Yes, Virginia, there is a sun!

Study the two pictures below. The one on the left is the view of the city. The one on the right is from  Solitude Resort. Both are taken within an hour of each other.




 

Let us begin our examination in comparisons. Both photos have clouds. The photo on the left features a pollution cloud filled with smog particulates from an inversion that hangs over the otherwise picturesque valley of Salt Lake. The clouds on the right are happy little clouds filled with H20 and little else.

Both have lines. The ones on the left are power lines that crisscross the city and disrupt views of the mountains- which are visable when the city isn't blanketed in yellow air. The lines on the left are chairlift cables that whisk you up to incredibly clear views of unobstructed panoramas.

Both pictures have people. The people on the left are hidden in buildings and cars- boxes that keep them from interacting with the outdoors- which is probably a good thing since they'd otherwise be sucking in the chemicals floating in the city air. The people on the right are fully exposed to the outdoor elements- a good thing because up in the clean mountain air, they are filling their lungs with freshness, getting vitamin D from the sun, and awakening their senses with crisp air.

About to escape the "cloud"

Since being back in Salt Lake City, I have looked out my window every day to discover an ever-thickening cloud of toxicity enveloping this valley. The mountains are hidden behind a layer of noxious air- air which has banned the sun from showing its cheery face. But it's not just my visual senses that are offended. Almost immediately upon my return, I noticed a severe increase in respiratory problems as well.

Yesterday I had about enough of this. I didn't move to Utah to be closed indoors with curtains drawn to avoid a sickening yellow cloud. The air in my apartment, being closed up against the outdoors couldn't be that much better for me. I had to get out and the only place I could think to go was up.

Yes, Virginia, there IS a sun!

As I zoomed (having a Mazda, this is the adjective I am trained to use) up Big Cottonwood Canyon, the muck persisted until, by what seemed a providential sign that I was nearing a place I hold sacred, I spotted a peak touched by golden afternoon sun. "The sun still exists!" I smiled to myself as I pulled over to snap a photo.

Arriving at Solitude Resort, my spirits soared. Sun- everywhere. Tiny wisps of clouds in an otherwise bluebird sky. People freely playing outdoors with no concern for the health of their lungs. And other than people laughing and chatting with each other, a peaceful stillness that quieted the city buzz that had been ringing in my ears.

For the first time since being back in Utah, I felt at home. I felt rejuvenated, alive, alert, and strangely clean. Taking a few runs, I felt how surprisingly soft the snow felt on the sides of the trails and heard the laughter of children as they trailed parents or toppled over a skis. This is what I was used to at Christmas time- a winter wonderland of bundled up folks sporting rosy cheeks and smiles. This is what I had been missing in the valley.


My Christmas tip: Head up to the mountains, my friends. Bring your skis and play. Create some sunny winter memories to replace the gray here below. Trust me, you'll feel Christmas the way it's meant to be.

In Answer to Re-Entry: Coming Home After an Adventure

Steve pausing on West Virginia's Via Ferrata

Today seems to be a reflective one. There are few fellow travelers that I keep up with on Twitter who I either met on The Most Epic Trip or who I shared ideas back and forth with during the trip.  Today's talk seems to be circulating among a tight group on Twitter about Amy Christensen's recent post Re-Entry: Coming Home After an Adventure. As I was posting my comment, I came to realize some important things about my behavior pattern since being on the road. I guess I just had a self-guided therapy session. Introspection to the rescue! Here's where I was guided [taken from my comment on Amy's blog]:

Amy-
Andy showed this post to me this morning; I know we've talked a bit on another post about the feelings of coming back from something like [The Most Epic Trip]. It's difficult to put into words, but I tried:

During the trip, the closer I came to realizing that my return to "civilization" was imminent, the more I grew uneasy with settling down and becoming part of the urban world again. It's been two weeks since being back and I'm dealing with the woes that come from living in a capital city- smog, traffic, apartment life and the general buzz that constantly surrounds me. I feel the constant need to escape.

Basically, I can't settle in. I feel a constant need to be doing something, to be busy, to be creating or cleaning or whatever.  I'm sure it was driving Steve crazy; however I just recognized what I was doing and realization struck. When we were on the trip, we were constantly doing something. Even if we were just taking it easy in the hammock, we were experiencing the trip. But really, it was usually more movement than that- we were always discovering, always traveling, always learning, always organizing, always writing, photographing, taking videos, meeting people, cooking, hiking, climbing, etc... we were always doing something. The return to a stable environment is very unsettling for me and I just realized that I am in hyperactive mode, feeling like things need to get done, need to be finished, etc. But when I was on the trip, it was all enjoyable because it was all part of a larger experience. Back in this city- it's all busy work. I'm rushing towards nothing. Not in a negative way- it's just the comparison between the trip and "home" brings me to realize that the trip's activities held so much meaning to me, whereas here I'm not getting the same satisfaction, so perhaps it has been subconsciously driving me to do more. Like someone hooked on drugs who doesn't get the same "fix" as they once did so they up their intake.

Steve mentioned [in his comment on the blog] feeling isolated- that no one really understood where he was coming from. While I haven't felt completely that way- I felt that he, as well as people that we met on the trip, could relate- I have felt cut off from other people directly around me. Maybe self-imposed, but I have a hard time relating to the general public. When I do get a chance to talk about the trip, especially with those who have done something similar, I am so very grateful. It feels like rehab.

Anyway, those are my rambling thoughts on the matter.  This is a new type of adventure. It's different than one I would have planned for myself, but that's the beauty- I just have to create it into one I choose. One day I'll do a trip like this again- and not "one day" in a wishful way- but in a determined it-will-be-done manner. It's in my blood now and I'm sure it will be throughout life.   

What experiences changed you and caused you to feel a little rough in the situations and places you used to fit in? What did you do to overcome that or grow from it?

P.S. Special thanks to Andy who showed me Amy's post today and made this whole insight thing possible. =)

Birthday Wish- charity: water

When we are thirsty, we put a glass under the tap. 

Do you take this for granted? I do- I realized a tiny bit of this while hunting for clean water sources on The Most Epic Trip. At home, the journey to my kitchen faucet is a mere 5 second walk from any point in my apartment. But that's not all- I take water that is already considered the most sanitary in the world and filter it further through a purifier just to make it taste a little better. 

Meanwhile, thousands of others make due with water shared with livestock, mixed with sewage, or contaminated with deadly factory runoff. 


What a princely manner in which we live.

For my birthday this month- and for Christmas, I'm asking you- my readers- for a special gift. I don't want (or need) anything extra. But I do want to see others have some of what we enjoy every day here in America- clean water. So I'm asking you to help me raise $100 for charity: water; a charity which gives 100% - every single cent of every single dollar donated- directly to providing clean water to others. They then find other ways to pay for their time. You can give now by simply clicking here: charity: water



What luxury can you give up today to provide something good for others during this season of giving? How about that cup of Starbucks coffee? A lunch date? A fast food meal? These items are gone in a matter of minutes- clean water affects an entire life. 

Please share this post wherever you can- email, post on Facebook and Google+, tweet about it, Digg it, etc. Together we can raise the necessary funding to provide clean, drinkable water to children and families in developing nations. 


(Please watch this incredible video- even if you don't care about water, you'll love the cinematography)


Give now: click here

Return from a Road Trip: Making Sense of Life 6 Months Later

I boarded the plane in Florida, headed back to a home which had I had all but forgotten. It's hard to imagine that a place you were once so enamored with could be dismissed over the course of a few months of travel, but that's what happened.

Makeshift kitchen in Squamish

During The Most Epic Trip, I had come to think of my car, my tent, the camping spot I was in, the rock faces I climbed, the roads and waterways- all of these as home. Indeed, the entire continent of North America was home. The mountains, the trees, the people- they were all fixtures in the great expanse of the continent I roamed about in. It was all home.

But then suddenly, it was time to return.

Week One: City of Rocks

It still makes me teary-eyed to reflect on this change from a few days ago. The trip didn't end the way we planned, which made it even harder. But the biggest difficulty I faced was going back to a place where I had once lived a completely different life and back into an apartment full of stuff. I was overwhelmed by the amount of things I had to unpack from a storage unit, and the disconnect I felt with the outdoors. No clean air sweeping over me as I slept. No birds waking me in the morning. No trees rustling with the wind. Just dead interior air. And stuff... everywhere.

Knife edge traverse in Rumney, NH

As I sat with my face pressed against the airplane window, I felt something completely different than I imagined I would feel at this moment of return. Instead of relief for being done with nearly six months of traveling, I felt a bit of trepidation and a giant dose of anxiety. What would being back in a city feel like? Would I be able to handle the noise, the cars, the fast pace? Would I be able to find a job? Could I afford to be back and pay for rent, utilities, internet? I was being rushed from simplicity into complication and it didn't feel right.

Time Out in Bellingham, WA

I still don't feel right. I would give anything to be back on the road. I blame it on my parents who trained us to take to the road at an early age. We visited the Smoky Mountains every Fall, drove to Maine and Virginia regularly, and traversed across the wide West whenever the opportunity arose. I carried that tradition into my early college years- taking off whenever I felt too confined and needed to break free of four walls. Anytime I could go further on the road, I took that opportunity. If continents were connected, I'd be long gone on the other side of Pangea.

Sunset in Smith Rock

I don't know yet what lessons I've learned yet from this trip. They will unveil themselves in time, I'm sure. I still don't fully know how this trip has changed me or my perspective, but I do know one thing: through the trying times, the triumphs, the getting lost, the finding beauty, meeting new friends and the rare stranger, I dreamed big, I lived bigger, and I loved it every moment of it.

Thank you all for your words of encouragement during this trip- for your interaction with us on Facebook, Twitter, our blog and here. I so very much appreciate you and whatever part you played in our experience during this trip- even if it was just a comment or thought. Stay tuned as my wheels won't be out of commission for long...

A song we listened to on the way to the Smokies as kids