RAAM went right through the heart of the June California desert. Hey, when you get over 112 degrees, it's a bit warm when riding a bike. Especially when you're 1 hour on, one off, for 3000 miles. I am NOT making this up...

THAT lady there is Janice, a doctor, a friend, and one of the planet's elite ultracyclists.She and a teammate managed to finish this cross country ride in 6days and 22 hours. Okay, so she only actually RODE 1500 miles. Wait 'til next year (that's foreshadowing...)!

Janice was shaking and NOT sweating and yeah, vomiting, I said it, hey, ultra-athletics of any type are not pretty...and I wondered if we were generally done, somewhere in the way south California almost Mexico kind of terrain. Brenda the fantastic packed her in ice and gave her water and talked to her gently, somehow coaxing a strained physiology back into whatever sort of twisted homeostasis it takes to ride your BICYCLE ACROSS AMERICA. While I dozed in an RV Janice sat bolt upright and was ready to go. "When's our next exchange?" Good god. Fueled by chocolate milk and intestinal fortitude Janice headed for the Rockies.

Yes, that is Wolf Creek Pass, I know you knew that...only 10, 857 ft up in the air. Yes, that is a trace of a smile on her face near the top. Dr. Sheufelt is like that. There oughta be a name for her attitude, an alchemy of optimism, whimsy, and sheer grit that lends itself to unquestioning support from her friends and family. I truly hope she never decides to become a dictator in Latin America. Or a U.S. Senator...

A Cat 1 hurricane on the Beaufort Scale has 10 minute sustained winds of at least 64 mph. We met that criteria in the Kansas night...

Matching skills! Here's the GPS screenshot from where Joel and Janice were trying to ride BICYCLES at the time...match the blue arrow with the storm intensity!

Great timing, no? We made the call to have the riders just sleep until the winds and rain became, oh, less than a tropical cyclone.
What an experience. It is inspirational to see the extreme physical and mental effort expended by these athletes in RAAM. And I got to see a lot of the US, albeit from behind the wheel of an Astro Van--here's the tricked out interior, via Matt the MacGyver RV wrangler, who flew Alaska Air with a reciprocating saw to modify vehicles. I am NOTmaking this up.

All one needs to ride a bike across the USA.
I also got to see Gettysburg National Military Park,  150 years after this turning point in a tragic war.

I didn't have to be in Pickett's Charge, but it was moving to be there at sunrise, especially in my Crossfit UAC "uniform."  At this point, we are nearing race's end, in Annapolis. I am exhausted, and it's tough to imagine how the riders feel. But when they crossed the finish--well, here's a pic, Janice, her husband Jim, and her daughter Megan, dipping the bike into the Atlantic Ocean.

Epilogue: Just got the email. Janice has decided to do RAAM 2014. Solo. On the bike for 3000 miles. How can any of us not be inspired?
More from the road,
CF

grey to blue to red

5 am was a drizzling mess in Krakow as İ bounced my suitcase over cobblestones and puddles to the tram. Connections, connections--tram to Dworec Glowny, figure out how to buy a ticket to Katowice, then catch a mysterious bus to the airport. Get through security, fly a hop to Warsaw, finally then big jet to İstanbul.  Yours truly, the savvy world traveler,  picked an airport about 3 hours away from Krakow to save about a hundred bucks. how do you say 'duuuuuh' in Polish?

The mysterious bus remained, in fact, enigmatic, and İ cannily negotiated a taxi for a fee of 100 zlotys to the airport. This was accomplished by walking away, deciding İ wasn't going to find the spectral bus, and accepting the cab driver's price. He then showed me the little sign with the fixed fare to Pyrowice İnternational. 100 zlotys. Savvy.

As amusing as the roadside billboards were--among them, adverts for a gentleman's club called  'hot american bikini'  [i am not making this up]--they did little to lift my mood. The prior day had begun with a heated conversation regarding President Obama's verbal misstep, usıng the misnomer "Polish death camps." The camps are on Polish soil but decidedly they were established and run by Germans. Not such a big deal, perhaps, to we yanks, but when you're at a hostel an hour away from Auschwitz/Birkenau, you discover that the youth of nowa Polska don't see things the same way.  İ found myself in the novel position of right wing patriot, uncomfortably so...but after my vısıt to Auschwitz that same day, my perspective had changed dramatıcally. Linguistic precision carries the weight of its subject matter. The leader of the free world was pretty much Hulk smash on that one. .

But it isn't time to talk about this particular bit of humanity's dark side.  Soon, perhaps. For now...after the above dot to dot travel craziness, I stepped out of Ataturk aiport into the Istanbul sun. And the sea smelled like home.

This is the view from the rooftop cafe' at the Metropolis Hostel.  That would be Asia in the distance, there. Score one for the bright side. 

EuroFog

little bit was sobbing, kneeling,  supplicant on the floor beside her open suitcase, wailing into late afternoon Brussels. "What is it?" "I can't find my shirrrrrt..." falling into her personal psychotic blur of exhaustion. sleep was supplanted by excitement and movies on seatbacks 35k feet over the atlantic. sweet relief was all the girls wanted from the grote markt in the city center, despite my efforts at caffeine infusion via coca cola --sold, by the way, in 8.5 ounce bottles with real sugar, the way god intended man to consume coke. they ate the chocolate at neuhaus and the pommes frittes from the place de la chapelle, but they were only there in body. Brussels seems relaxed, self-assured, well-dressed. Tourists abound only in the aforementioned Grand-Place (you gotta use the Dutch and the French), but otherwise the city is going about the business of Europe, both micro where we bought champu' at the botanique and macro at the european parliament. Ya know how you always hear that high level diplomatic activity is taking place in Brussels? An afternoon here and you know that's a symbiotic relationship. It feels like a place where nations could agree, over a traditionally served cafe in a small white cup with the spoon carefully placed on the saucer just so. And maybe a waffle with some good chocolate drizzled over the powdered sugar. I am NOT making this up. Lian and Maya and I all crashed hard about 6 pm, and if I could bottle the look from Lian's face when I told her she could finally sleep, no further world diplomacy would be necessary. All would know peace. Pics soon, more from the Left Bank-- CF

How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?

All in all...

I was blathering at the Evolutionary Psychiatrist about finding joy in the everyday.  Do y'all reckon paleolithic man appreciated sunsets, or did it take more to impress him?

There were a few rough years in there where I short-circuited my ability to do just that. We have all heard of mindfulness, being present in the moment, enjoying the journey on life's path--and it is of paramount importance to actually feel that happiness in the day-to-day.  There's an epidemic of depression and anxiety out there...and maybe it's magnesium deficiency or  protection against infection , or maybe it's somehow related to clowns and fast food.  I am NOT making this up. The Evolutionary Psychiatrist is REALLY smart and has lots of interesting stuff on her blog. Science!!

This modern life--the constant plug-in (yes, even blogging, "Deep Irony" noted) of advancing technology is putting bricks into an ever-growing...well, you know.

Had a conversation with The Coach about the addictive nature of texting, for example. The same parts of the brain light up when we wait for it....wait for it....ding! and get that text that satisfies the craving, just for now, until it builds again.  This may explain why texting and driving is such a problem--people just can't break the addiction.

So what?  Well, the addictive neural pathways tend to hijack the pleasure centers, in the deep lizard brain...

Leading one to equate the behavior with survival needs such as food and sex, powerful rewards. Our neurons are  then bathed in our endogenous opioids--"More please!" Shoveling in more pudding without the basics, the protein, the meat of the matter.


Being in the moment, in the present, helps us to break our attachments and enjoy what is.  So let's look for beauty where we can find it. Breathe. Breathe in The Air.

The Flava of Time

Frank Lloyd Wright was 70 years old when his doctor told him that a move west would help his recurrent pneumonia.  Damned quacks.  But he took the opportunity to design and build a masterpiece in the desert.

I had my second opportunity to visit Taliesin West on the edge of Scottsdale, dragging Greg "The Dawg" along for the one hour tour.  After about five minutes of looking around, he was a convert.

The Asian influence is omnipresent, from the Chinese pottery mounted here and there to the
rooftop structures and the "setting stone" element of a Japanese rock garden.

The school Wright established still trains architects, and the site is more of a "working commune" than a museum.  Most people know Wright for his design of the Guggenheim--begun when he was 76--or this little cottage in the Pennsylvania woods:

Fallingwater has been called "the best all-time work of American architecture."  Wright was just a kid at 67 when he designed this. He's been criticized for some structural issues that arose later--but then it was pointed out that the site was never meant to have thousands of visitors per year tramping through it.  It was built as a country retreat for a family of three.

The point, other than to learn a little about FLW and see some cool buildings? Time. My own little retreat to AZ with the dawg had me thinking about time, and what I want to do with mine. Time's at the base of all our resources, all we ever hope to do and be.  We may have invented clock and calendar, but we are subject to the whim of telomeres and apoptosis, not to mention cardiac issues, malignancy, and of course the odd wayward bus with our name on it. There is a ticking beneath the din of our greatest aspirations. Wright didn't let age slow down his dreams, his passion.

So you and me, see, we get to choose what we do with our ticks, at least the ones not spoken for already.  I will end now in that spirit! Keep the faith, and remember that real courage may be simply laughing at the tyranny of clocks.

Positively 4th Avenue

The Ocotillo burn candle flames at their tips, in the Sonoran desert. Our hike in Catalina State Park, just north of Tucson, took us from the sandy desert floor up, up and away into Romero Canyon. Given the name, I really expected to be met with the Zombie Apocalypse.  And me in my Five Finger Shoes. And no Katana...

I shambled my own self up the rocky climb, and despite being chased down by Dutchmen (I am NOT making this up), Greg and I were rewarded with water from the stone.

That from just above the Romero Pools, no ravenous undead in sight.  We did, however, have the terrifying Dutch on our trail, and they caught us at the parking lot.

Tucson itself, back to the south, does not generate such sentiment in the harsh midday light.  From the low slung houses of the barrio to the graffiti on the abandoned car washes, from the endless bleached khaki strip malls to a ripped up for repairs downtown, it seems tired and sunburned. How many shades of beige are there?
But we refueled at Medusa Kabob House on 4th Avenue, still open though empty due to construction. The businesses are worried, but Tucson is betting on downtown renovation in the long run.

Our kabobs are being flamed in the back, delicious. And we'd seen the future last night at The Hub, a hip downtown eatery with great meat AND great ice cream. It's okay, my old friend Rick was our host, and he's a cardiologist. The Playground, a hip spot in anybody's town, is right next door.

Tucson dresses up and comes out as the sun sinks low, the ecru and tan begin to glow coral, rose, and a neon blush rises on the land. Maybe there's more promise in the desert at night. Future cool, hip on the horizon. Let's see what sunrise brings.

Bitchin' Camaro

The Kid in Oklahoma City wore a tie and a headset and a gamer's smile as he upsold our rental car at Sky Harbor airport. "How about a Porsche, Kurt?" I asked him. He grinned back over the video feed from across the great divide.  "Not in your rate class...but maybe a 2012 Mustang convertible?"
Greg and I already HAD the car rented, so 25 more a day?  Too much, even for a Mustang.  But for 10 a day...a Bitchin' Camaro, cherry red, only 3K miles, he'll throw in XM radio for free.  Upsold.
Brilliant idea at Hertz:  staff the rental counter with (mostly) remote workers, who can handle more traffic when things get really busy at DFW or SFO.  And yeah, Cherry  will move pretty well.












Thus far our further adventures have included a venture to Whole Foods for supplies, a cold-brewed iced caffeine experience at Cartel Coffee Lab, and an interesting encounter with a gallery that deals in these:

Yes, that is Renoir's "Venus Victrix," I knew you knew that.

Turns out there is a sort of "created market" for bronze casts of his works--aaaaand a gallery called Rima here in Scottsdale owns some of the original plasters. So they limit the number of bronzes made from these, and voila! Bronze sculptures for people who can afford them.  I found this all so strange and fascinating that I looked and found this interesting little tidbit of fine art intrigue! Involved with international art forgery controversy on just our first day in AZ.  What next?  Well, stay tuned for potential encounters with "C" list celebrities from the eighties... I am NOT making this up...wait for it... HERE.