research as to what it would take, and we placed it on the back burner.
Through a series of events last summer, the dream was resurrected, and I asked Jay if he still wanted to take the motorcycle trip. Now in graduate school at San Diego State, a summer away wasn't a possibility, and I called Alex who is now riding by my side. (We changed the route to a domestic trip for cost reasons... but maybe someday, who knows?)
Like I mentioned in the last post, music is a void that Alex and I are constantly trying to fill. A stay with Jay was just what the doctor ordered. Not only does he have an excellent iTunes collection, but Jay is very talented on the strings and played us some of his original work. Jay is constantly adjusting and fine-tuning his top 100 playlist and that night he took us through the top 25 and explained his criteria for selection. We disputed some of the picks, but overall it was a great list that satisfied our thirst for music.
In the morning, we woke up, grabbed some breakfast, and headed out in Chelsea's VW Cabrio convertible for a tour of the city and a trip up the coast. Three dudes in a little, cute convertible with the top down, cruising the strip must have been quite the sight, but we didn't care. We we
re in California!
We landed at Chelsea's house, picked up some surfboards and wetsuits, and walked down to the beach to try out the waves. There were many surfers floating out in the water when we arrived and the waves seemed to be big. We had fun stuffing Alex into the girl's wetsuit :) and then started our paddle out to the break.
Surfing was a blast, but as inexperienced riders we were mostly dominated by the crashing waves. After a few hours and some new bumps and bruises, we headed in to dry off and eat some snacks.
That night we were able to attend a growth group that Jay leads. I'm not talking physical growth; Jay is tall enough already. The group of five guys of different ages and backgrounds meets once a week for a meal, to talk about life, and study the Bible together. The time was great and we left encouraged and strengthened by the Gospel.
We left Phoenix at 8:00 am and it was already stifling hot. The drive west to San Diego on I-8 was long, windy, boring, and yes... you guessed it... HOT! We stopped briefly at a Wendy's for Frosty's (our usual moral booster) and I was rewarded with a receipt that allowed me to take a short phone survey for a free quarter pounder. Yipee! Alex and I considered digging through the trash bins to see if there were any disregarded survey receipts, but we held our composure and retained our dignity.
We passed through several Border Patrol checkpoints and miles and miles of hot desert sand before finally crossing into some small mountains where the increased elevation brought a break in the heat. Soon we were in San Diego, the land of mysteriously perfect, temperate weather. As we pulled up to the house, the trip odometer rolled over to 7464 miles, and we were met by my good friend (and former roommate), Jay, and his girlfriend, Chelsea.
As I tell many people who ask how this whole trip got started, Jay was the dreamer who got this ball rolling in the first place. Jay was my roommate my sophomore year at TU. We used to lay in bed thinking up crazy trips we wanted to take if we ever had the chance... kayak the Mekong, hitchhike Europe, etc. One of his dreams was to ride a motorcycle from Alaska to the southern tip of South America. He did some research as to what it would take, and we placed it on the back burner.
Through a series of events last summer, the dream was resurrected, and I asked Jay if he still wanted to take the motorcycle trip. Now in graduate school at San Diego State, a summer away wasn't a possibility, and I called Alex who is now riding by my side. (We changed the route to a domestic trip for cost reasons... but maybe someday, who knows?)
Like I mentioned in the last post, music is a void that Alex and I are constantly trying to fill. A stay with Jay was just what the doctor ordered. Not only does he have an excellent iTunes collection, but Jay is very talented on the strings and played us some of his original work. Jay is constantly adjusting and fine-tuning his top 100 playlist and that night he took us through the top 25 and explained his criteria for selection. We disputed some of the picks, but overall it was a great list that satisfied our thirst for music.
In the morning, we woke up, grabbed some breakfast, and headed out in Chelsea's VW Cabrio convertible for a tour of the city and a trip up the coast. Three dudes in a little, cute convertible with the top down, cruising the strip must have been quite the sight, but we didn't care. We we
re in California!We landed at Chelsea's house, picked up some surfboards and wetsuits, and walked down to the beach to try out the waves. There were many surfers floating out in the water when we arrived and the waves seemed to be big. We had fun stuffing Alex into the girl's wetsuit :) and then started our paddle out to the break.
Surfing was a blast, but as inexperienced riders we were mostly dominated by the crashing waves. After a few hours and some new bumps and bruises, we headed in to dry off and eat some snacks.
That night we were able to attend a growth group that Jay leads. I'm not talking physical growth; Jay is tall enough already. The group of five guys of different ages and backgrounds meets once a week for a meal, to talk about life, and study the Bible together. The time was great and we left encouraged and strengthened by the Gospel.
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