Why Two Wheels All of a Sudden?

Again, you find yourself on a bike. A new trend that doesn't suck.


New Years Eve in the desert:

You wake up late because Boondock Saints went late last night with your new friend Will. Fortunately, your bikes and gear are loaded into the futuristic, distance-friendly Toyota Prius and you leaisurely drive south to Sedona.

There are no bookstores in Sedona, you come to find. There are plenty of jewelry, t-shirt and jeep tour shops though. All of which are sandwiched between the purple signs of psychics. You don't want to visit any of these shops, as they only remind you of the excessive luxury tourism of other outdoor destinations like Breckenridge, Stowe or Sonoma.

You make your way to 7 Centers Yoga School, where the auroma and taste of new spices will fill your head for the next hour and a half. The Ayurvedic cooking class is part of their free New Years Eve class schedule. And free is your favorite flavor.


Your boyfriend, however, is tired at this point and needs an energy boost. You decide to swing into the local bike shop to fish for the "local" scoop on good biking spots for the day. NOD, as the attendant introduces himself (gnarly old dude, the G is silent), is a Navajo descendant who prides himself on giving his friends a unique biking vacation. Just last summer he took his buddies, the Switzerland World Champion Mnt. Biking team, on a ride through the reservation, an experience unavailable to those without the proper connections. He mentions he wants to take them down the Colorado next summer. Good thing your boyfriend is a guide. Cha-Ching.
NOD sells you a Cosmic Ray Bike map and sends you on a route you simply can't hate.


Despite being fitted for someone else and rarely ridden, your bike is perfect. The first few miles you remember which levers make it harder and which make it really harder. The next few miles you begin to remember to change these settings in order to climb hills, or speed up around bends. Slowly the comfort and ease of a mountain bike comes back to you. Rocks, ledges and ditches are no longer obstacles, but features. Your body is working hard and you are loving life.

The sun is setting and you are back at your car. Salty skin and fatigued thighs, but smiling powerfully.

South Mountain Bike Ride

Find a Mountain. Climb it. Since my road bike travels with me, I let her out to play sometimes too.

The first climb up summit road offered views of a sun setting over the greater Phoenix metro area. Flashbacks of a hike up Mt. Olympus in Megan's Salt Lake City backyard to see a similar sun over another metropolis hiding between mountain ranges.

Adam and his dad accompanied me on the second climb. Gus, Adam's brother-in-law, graciously lent them the gear he had, two mountain bikes, one of which was single-speed. Perhaps he just wanted to give me a little ego-boost. Thanks Gus, can't help but smile when I pedal past a boy!


View South Mountain Ride, Pheonix AZ in a larger map

5 Ways to Survive a Beautiful Day Indoors

Deep woods, 2 feet of glistening snow and blue-bird skies glare at me through the windows of my current "office." Here at Adam's dad's house, floor to ceiling glass windows make up more of the wall space than actual walls. Sun rays flood the table I sit in front of, still wearing my pajamas at 4 p.m. If you know anything about me, you may think I've already gone made.

Here's 5 ways on how I'm dealing with suppressing my dominant "play" gene to get work done and surviving this beautiful day sitting inside.

1. Keep A Consistently Filled Mug. This doesn't mean a day full of coffee. Mix it up. Start with coffee, of course, but try different teas or even an Emergen-C in hot water for a fruity energy boost.

2. Do a handstand. Yes, thats right, put your hands on the ground in front of a wall and kick your feet in the air above you. The increased blood flow to your head will revive you in the way a nice stroll in the untouchable outside paradise would. Try doing one every few hours.

3. Make a Gourmet Lunch. Nothing too heavy or filling, but something that takes time and care to prepare. Don't devour it in minutes after putting in all the effort. Enjoy each calorie for what its worth, not attempting to work and eat at the same time.

4. Keep the Jammin' Tunes Flowing. Turn your work space into a personal dance party. Move your body to the music, even singing loudly when your skills as a back-up vocalist are clearly needed.

5. Plan Tomorrow's Outdoor Adventures. Don't spend every beautiful day indoors, that would just be disrespectful to the natural world and immensly unhealthy for the mind and body. Do this early in the day so it drives you to get more done while forced to stay indoors. Tomorrow will be that much sweeter!

Know any other good ideas? I'd love to hear!

A Process to Travel

In one of the rooms in my mind I have a large map. On it, the world's countries are each brightly colored and separated by a thin border line. Roads, rivers, mountain ranges and other geographic features transect these blocks of colors, connecting the oceans and continents over vast areas.

On this map I can draw lines between the places I have visited over the 26 years of my life. If these lines were drawn over a period of say 13 minutes, 30 seconds for each year, the last few minutes would be the most exciting. Suddenly the lines connecting the dots would fire across the map, from Montana to Montreal, from Beijing to Denver, from Lima to Miami and plenty more in between. In fact, the past week would only be a blur. Strangely enough, that is how it felt actually living it as well.

I took for granted the ease at which I could get to my car in Montana from Denver. After researching possible routes with travelers heading in that direction, I found that my time was a whole lot more valuable devoted to other things. This path required me to throw myself to the wind, essentially, taking rides when they came and waiting patiently when they were no where in sight. Not worth the time and energy for a few saved dollars.

So I opted for a tour of the west's major airports, an apt description of my flight itinerary. Denver to LAX to Salt Lake and finally to Missoula. This method of travel only requires that I remember to remove my knife from my purse, bring a good book and be prepared to run between distant terminals. The first of which I failed to do.

It was late and 20 degrees colder, but I was in Missoula. I pass a whole day running errands and catching up with friends when I find myself back in the familiar seat of my Forester for the return trip to Denver. Behind this wheel, ipod playing familiar tunes, foot on the gas, I feel more at home than anywhere in the world. For 14 hours, I just hang out at home. Scenes of highway travel drift by my windows. I am warm, the climate is pleasant and my mind spins with the excitement of being on another journey.

I spend at least 10-14 days a year unpacking and packing my belongings. The following day in Denver was one of these days. Each time I exchange t-shirts I've used for the past few weeks or months for new ones I have not seen since last season. Bins are emptied and filled again, each time a bit more organized than the last and, ideally, with a bit less stuff. Still, it seems a luxury when I do not have to fit it all in a Watershed Dry Bag and back pack. This time, I can take 2 Rubbermaid bins of clothes! Exciting!

While this day is spent mostly at my late grandmother's house, I still feel as though I am traveling. Really, it is only a brief lull in the forward progression, as I am back on the road less than 24 hours later for another long, 13 hour drive to Flagstaff, Arizona.


While each long drive I take-on provides new discoveries, this day's trip was especially exciting. The landscapes morphed from mountainous vistas to broad desert scenes the further south I moved. New Mexico and Arizona are new states for me, both showing me a new view of my home country unique to the southwest. Mile markers pass by and my imagination spirals into days of hiking through canyons.

I arrive exhausted, a sort of sitting-exhaustion. However, it is behind the wheel that I am sometimes able to clear my mind the most. Practicing yoga has infiltrated this time, giving me hours upon hours of meditation and introspection, often clarifying many of the current issues and problems I seek to resolve. I arrive full of drive, motivation and enthusiasm for the next great adventure.

How Far Does Your Spirit Reach?

Perhaps millions of other smiles were generated from the glowing one you see in the photo above. Kind gestures, words or postcards spread for miles around her, inspiring most to continue spreading their own light. Most days she sat in her home, 1312 Oneida St, where the walls knew the same stories that danced in her memory, the same people that filled her heart. The steps out front reminded her of the grandchildren in the lawn and welcomed daily visitors, the friends who had been touched by her love over the past 96 years. The basement echoed shouts of children. The living room sang of joyous conversation. The bedroom spoke of the peace in her dreams.

My arrival to this home was unlike any previous visit. The three flurried days of travel, layovers and plane rides exhausted my body and mind. Suddenly back in western culture with absolutely no transition from my position as an international teacher and kayak instructor in Peru left me confused and deflated. Yet I walked through that front door, propped open by the ancient stuffed turkey, and my soul was waiting.

Gently, I took her left hand, the one that hadn't been paralyzed by the stroke 4 days early. I spoke to her. With each word I felt more at peace, more comforted, more at home. I was there, with her. She squeezed my hand and lifted her heavy eyelids. She knew I was there. Her eyes closed and her hand relaxed, leaving her lungs to maintain the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Her agitated movements slowly faded. Her blood pumped slower through her veins, but kept her skin warm to our touch. Her breaths grew further apart until the last one hung in the air with nothing to follow. y la Alma se fue.

What was most amazing to me was the blurring of this line. We assign death a moment, a time, a definition. Yet, I'm not sure when my grandmother transitioned into the next life, and I sat next to her to entire time. Was it when her heart stopped? Her Lungs? Did she begin the transition earlier, remaining peaceful and motionless because her being slowly melted into the divine spirit that encompasses us all?

From this experience, I am inspired. I feel grateful to be spending the next week working hereat 1312 Oneida St. My grandma has not left me, in fact, she has filled me in a new way that her physical body could not have done. I carry her generous, kind, caring, loving, beautiful spirit with me always now.

Thank you grandma, I love you.

Mi Alma

Culture shock with my own culture. Added to the shock of actually being back in the US a whole month earlier than expected. Just using my cell phone brings a slightly bitter taste to my mouth, or perhaps that is just the airport coffee I’m sipping while writing. I receive welcome home messages from collection agencies, not even sure if I still have a job after leaving so abruptly. Thus a list of tasks begins, starting with clear up that whole 2005 tax return thing that the IRS just can’t seem to get. Next is figure out how much that crown is going to set me back.

Yet I don’t regret leaving paradise early. The moment actually couldn’t have been much closer to crossing over the paradise threshold in foreign travel. I’m excited to see my grandma, spend as much time with her as I can. I have stories to tell as I hold her hand, sitting with my mom and aunt for as long as we can. Inevitable difficulty and pain come along with this excitement.

Sometimes the lemons are just too sour for lemonade and you just have to start over with a new batch.

WCKA in Peru: Santa Teresa

View of Cusco, Peru from mountainside

All fourteen of us throw our two heavy bags on the roof of a van we expect to sit in for the next four hours. In my experiences in South America this type of temporal information; hours of travel, meeting times, length of a river run; can almost never be trusted. After seven hours sitting on the hard, flat-backed seats, my body swaying back and forth as the van followed the curve of the steep mountainside, I wished I had remembered this and brought a pillow for my numb butt. The first two hours we were all smiles, taking in the sharp peaks around every bend. Then night fell and we were left with the fantasy of the valleys, rivers and ranges we knew surrounded us.

Home for a month, great view off front porch

Great neighbors

With our hunger and discomfort at unimaginable peaks, we pull into our camp in Santa Teresa. We gathered on the patio, under the thatched-roof, taking in what little we could see of this place we would live for the next 3 weeks. With the light of the morning we saw that Cusco’s high-altitude, dry climate couldn’t be farther away. Tall trees forming the canopy above created a patchwork of shade for the undergrowth filled with palm trees, coffee plants and other sub-tropical species. It felt familiar. It felt like my time in Ecuador. Fresh avocados, eggs, bread and oatmeal for breakfast filled our bellies, preparing us for our first day of classes in Peru.

Dining Hall/Class Room/Evening Hang-out

What happens when students "bathe" in the river

Yet something is off. Our world is imbalanced and we are restless. Nine of the world’s top junior paddlers and four of the sport’s most obsessed athletes hold their breath. Although we have successful made the journey through airports, past customs and over the second largest mountain range in the world our boats have not. Each day our program director and Spanish teacher jumped to appease the demands of the system with seemingly meaningless tasks; notarizing letters, switching names on paperwork and photocopying passports. Each day hopes were high and still the kayaks waited in Lima, not even released into the country.

Following along the impromptu and creative nature of World Class, teachers immediately sought out other activities to relieve the group’s escalating energy levels.

Muscles put to work

We hauled dirt. Not the most exciting afternoon on our list, but one key in the development of our relationship with our host, Gian Marco, and our program’s commitment to service. Its amazing what can be accomplished in 2 hours with 14 strong workers. We practically built a road.

Zipping over The Sacsara drainage, high above the canopy

We went flying. Our location not only provided us with three filling meals a day and a quiet place to live and study, but also the opportunity try out the area’s only zip-line canopy tour. As if playing a connect-the-dots game with the surrounding mountain tops, Gian Marco has strung up six lines so that tourists can truly feel the vastness of jungle below and mountains above.

We took baths. Only five kilometers from our camp, on the other side of the small town of Santa Teresa, pools of warm water from natural hot springs beckon weary travelers. Or frustrated kayakers in our case. It felt like summertime back at the Brookfield pool in Greenville, SC; kids flipping off the side of the pool, wrestling each other underwater and the general horseplay that accompanies youth and water.

We went dancing. Our tall, large american boy students eventually blended themselves into the group of locals in Santa Teresa's local discoteca. Perhaps it was the example set by some of their teachers, some of the first to hit the floor.

Finally boats arrived, not ours, however, but boats nonetheless. As the situation escalated and more days passed without the exploration of the local rivers we were forced to take action and rent six kayaks. For the next week we alternated days and began to remember our true purpose and identity.

Walking to the put-in for the Canyon stretch of the Urubamba...finally!

Andean Return

The streets of Cusco smell familiar, an indescribable feeling. I had forgotten about my connections to this part of the world and am excited to be experiencing them again. And being able to speak the language is huge. I almost forgot how convenient that makes traveling. This trip however will be an exploration of the river valleys here in the andean mountains, a different and beautiful view I'm sure. Its only going to get better...

You head east...

Your Route:

From Montana head east. Through some Dakota and a bit of lake country, turn north into Canada. Don't stop until the farmlands around you look like they are hiding something. A big and powerful river charges through them, breaking the quiet, quaint nature of the surrounding countryside.


Continue east to a river, flat and wide, that flows through a major city, stopping only to create a Big Joe, the biggest wave you have ever surfed. You can't help but hoop-and-holler as the wave throws your boat around.


A student has his boat stolen from the KOA and your stomache turns, imagining how your salary can't support the loss of such a valuable and necessary item to your lifestyle.

Now you turn south. To break up your drive, as Washington DC is no where near Montreal, you are given the red carpet treatment. Or in your case, the steak-dinner-birthday-cake treatment. Between the generous parents of a student and the Harrison's ability to fill the belly and the heart so fully, you and your students are refreshed and gracious at the opportunity to feel a little piece of home. Even if it isn't yours.

Next you find yourself navigating the metro system, Smithsonian circuit and busy city streets of your nation's capital. But don't worry, you have a plan. You know exactly what you are going see and do and where you are going to take your high school students. No problem. Just another day. During free time you and your only female student decided to go shopping as an act of defiance against the boy's locker room you have been living in for the past month.


The past few weeks you might have been immersed in a French speaking culture, fed delicious gourmet meals and paddled some of the world legendary playboating spots, but all you've been able to think about is the Youghiogheny. The weekend in DC couldn't go any slower as you look toward the upcoming week on your favorite river. The people, the towns and the water beckon you, and finally you respond.

The next week you navigate the familiar boofs and drops on the Upper Youghiogheny with both students and long-time friends. You even get the opportunity to show your female student what it is like to paddle with the girls on the Lower Youghiogheny. Both Tuesday and Thursday night you rejuvenate with the world's best yoga class and even find time to throw yourself a birthday party at the pub. The week is complete and you are satisfied beyond words.

Next stop: West Virginia...

Back to Writing...

Capo dropping into Habitat 67 wave, Montreal, Canada

I must think at least 3 or 4 times a week about how I would just love there to be an extra hour in every day, a writing hour. I would cozy up in my tent, take out my journal or computer and let the dam break. All the revelations about human interactions and travel, stories of perfect days on the river and musings about future schemes and plans would all make their way onto paper, and eventually to this little webpage.

However, sometime we have to put certain parts of our lives on hold. For now, that is writing. I hope this hold will lift as soon as this quarter is over...only another couple weeks. The students will be dropped off at the Nashville airport to head home for a long, relaxing fall break. I will begin 10 days of relaxing, spending time with family and Adam, and reveling in the beauty of the southeastern US (you all must know by now that fall is my favorite color).

The days off will also allow me to renew the habit of writing. Perhaps I can finally tell the stories of my last days in China this summer and the epic river adventures we had. Perhaps I can describe what it is like to drive for 3 days straight to Canada with a group of high school students. Perhaps you will vicariously surf the biggest waves you've ever seen after reading about the Lachine rapids outside of Montreal. And perhaps you will understand how much it meant to me to be able to spend several days with my Ohiopyle family over the past week. Once I'm reaquainted with my love of words, I will be able to keep up with our adventures in Peru, the 2nd quarter destination for World Class.