Safe in the Canaries, getting ready to go!

Just one last quick blog before I take off... a bit hurried, because internet is expensive and I don´t have much time. More blogs available on our website: www.rowformeningitis.com Hope you´ll follow us across!

It´s been a pretty stressful last couple of weeks, but things are finally looking really good for Unfinished Business to finally finish.

Two weeks ago, I waved goodbye as Emily headed off to the Canaries, and then rushed around like a chicken with my head cut off to finish up all of my presentations, exams, manuscripts, and experiments at work while trying to sort through finances for my personal life, American Fire, and the current race, as well as buying massive amounts of food and trying to get everything done to prepare to leave Phoenix and get on for the race. Ryan took me to the airport with my 100 pounds of stuff, and I managed to make it to Louisville with everything still intact. I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with my mom´s side of the family up on my Grandma´s farm complete with cousins, turkey, stuffing, and a massive bonfire. I then spent that Friday walking around Dad´s new gorgeous farm and then packing the rest of my things before saying goodbye to friends and having one last homemade meal of chicken enchiladas. Then it was off on Saturday to the airport with all of my bags that weighed much more than my own body weight. After one last rum and coke with Dad in the airport bar and a several hugs and promises that I´d row as fast as I could, I was off on my own, off on the adventure again. It was 20 hours of traveling from Louisville to Chicago to Dublin to London to Tenerife, and when I arrived, I was exhausted but overwhelmingly excited. I met the Spectra (watermaker) repairman while waiting for my bags, and we got so wrapped up in conversation, that I wasn´t too worried that my bags weren´t turning up. But when all the bags were out, and my 150 lbs of food were still not on the carousel, I started to get worried. I searched all over the tiny airport before admitting defeat and filing a claim. I headed over with Jim and took the ferry over to Gomera sans bags. My desparation was delayed though when I saw our boat, Jo, and Kohl in the boatyard. She´s a beautiful boat and it was amazing to finally be here. We spent the remainder of the evening in The Blue Marlin where I was welcomed as a friend by Manuel (owner of the pub) and all of the Woodvale staff and started meeting our competition. My bags did turn up, and were a blessing in disguise, as British Airways delivered them directly to the marina for free - I didn´t have to lug the things from Tenerife, and it saved me a lot of hassle in the end. The last few days have been spent fitting the last of the equipment, organizing food, having meetings with Woodvale and the fleet, and making sure that everything is ready to go. Tara got in Tuesday evening, bringing presents of logoed shirts and hats, and completing the Unfinishe Business team. The forecast is looking beautiful this year for a fast race, and the trades are blowing strong already, woohoo! We´re planning on getting the boat in the water this afternoon, and will be participating in the Gomera Cup on Friday before having a bit of time to relax and recheck equipment in preparation for Sunday´s race start.

Ok, I´ve gotta get outta here, but please follow our progress on www.rowformeningitis.com and see you when I return in mid-January!

Leavin' on a jet plane...

I will be leaving the desert in a few hours. In the year and a half that I have been out here, I have grown to love this hot, dry, sandy playground, and I know I will miss it while I am gone. Although I'll really only be gone for about two months (less, really, depending on how long I recover on the Antiguan beaches), it is going to be a pretty intense two months. It is the trip of a lifetime, and there are a lot of things to think about as I am packing up and leaving the life that I have come to know. Here are a few things that I am thinking about as I leave Phoenix, go home to spend some much deserved time with my family, and then set off again to row the Atlantic Ocean...

Things that I will miss while out on the ocean:

The Edge 103.9 - I'll miss rocking out with them in the Jeep, windows down and singing at the top of my lungs as I cruise through the desert, laughing at the hilarious antics of Chuck Powell and Corey James during The Morning Ritual, and sitting back and enjoying the acoustic chill of a Sunday Morning Service. The only consolation is that I have my iPod packed with thousands of songs and audiobooks - that small device will be my most prized possession onboard.

(Good) Green things - Things like trees, fresh vegetables, grass, and even cactus. Life on the ocean is mostly blue, white, and gray with reds and purples thrown in during sunsets. When there is green out there, it is usually something awful coming up after a meal, something equally smelly growing in the footwell, or a weird colored cloud signaling a bit of a scary low pressure system. The only good green things we will have onboard will be the occasional treat of freeze-dried green beans, and maybe a Christmas tree if we don't screw it up this year. I know that Antigua has a lot of green on it, and each day I'll be pulling to reach the oasis of color.

Mountains - Again, good mountains - not ones that move or come crashing over the gunwales, we don't need any of those this time. One of my favorite things about living in Phoenix is that I am surrounded by mountains in every direction. They stand there in their majestic beauty, bathed in the glow the Arizona sun, just beckoning to be climbed. There won't be any climbing out on the ocean, which brings me to the next thing I will miss.

Using my calve muscles - walking, running, climbing. I've just gotten back into sprinting/cutting shape from ultimate frisbee, and in two months, all that work will be gone. My body will search for protein from any available source, and my selfish quads and back muscles will eat my helpless calves who can't even defend themselves as I crawl like a monkey around the deck.

Life Science Tower #348 - I know I'm a super lucky kid because I really love my job. I love the research that I am doing, both for the basic science knowledge that I am helping to discover and for the prospects of someday helping those countries that are currently ravished by HIV. I also work with some amazing people. From my PI, who understands my dreams and has been supportive of them since the first day I stepped into the lab, to my labmates who share my love of dancing after positive Western blot results, dry ice fights, and having Sacks for lunch. LSE348 is a crazy lab, but we have a blast while doing some incredible work.

A big fat juicy burger and a cold drink - I almost feel blasphemous writing about this, because I know that as I write about it, it will stick with me in my head as I am chowing down on my 12th meal of macaroni and cheese, and I will want nothing more at that moment than a huge hunk of meat. Fantasies on the ocean have very little to do with anything sexual... most revolve around some form of food or drink, be it fresh bread, a crisp salad, or french fries and a chocolate shake. Ok, I've gotta stop writing about this one, cause I know it's gonna come back and haunt me.

My bed - There is nothing better than a long day of hard work and play, and then being able to curl up on my comfy bed with its egg crate padding, soft sheets, and my Purdue football fleece blanket that my gran made me. It's warm, safe, dry, it doesn't move, and I don't have to leave it every two hours.

Friends - A lot of people, when going off on a big adventure, say that they'll miss their friends and family as a sort of cliche, expected response, but for me, deep down, my friends and family are really the things that keep me going. I cannot do this alone. Without friends around me to support me, picking me up when I've had a stressful day and being there to celebrate a good day, then all of the ups and downs in life don't mean much. A month and a half flies by here on land and life for my friends will go on as normal with the exception of sending a text or checking our progress. But, on the ocean - devoid of all normal things - you really get a chance to think about what is important in life, and I know that without my friends, I would be nothing. I'll miss the random phone calls in the middle of the night from New Jersey (you can still text me!), I'll miss racing Ryan home from the lab (I told you biking was faster) to make some mouthwatering dinners, I'll miss all of the hikes and bikes with ODP (you guys are just OD, but try not to have too much fun without me), I'll miss my ultimate buddies and all of the crazy arse things that we manage to get ourselves into (who else would make up our own bike parade or run around with pumpkins on our heads?), I'll miss watching college sports (and now the Suns :)), nights at the bars, or simply just sitting around a campfire staring into the flames. But, I've got plenty of fun memories to keep me going through the rough patches, and the fact that I will be coming back all of you crazy kids when I return will fuel my desire to go that much faster.

Family - When I got the call from Simon Chalk on September 18th, the first thing that went through my head was my concern for my family. What they would think, and how they would react to the challenge a second time, knowing the risks that I was taking. I've put my family through a lot in my short 24 years... and I can't even fathom how they felt during those 16 hours. The fact that they still support me wholeheartedly is a testament to their love, devotion, trust, and belief in me and what I am doing. I cannot thank them enough for the support they have given me, and when tears are streaming down my face as we step ashore in Nelson's Dockyard, those tears are all for my family and how they have shaped me into the person I am today. Words cannot express how much my parents, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and everyone down the line mean to me. That said, I will be thinking of all of you every day out there. I'll be missing broomball on the frozen pond (at least I won't knock Dad over going for the score), I'll miss being the trash monster on Christmas (Em, you'll have to take over that again for me, kiddo), I'll miss making the most kickass fireworks show north of the Ohio River on New Year's (hopefully Grandpa won't burn down the house :)), I'll miss traipsing through the snow on the farm and coming in to a cosy fire afterwards, I'll miss all the good food that everyone in my family makes (jeez, can't get off this food thing), and I'll miss all the smiles and hugs and the warmth that the holidays offer. But, know that every stroke I take brings me closer to you, and that one of the biggest motivations for me out there is all of you guys. I pull that much harder knowing that you are all behind me, and I cannot thank you enough for that.

So, why, if I will miss all of these things, am I doing this? Wally Herbert (a polar explorer) said it best, "And what value was this journey? It is as well for those that ask such a question that there are others who feel the answer and never need to ask."

But that doesn't answer your question, does it? Why? Because I simply love it. Life is an adventure, and we can only grow by stepping outside of our comfort zones. You learn so much about yourself, your character, your values, and the world around you when you are continually out of that comfort zone for weeks at a time. It makes me appreciate all the things on that list 100x more, and I become more humble, more thankful, and more thoughtful as a result. It makes you realize that life is simple and inherently good, despite the storms and setbacks. There is sunshine after every storm, and there is no better way to learn that than by actually going through those storms. It is my dream, and has been for years, and the fulfillment of this dream will fill a hole in my life, and in the lives of my teammates, and will free me to pursue other dreams, like my PhD, and eventually a family and kids.

But, if you're still not convinced, here are a few REALLY good reasons for rowing across the Atlantic. The things that I will not miss:

Driving out to the East Greenhouse on Monday mornings - New speed cameras popping up everywhere, traffic abounding, and the unexpected, though ever present, drama that goes on between Biodesign labs and the greenhouse manager will not be missed. I am taking back those three hours a week and doing something productive with them... like sleeping.

Polluted air - Although the Valley is nice in the fact that I can see mountains all around, those same mountains prevent the smog from escaping. After awhile you just become numb to the dust and exhaust fumes and waste from factories, but once you hit that ocean air, you know that that is the way air is supposed to taste and smell and feel. Clean, fresh, and just a hint of salt, like a good margarita.

Politics - I'm generally fairly informed when it comes to the world around me and I even enjoy discussions on politics, but not for politics sake. When real issues, integrity, and leadership take a back seat to interest groups, backstabbing, and corruption, then it's not worth it to me. Again, the whole "keeping life simple" thing. I won't miss all of the attention that the media gives to the political garbage.

Flat tires - I seem to be a magnet for flat tires whether it's my bike or other people's cars. No flat tires on the ocean.

Boring lectures - yeah, that one speaks for itself as well. I get to miss two entire colloquiums and three whole lectures while I'm gone, woohoo!

Lab inspections - Wearing a lab coat and SHOES are not my idea of a good day, plus, the Health and Safety Officers don't appreciate my LB broth creatures or pipette tip sculptures quite as much as everyone else in the lab. I'll have at least 35 days of no shoes and no lab coat... and hardly any clothes at all for that matter.

All extraneous activities that don't pertain to simply living - life on the ocean is pretty basic, row, eat, sleep, and try not to dump the contents of the bucket on your teammates head (you'd think that last one would pretty easy, don't ya?). You realize how simple life can be, and how beautiful that simple life is.

To me, the ocean is a place of extremes... beauty, power, and freedom. Out there, with only your teammates, your boat, and your faith and determination to succeed, it can be overwhelming, but always awe inspiring. As I finish up packing to head home, I am nervous, excited, and confident of myself, my team, and my boat.

I'll probably post once more before I leave for the Canaries, but until then, I'll be with my family, enjoying some of the wonderful things that I will miss on the ocean.

The Real Thing

It's for real. On Friday morning, Kohl boarded a plane and headed over to the Canaries. Twenty-odd hours later, I got a call from the other side of the Atlantic, saying all is well and that she was waiting for the ferry to cross from Tenerife to the small sailing port of San Sebastian, on the island of La Gomera. From thousands of miles away, I could feel the renewed sense of purpose in her voice and could almost see the new glimmer in her eyes. I heard my teammate as I heard her two years ago: we are going.

On September 18th, exactly two months ago, I answered a call from England, and it changed my world as I formally knew it. I could have just as easily said no thanks, hung up, and let it go. It was just a whisper of potential success, without a team, or sponsors, or money, or a plan. It wasn't feasible or realistic to even try. But, the power of a dream is strong one, and the combined power of four of them can overcome all odds. In two months, the four of us have gotten a boat, equipment, funds, and a full ocean rowing campaign together. We have gone through all the trials and tribulations of our previous preparation... empty promises from what we thought were potential sponsors, equipment failures, logistical nightmares, stress of making sure that all our paperwork is in order, begging for donations from every possible source... all in two short months. Last time we had two years to prepare, and we have managed to put together a very promising campaign in the highly abridged version of what we were working with the last go around.

And now as a result of all of our hard work, Kohl and Jo are over in the Canaries, drinking Dorada beer with the ocean rowing crowd in The Blue Marlin and hiking the desert hills of the island to view the incredible vistas of the deep blue ocean fading into the sky to the west. I am jealous... and sooo excited. In one week, Tara and I will arrive and race Jo and Kohl up those same hills, meeting for the first time as Unfinished Business and formally starting our adventure. And, two weeks from this exact moment in time, I will be about 12 hours off the coast of Gomera watching the volcanic peak of El Tiede fade away in the moonlight and happily enjoying the freedom that only the ocean can offer.

Looking back at San Sebastian and the marina from one of the western hills of Gomera.

I have a lot to do in the meantime though. When Kohl first called me from Tenerife, I was in the heat (literally, Phoenix is still HOT) of battle with Beef Jerky during our last pool play game in VOTS Fall League finals. We played three amazing games in pool play, with intensity, teamwork, and a just a great sense of fun. Our third game was a tough match which ended on the wrong side of a universe point for Come From Behind. But, it was a good way to go out: a hard fought, low scoring, intense game with a respectable adversary who went on to the Finals. After our games ended, I stayed to watch the semis and finals and get my fair share of heckling in with the rest of the league. It was great fun with an incredible group of awesome people. Before I knew it, though, the sun had set and the last point was played, with our favored Beef Jerky just barely failing to win it all. And then I had to say goodbye... the first of many to come in the next few days... to my team, to the dozens of friends that I have made in the league, and to the game of ultimate for a few months. As I walked away from the field, a pit started to form in my stomach... I really am going to miss the people and the sport while I'm out on the ocean. I didn't have long to get pensive or melancholy, though. After a shower and dinner, I headed over to Suda's new condo for a joint housewarming and goodbye party. The wine and beer were flowing, and Guitar Hero, Dance Dance Revolution, and beer pong kept the festivities going strong well into the morning hours. More goodbyes were said, but the atmosphere was one of celebration, and I didn't even think about what I would be leaving behind.

Today I've had plenty of time for that though. My mind races in a circle, one moment eager to be off on the adventure, the next sad about leaving my friends, the next stressed about making the last shipping payments, and back again to being excited that our boat arrives tomorrow. Today was spent running a plethora of errands... getting the last of the food and equipment, and making sure that everything is ready to go. And then I had to go say goodbye to our faithful, third teammate of American Fire. She's not very happy about not going, and I'm not happy that she won't be carrying us to Antigua, but she's already been across twice before, and understands why we are doing what we are doing. I sat in her footwell for some time, consoling her and looking over the bow, imagining the blue horizon beyond. She is surprisingly taking things better than my bike, who was sitting sullenly in the corner of my room when I got home, his brake cables sagging and tears of chain oil dripping from his frame. He's a good bike, but he has his needs, too - ones that can't be satisfied chained up in my room for months. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to cheat on me with Hannah while I am gone, but I am hoping that one last ride on Tuesday morning in Papago will keep him loyal.

Other than that, I'll be busy the rest of the evening finishing off a manuscript for work and then organizing the hundreds of Snickers, granola bars, peanuts, Slim Jims, and other snacks into a manageable mess that will make it on the plane on Wednesday.

Haiku

midnight rain-
falling from moonlight
the desert wakes


(there ya go, finally a short one, but beware of upcoming posts :)).

At the Stars...

I have always been fascinated with the night sky. There is just something about the unfathomable limitless of space that just overwhelms and humbles me. From nights spent with my sister on the steep apex of our roof (unbeknowst to our parents), talking about our lives and gazing up at the cold, clear winter sky bordered by the bare trees of the woods that surrounded the house. To my first desert night in sands of Judea, playing the guitar to an audience of one and millions. To the top of the hills in Epping Forest, the horizon of stars fading into the glow of London to the south, Coldplay's Yellow playing fittingly on Asher's radio. To morning practices after winter training on the Wabash River, the moonlight reflecting off of the puddles of our first strokes in months. To 46 nights spent three feet above the surface of the Atlantic Ocean and no obstacles blocking the 360 degrees of our own private skyline. To nights of reflecting thoughts in Bequia just 11 days after our capsize, the anchor lights of the ships in harbour matching the twinkling of the stars so perfectly that you could not tell where the bay ended and the sky began. And now, lying back in the grass in North Scottsdale, looking up at those same stars. Faithful friends that remain constant companions through the years: Orion owning the winter sky with Sirius running along behind him, the twins of Gemini and the seven sisters of the Pleiades dancing playfully around Polaris. Life is ever changing, but no matter the changes here on this planet that we call home, they're always there, always to be trusted and counted upon to come up over the horizon. It doesn't matter if that horizon is a bare corn field or a forested hill or a desert landscape with saguaros silhouetted against the moonlight. I haven't had the opportunity yet to have good friends in the southern hemisphere, so that means that where ever I go north of the equator, my family and friends and I can always share the same night sky. It may seem like a small thing, but it is a huge comfort in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Even though you may be thousands of miles away from those you love, you can't help but feel a little bit closer when looking up at those same stars.

Nothing of great interest happened over the last week, at least not necessarily blog worthy things. Lots of work in the lab, lots of scrambling for additional funds, lots of confirmations with sponsors, a week of long nights staring up at my ceiling and not being able to sleep, only to get back at the computer and finish another task before falling back in bed. The weekend was a welcome respite, although I have to admit I spent the majority of it working both in the lab and on ocean rowing. At least Saturday afternoon and evening were enjoyable... with OSU losing to the Illini (sorry guys, it's a good thing to me), and then spending the rest of the night hopping around Scottsdale, I at least had a little time to relax and unwind. It sometimes gets away from me what I am working towards. Fortunately, both my friends here and those that have graced the night sky for eons help me to reinforce that the simple things are the ones that make us most happy. As I ended the night staring up at the stars, I had an overwhelming sense of peace despite the current craziness of my life. Simple, overwhelming beauty. Life is good.

Life in Perspective

For the past several weeks, I have spent the majority of my workweek staring through an eyepiece at a green fluorescent screen searching for 100 nanometer virus-like particles that are magnified 150,000 times their original size. For hours on end, I focus my entire attention on a grid of copper that is less than 1/10th the size of a dime. But, at the end of every day, I get to sprint up the five flights of stairs from the subbasement to the third floor where my regular lab resides, and there – with my heart rapidly pumping, I look over the library and past the palms that line the edge of campus to the peaks of South Mountain and the Estrellas. Beyond the mountains, a vast horizon is painted with the pinks, and oranges, and purples of an Arizona sunset. Beyond the illuminated backdrop lies an endless sky, fading out from the west to the east in a spectrum of blues and grays and the first twinkling stars of the twilight. From the tiniest particles of a cell to the infinite reaches of the night sky blanketing me on my ride home, I begin to get a feel for many perspectives on life.


My workday is not unlike our lives as a whole. We spend the majority of our lives focusing on one small aspect of our existence – our jobs, our appearance, our possessions, our bank accounts - without taking the time needed to sit back and just enjoy the immense pleasures of the things that are most important in our lives – our families, our friends, and our dreams. Fortunately, my family and friends allow me to put life in perspective. Over the past two months, my life has been turned around completely. I willingly traded in my stable, fairly stress-free life for a busy, stressed one filled with deadlines, tasks to be completed, money to be raised, and plans to be set in stone. My stress is self-induced – it is my choice. Others are not so lucky. With injuries, deaths in the family, and life-threatening illnesses, I know that some of the people in my life are facing hardships that they have not chosen. Even more than that, there are millions around the world who are facing hunger, war, HIV, poverty, and other adversities that are beyond their control. It really makes me rethink my own life. No matter the stress that I am facing at the moment, I know that there are others fighting much tougher battles than my own. The stories that I have been blessed to hear from so many incredible people have kept me inspired to continue fighting my own chosen fight. My own struggles seem tiny in perspective to the problems of others.

When I focus on the small details and deadlines, life can seem overwhelming, but looking at it from a broader perspective of making dreams come true and helping others makes it all worth it in the end. If, through our row, we can inspire others to keep going after their passions despite setbacks they might encounter, then the stress of raising money and publicity will be worth it. If, through my research, I can help defeat a disease that is destroying whole countries at a time, then the hundreds of failed experiments won’t matter.


The past week was full to the brim with everything from sponsorship to research fellowship applications, ordering freezedry for the trip to drying plants after infiltration, sweating in anticipation of the result of an analysis and sweating on the playing field at Diablo for an ultimate win (Come from Behind is third for Tuesday League... playoffs are next week, woohoo!) I have just over a week left here in Arizona before it's time to pack up, spend a few days with my family, and then head over to the Canary Islands for this epic adventure. Although it may seem near impossible at times, by never giving up and keeping things in perspective, I know that things will work out in the end.

That said... we are desperate for donations for our trip. For those of you reading this that don't know what I'm talking about, please read about us here and donate here. Thanks!

Success and Happiness

When we were on the Atlantic back in 2005, Kohl and I talked quite a bit about all aspects of life. Mostly we talked about trivial stuff that seemed very important at the time... like the first thing we were going to eat when we got back to land or how we really, really wanted it to snow, but we did, at times, delve a bit into philosophy and life. One of the most memorable conversations that we had out there revolved around success and failure. What defined success and failure, and what our biggest successes and failures up to that point had been. Being a very positive person, I hadn't ever thought of my "failures" up until then, but when I looked back, I realized that I had failed numerous times in many aspects of my life. For the most part, I had always learned from them, rose above them to become successful, and never gave them a second thought, but they had always been there whether I had acknowledged them or not. And then came the capsize. The big failure that I could not put past me or rise quickly above. Since January 16th, 2006, I have not been the same. Finally, I was presented with a failure that would test my character. A problem that, looking over the stern of the Stavros 20 feet above the vast Atlantic, I knew was going to haunt me until we finished our dream. The American Fire dream. For the past year and a half, I have been forced to think about success and failure and what they really mean to me. Knowing that we will be out on the ocean again in just over a month makes me so incredibly happy. After two years, we are being given the chance to succeed and rise above the failed first attempt, and in spite of all of the stress that goes into preparation, I could not be happier or more at peace, knowing that we will be rowing into the arms of our families in English Harbour in just a few short months.

The past week was a whirlwind. With less than a month left Stateside, I'm busting my butt in all aspects of life to ensure that I am not sacrificing one dream for another. Long days at the lab and TEM facility definitely showed on Tuesday night during my game against Angel's Taco Technique. My mind and body were exhausted, and we ended up losing a game we could have easily won in the right mindset. The hard work in the lab did pay off though in a successful lab meeting on Friday. Success and failure, hand in hand.

By the end of my presentation on Friday, I was in dire need of the weekend. Friday evening and Saturday were spent alternating between rest and preparations for finishing Unfinished Business. By Saturday evening, I was fully recovered from the long week, and went out with Suda and Dave and a whole bunch of rugby guys to watch ASU defeat Cal and bar hop around Mill Ave. in our kid-size Halloween costumes (I have definitely gotten my money's worth out of the Wonderwoman costume). We made quite a night of it, and squeezed as much fun in as we could until the bars closed.

Sunday is usually a happy day for me, and this past weekend was no exception. I slept until noon, which was the most beautiful thing. I will probably not get a chance to do that again for the next year or so (at least it seems that way sometimes). When I woke up, I made french toast and spiced apples, and just sat around reading Tony Dungy's book, Quiet Strength for a good hour while listening to some good tunes. My entire music collection is now on iTunes in preparation for the iPod, and it was a very relaxing and enjoyable way to start off the day. I then headed out to the Tempe Library to check out several audiobooks to load onto iTunes, and then finished off the afternoon with a long bike ride on the Greenbelt. Since I had never been to the end of it, I decided to bike all the way through Scottsdale on the gorgeous trail bordering parks and canals, and giving me an incredible view of the McDowell's and Four Peaks behind them. Even though it was a record 94 degrees out, it still felt like fall with the ash trees at least changing color and a cooler breeze coming off the small lakes along the trail. I rode hard for an hour and finally came to Shea Blvd, where the nice paved trail ended. I tried to continue riding, as it appeared that the city was in the process of continuing the trail past Shea, but after I rode through the dirt under a road (read, drainage area for the wash) and ended up in a cemetery, I figured that it was time to turn around. I took the return ride a bit easier, taking in the sights and sounds of the East Valley. It made me happy to watch young families biking along with toddlers in training wheels, older couples sitting on benches feeding the ducks, kids playing hide and seek among the mesquite, and people of all ages playing everything from soccer to disk golf. With the sun sinking low over Camelback, the light bounced off the clouds to form sun dog rainbows and bounced off of the fountains to create a beautiful backdrop to my ride home.

It's times like that when I really, truly feel happy. My life is going very well right now despite all of the hustle and bustle during the week. Plans are in place to finishing dreams and I have the support of my family and friends. At this point in my life, I couldn't really ask for much more. I'm a simple kid, and simple things like the peacefulness of an urban bike ride into the sunset really make me happy. No matter what happens in my life with big and small failures and successes, if I can enjoy simple days like Sunday, then it makes it all worth it.

And now, back to another busy week...

Nautical Mishaps

I'm a water baby, through and through. I was born in a Naval hospital where the San Luis Rey meets the Pacific Ocean and grew up splashing in my diapers in the shallows of the small river and paddling my kickboard along with the seals in the Pacific swells. I spend much of my life stepping into liquid, and as the statistics will have it, if you spend enough time doing something, there are bound to be mistakes. In middle school, I paddled a homemade raft across Deam's Lake and had a great time showing off my creative means of transport. The next summer, I tried to repeat the feat even though I lacked the ropes to tie the logs together. The rags with which I eventually pieced the raft together held long enough for me to get halfway across the lake. Then, right in the middle of the lake (sounds kind of familiar, huh?), the logs decided to take off in each of the four cardinal directions, leaving me to wrestle/paddle one of them into some pond scum in an attempt to make it across the rest of the lake. If you remember middle school at all, you probably remember that it was a bit of an awkward time. Imagine a 13 year old tomboy trying to keep her dignity while trying to navigate a log through thick, stinking algae and trying not to attract the attention of onshore fishermen, or worse, fellow 13 year olds. It wasn't my first nautical mishap, nor was it my last, but I certainly learned the importance of a good vessel and practice. Obviously, I'm still learning.

This weekend I helped reinforce these lessons with our fledgling adventure racing team, Team ODP, at the first installment of the Desert Rage series in Escondito, CA. The weekend began the second that my lab meeting ended on Friday afternoon and I raced across Tempe down to Chandler to meet Hannah and Angel. We loaded bikes, three sets of kayak paddles, life jackets, helmets, lots of fluids and energy foods, and a huge seemingly harmless mesh bag that contained an inflatable kayak. We drove out to San Diego, spent the night at one of Hannah's friend's house, and drove early the next morning out to Lake Hodges, less than 20 miles from where I learned to swim. Before we even pulled into the parking lot, I knew that something was terribly wrong. Fifteen foot kayaks were strapped to the roofs of just about every car. Some even had trailers for their boats. We had a mesh bag that suddenly didn't seem so big at all. We opened up the bag and let the monster out, pumping it up to all of the yellow glory that the thing could possess, about 8 feet in all. This inflatable monster was Team ODP's version of a racing kayak, and in the pre-race excitement, we still did not quite understand the error of our ways. All we knew was that we did not have to pay to rent a kayak, and we did not have to strap the thing to our roof. This all sounded great until about 8:02 a.m. on raceday. Once we got our transition area staked out and went through details during the pre-race meeting, where we were given our passport, instructions, and a map. The instructions detailed that the first checkpoint could be reached by 4 miles of running or 1.5 miles of paddling. 1.5 < 4 =easy

(ok, i tried to add a picture here, and ended up screwing up the entire post. great job Kessans... when I find the time, I'll repost about the race).

On top of the world

My life is never stagnant or boring, but at times, I do tend to overbook myself, and at times like that, I have to slow down for a moment and take a good look at my priorities. Work has taken up a great deal of my time lately, working 10+ hour days in order to get as much done on my projects as possible before my first committee meeting, a lab meeting presentation, and a presentation at a colloquium in the coming weeks. So, it's only fair that after working hard all week, that I put life in the balance by playing hard again. (Oh, and my ultimate team did win again in a hard fought game against Beef Jerky, another Thursday team, woohoo!)

I spent Friday night relaxing as much as I could before what I knew was going to be a full weekend. On Saturday morning, I dug out the old Wonderwoman costume and tweaked it a bit to make it look more like a 70s/80s era dancer. I'm not sure that I really succeeded, but the combo of the skirt, belt, armbands, an old shiny top, rugby socks, and bandanna were funny looking anyways, which was sort of the point. Then, much to the confusion of the elderly neighbors who were raking their yard, I biked into Tempe wearing the strange garb, where I was greeted by several of my friends who looked just as good. The original theme we were going with was "Solid Gold" dancers, but some of us didn't quite get the memo. Nonetheless, we made quite the scene for Tempe's Tour de Fat. New Belgium Brewery sponsors these tours around the U.S. to promote bicycle advocacy and tasty brew. Although we missed the bike parade, we made up our own. Up and down Mill Avenue, the dozen or so of us ultimate players decked out in our outrageous costumes sang and danced and rode along to Dixon's music that blared out of his self-proclaimed "tricked-out trike." There's always some kind of funny crowd around Mill, and it was uniquely satisfying to be one of them on Saturday. We got back to Tempe Beach Park as the parade ended and the beer started flowing. The atmosphere was infectious. I'm not that much of a hippy, but it was a great festival for the just cause of getting more cars off the streets and more people on bikes. We drank some good hoppy beer and hopped around to the live band, played a bit of frisbee and watched people try out the custom bicycles that New Belgium had brought along. My favorite was a bike that had tennis shoes on the ends of reinforced spokes as opposed to wheels. You had to see it to believe it. I left a bit early in order to get ready for the next installment of the weekend.



I rode home with less reservations than when I biked into town, changed, did some quick packing, and loaded up my camping and hiking gear into fellow Come from Behinder, Ted's, Ford Ranger to head out to Four Peaks. Not the Four Peaks on 8th Street. The real thing... not the brewery, the MOUNTAIN. The mountain that mocks me every morning and evening as I cross the bridge over Tempe Town Lake. The tallest point in Maricopa County and one of the most recognizable peaks east of the Valley. We drove an hour outside of the city and then turned off at a dirt road just past Bush Highway. For 18 dusty, bumpy miles, Ted and I sang along to the soundtrack of classic rock, windows down and eyes dividing their time between the twisting road and the beautiful peaks that beckoned us to their base. After we arrived at the shoulder of the mountain, we took stock of our surroundings - the ubiquitous scrub oak, some tall pines, a few boulders scattered around, and a perfect little camping spot near the truck. Ted set up the tent while I got a small fire crackling safely inside a large fire pit of rocks. After camp was set, we both took the time to enjoy the beauty of the sun setting behind the Estrellas on the far west side of the Valley, not quite a hundred miles away. We paid our respects to the mountain and cheered to a successful expedition with some 8th Street Ale and a fire-warmed can of ravioli. Although there was a chill in the air at the higher elevation, the fire and good stories that we shared kept us warm. Ted is a great guy, and we swapped tales of past adventures and reinforced the notion that life is not about "stuff." Life is about experiences and the people with which you share those stories. I love listening to and telling stories, and can imagine myself someday surrounded by grandchildren who won't go to bed because they want to hear just one more of grandma's crazy stories. But, that's a looooong time from now, and is kind of funny to think about, so for now, I'm very satisfied sharing them with Ted at the base of Four Peaks. The combination of a high desert full of stars and the mesmerizing effects of the flames had us sleepy before too long, and we were asleep by 10.



The next morning we were up with the sun for a few good pictures before gathering our gear, scarfing down a half-frozen candy bar (it was down in the mid-forties), and hitting the trail. The first mile or so got us well above the parking lot, and started to give us a commanding view of both the Valley to the west and Lake Roosevelt to the east depending on which way we were switchbacking. As we walked along, the ridge kaleidoscoped from dark green pines to burned areas filled with tall blackened remains, to gray scrub, to dwarfed white oak trees decked out in all their fall glory of orange and yellow. The sights and scents were a feast for my autumn starved senses. A few miles into the trek, the forest along the ridge opened up to the full sun that burned off the morning chill. We stopped for a bit at the saddle to savor my first close-up look at Brown's Peak, the first and tallest of the four. After a short break, we started the climb up the mountain proper. After a half mile of minor switchbacks and walking along small ledges, we arrived at the infamous (to us at least) scree shoot. The scree shoot is a narrow cleft in the mountain where rocks and boulders have fallen down over the years, creating a fairly easy route up the granite peak. Twenty minutes of scrambling later, we reached the end of the scree shoot and climbed over the last few boulders to the top, where we were rewarded with the best view of the Valley that I have ever seen. Everything from Lake Roosevelt to the east, Superstitions to the southeast, South Mountain and the Estrellas to the south, White Tanks to the west, McDowell's to the north, and Camelback and Squaw Peak thrown in there among the puzzle pieces of developed land. We rested at the top enough to share an 8th Street Ale and a Clif Bar, and then started down the south side. We fought our way through scratchy scrub oak and cacti for a bit until I got tired of tearing up my legs, after which I chose to take my chances climbing down the steep walls. Ted wasn't as gutsy, and decided to brave the scrub. Even though I took my time carefully choosing my route, I still got to the bottom of the peak 10 minutes before Ted and had time to take in my surroundings. We were only 50 miles from Tempe, yet we were a world away in the wilds of the Four Peaks Wilderness. Canyon wrens set the soundtrack while smells of dust and pine floated up on the breeze from the valley. Ted caught up, and we continued on to Peak #2. The next part of the hike took a fair bit of scouting, and Ted was happy to let me lead. It was exhilarating to pick a route up the walls, climb it, and then focus on the next part of the mountain. Several hundred feet later, we reached the false summit, and nimbly scrambled along the narrow ridgeline to the true summit. The second peak is almost as tall as the first, and has just as good of a view. We signed our names in the register at the top and also had a few sips of the Four Peaks IPA that Ted brought as well. After another short rest and a little celebration for making it that far (Ted has been to the mountain four times, and had not made the 2nd peak up until then), we scrambled to the southern side of the mountain top and attempted to scout out the route to the third peak. The distance between the 2nd and 3rd is by far the greatest among the four peaks, and the steepness of the route is also the greatest. We tried several routes that seemed to be promising, only to come to the edge of a cliff that could not be traversed without ropes and more advanced climbing skills than we had. We spent about an hour trying to find a route before we inevitably had to turn around due to time constraints at about 1 p.m. Even though we didn't make the "mother lode," we were satisfied with what we had done, and turned around without too much remorse.



The return trip was more relaxed but just as exciting as the first part of the climb. Since I had already found the routes, we both had more confidence with the climbing, and I spent a good deal of my time playing around on the boulders and scraggy walls. We stopped several times to enjoy the view and just talk about other adventures. We even got to act like Les Stroud (Survirorman) and ate manzanita berries (kinda dry, but sweet) and made a needle and thread with an agave leaf. Lots of fun. Before we knew it though, we had scaled the last wall back over Brown's Peak and were headed back through the scree shoot. We spent the last remaining part of the hike just taking in the scenery of the changing colors as we made our way back to the truck. It took us 9 hours (including the many breaks that we took) to hike to the 2nd peak and back, and by the time we broke down camp and started back on the long and winding dirt road, we were dead tired. We finally got back in Tempe around 6 in the evening, and I had just enough enough energy to shower, change into some sweats, grab a bite to eat, and pass out on the couch.

It's going to be a long month and a half ahead of me with lots of hard work in the many aspects of my life, but it was nice to spend a bit of time with a fellow adventurer on top of the world, or at least on top of our little world here in the Valley.

Risk

"To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out for another is to risk involvement.

To expose feelings is to risk rejection.

To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.

To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love.

Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.

Only a person who takes risks is free. " -Author Unknown

In my short 24 years on this planet, I have certainly had my fair share of risk. Growing up, I was blessed to have parents that encouraged and nurtured my sense of independence and curiosity of the world around me. I don't think that they invisioned that the freedom that they allowed me and my sister would lead to their 12 year old daughter hiking alone for miles through the woods or taking off for a war torn Israel on her 18th birthday, but I would like to think that it at least prepared them for the risks that I would take later in life.

At least my family has had the pleasure/pain of watching me grow into the person I am today and at least have an idea of where I got my passions. My professors and coworkers have not, yet they know me all too well. Since the day that I got the call from Simon, to the numerous e-mails from potential teammates, to the realization that this thing might actually happen, I have had a pit in my stomach. Not because of the thought of wind or waves or salt water boils on my bum, but because of the risk that I could potentially take by telling my boss that I needed some time off. Although I have tried to put the race out of my mind, thinking about the hundreds of risks that I would be taking, each time I look up into the starry sky, each Deathcab for Cutie song that I hear, and every orange sunset reminds me that what I really want right now in this life of mine is to write the ending to a story that should have been finished two years ago. The plot hangs dangling off a cliff in my mind, waiting for the bridge that will take it to its happy conclusion. By Wednesday, I realized the risk of not trying was going to kill me more than any risk that I would face on the high seas. I walked into my boss's office with determined eyes that I hoped hid my fear. If he said no, then the choice that I had to make would have probably dropped me to my shaking knees. It turns out that I am not only blessed to have an incredible family, I am also incredibly thankful to have such an amazing professor. Like a concerned parent, he looked straight into my eyes, quoted Le Petit Prince, and said that although he wasn't thrilled about the time I needed away from my research, he understood my passions, and would work with me to make sure that I could fulfill the dream of the ocean with minimal disruption to my research and doctorate degree. We worked through a plan, and I left with the office with a smile on my face and a light heart. Ask, and it shall be given; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Without the knowledge that I would come back from the adventure to my other dreams, my solid job and exciting research, I could not have proceeded. With that paper tiger defeated, I can join in the excitement of completing "Unfinished Business" along with Tara, Jo, and Kohl. Might we fail to get the money to reach the starting line? Yes. Might we fail to finish our dream, again? Maybe. But how will we know if we never try? We have a very good chance of breaking some records with our experienced, determined, international team. More importantly though, we have the chance to inspire others to follow their own dreams, proving that no obstacles can stand in the way of a dream.

Two weeks after our capsize, we flew into Antigua to watch some of our fellow ocean rowers make their way into English Harbour. We arrived on a plane. Not in the American Fire. It was an emotional time for us to watch our friends as they rowed into the arms of their families and take a swig of their first cold drink in months. To see the light in their eyes at the successful end of one of life's most memorable adventures almost brought tears to our eyes. Fortunately for us, Tara and Jo were also standing on the quay beside us. Jo strained her back to the point where she could no longer row and was picked up by the crew of Aurora while the rest of her four continued on. Tara and her teammate, Iain, capsized the same Sunday, bloody Sunday as we did and were rescued from their liferaft with Jo's help. In the pub, we shared hundreds of our stories of life on the ocean. We each had different experiences, but they were all the same. Tales of watching flying fish, rowing through lightning storms, the unnerving sight of tanker lights at 2 a.m., the fire that spreads across the vast plane of water during a sunset, the wonderful crunch of Cheetos, the hilarity of your teammate making up another song, the joy of a cleansing rain, and millions of memories of a journey that ended 1500 miles too soon. Although it was not logical, we were jealous of those that were still battling the elements. Ocean rowing was in our blood, and there in the pub, we could see it pulsing though each other's veins. The next day, I kayaked to the far end of the harbour. Then - in my flop flops because I had no other shoes - I braved the cacti and cliffs of the eastern shore until I reached a vantage point where I could look back at all of the mighty Atlantic. I sat down on the point that I had seen in my mind for as long as I could remember. I had not reached it the way I wanted, but as the ocean breeze filled my senses, I knew that someday I would. And now, that someday might be 52 days away...

Work hard, Play hard

Last week was a busy, somewhat stressful week, but so long as I end it with some fun and adventure, then it's totally worth it. Work hard, play hard, and live life to the max.

The week itself was spent with hours upon hours in the dungeon of a subbasement that houses the microscopy lab. The stress of playing around with 1 mm x 2 mm x 70 micron sections of leaf material for hours on end takes it toll. After 10 hour workdays staring through dissecting scopes cutting, staining and handling copper grids that could easily fit on the head of a pin, my brain was fried. Fortunately I have sports as my favorite remedy. I went climbing indoors for the first time at the Phoenix Rock Gym on Wednesday with Emily and Hannah. Although I'm not great at it yet, I had a blast and gave my fingers and forearms an incredible workout. Thursday was spent on our crossover game for ultimate (our team usually plays on Tuesday). The girls on the opposing team were very athletic, and after a long day in the lab, I enjoyed chasing them around knocking their disks out of the air on defense, and cutting around them to catch disks in the end zone. We played very well as a team, and are now 2-2 and looking strong for the rest of the season.

Out of all of the sports that I have played, I think that ultimate players as a whole are the most fun by far. Not necessarily hippies, just easy-going people who enjoy having a good time and want to make sure that the people around them are enjoying life as well. And I love being part the crazy group of ultimate players known as VOTS (Valley of the Sun Ultimate). On Friday several of us went to the Way Out West Octoberfest in Tempe. We had a few good German beers and just went with the flow of the evening. We rode carnival rides, sang along to the live cover bands, and then danced to the polka bands until midnight. I had never danced to polka before, but it didn't matter. Much like ska or Irish jigging, if you just jump around to the beat, you'll pretty much fit in. Our group excelled at jumping around, and VOTS owned the dance floor... whether it was because of our incredible polka skills or just the fact that we lasted longer than most people with our big group is beside the point. After we wore ourselves out on the dance floor, we biked over to Casey Moore's for a few more drinks and lots of stories into the wee hours of the morning.

After about three hours of sleep, I woke up way too early and reluctantly headed out to South Mountain with Hannah and Angel for some adventure race training and an attempt at geocaching. Hannah had gotten a new GPS as a wedding gift, and we wanted to try it out. Angel and I lagged well behind Hannah on the 2 mile bike leg up to the National Trailhead, but I figured it would be good training for sleep deprivation and mental toughness. After locking up our bikes, we started up the foothills with Angel and I sweating out German beer. My head hurt and my legs were wobbly as we alternated between running and walking up the slope. My mental state was about as good as my physical one as I contemplated how bikes were supposed to navigate the gigantic rock formations that made up the majority of the trail. Once we cleared the top though, I started to feel a little bit better due to the incredible view of the entire Valley from the vantage point. We soon turned off of National and headed to Hidden Valley, where a "map cache" was supposedly tucked away among the unique rock formations. Unfortunately for us, we couldn't quite figure out how to switch Hannah's GPS from degrees, minutes and tenths of a minute to degrees, minutes, and seconds. We were lousy geocachers, but had a great time scrambling over the rocks in the cool autumn-like morning. We didn't find a single cache, but got a bit of a good workout in and sweat out any alcohol that we had in our systems. Afterwards, Angel and I caught a late breakfast before I headed in to the lab for a few hours to catch up on some projects that I've put on the back burner due to all of my microscopy work.

During the evening, I went over to Hannah and Tom's for some beer brauts and college football. It was awesome... Stanford beat USC and Florida almost beat LSU. Purdue played some team in red... I don't think it was Indiana or Wisconsin... it started with The... something about little nuts... anyways, I don't remember what happened, the first quarter was too painful and I blacked out for the rest of it. At least we can win where it counts in rowing.

On Sunday, Team ODP went up for a romp in the forests of Prescott. Since Angel and I had felt bad on the first part of the training session on Saturday, it was only fair that Hannah took her turn on Sunday. It was too bad for her, as the weather was perfect and 305 was just as amazing as it had been the first time. We stopped a few times along the ride, and it just felt right to be out there. Clear blue skies, fresh air, tall pines with fat squirrels scampering through them, and proud mullein plants clinging to the last yellow blossoms at the top of their tall, fuzzy stalks. It is times like that when you understand why people like Chris McCandless do what they do. (Sidebar to my family, no worries, I'm not going to just vanish into the wild, no matter what I said when I was a kid). Standing on top of a ridgeline and looking out across the hills and valleys and granite outcroppings, you understand life in the balance and how lucky we are to experience moments of peace like that in nature.

In addition to the beauty of our surroundings, the ride was incredible, especially now knowing where the dips and turns and hills were. We flew back down the trail (Hannah kind of literally on one section) as fast as we could go, just living in the moment, and enjoying the freedom of it all. Again, the seven miles back ended way too quickly, and we headed back to civilization for a bite to eat at Sonic, a quick stop at REI to look at gear, and then returned home after a full weekend.

Life is best lived to the max, and I have certainly been doing that the past couple of weeks. With the potential to get back out on the ocean in less than two months, my brain has been running a million miles a minute with a hundred different scenarios playing over and over in my mind. Although it is stressful at times, I work best under pressure. My passions bring out the best in me, and when I have a lot on my plate, I usually get more things done. It's exciting to be excited again. Work hard, play hard, and though there is no break on the horizon, it's the life I choose, and one that I truly love.

Into the Wild

On Friday, I went to go see Into the Wild. It was only playing at one theater in the Valley, which surprised me, as it seemed like one of the most interesting movies that is out right now. Never-the-less, the theater was right up the road in Scottsdale, so I didn't have to go too far to get there.

Angel was just talking about the story behind the movie a few weeks ago when we were camping up in Prescott, and it intrigued me then when I first heard about it. She had read the book, and had told me all about it before I had even heard about the movie, and when there was an article about the movie in Outside magazine, I knew that I had to see it. The movie (and book by Jon Krakauer before it) is based on a true story about a young man, Christopher McCandless, who grew up in an upper middleclass DC neighborhood, attended Emory University, and then decided that he had had enough of society and material things. So, he gave all of his money to charity and spent the next two years roaming the U.S. working odd jobs on farms, riding in boxcars, hiking trails, and living with hippies. After two years of adventures, he decided that it was time to go off on his own and live in the wilderness of Alaska. He survived 113 days off of a bag of rice, a rifle, and a book of wild edible plants. Unfortunately, the movie has an unhappy ending, but that's not my point here.

My point is I think that many of us have had the dream of going off and living in the wild. I used to think that I was the only one, but after talking to and interacting with fellow adventurers and friends, I have found that my dream is not one of a kind. It's the actual carrying out of that dream that makes people like Chris unique. So many of us get caught up in the rat race that is life that we never pause to focus on our dreams. With jobs, families, and other responsibilities that often take priority, we put off our other passions - giving excuses that time, or money, or some other obstacle stands in the way of our dreams. You have to have a lot of courage in order to step out of that comfort zone that we have been raised in and step into the wild to risk the unknown, to risk failure, maybe even death sometimes. We give a lot of credit to people like Chris who are able to live out their dreams without looking back because so many of us have the desire to do so, but don't have the cajones to do so. It has been said that you don't start growing old until your dreams turn into regrets. Everyone has responsibilities, and most people have dreams, but not everyone has the courage to live out those dreams. That is what makes adventurers a special breed.

Left: Kohl and I with Jo from Rowgirls. Right: Kohl and I with Tara and Iain of Sun Latte.

Ever since I got the call from Simon, the thought of rowing oceans has not left my mind. Dreams are very powerful things, and to be honest, rowing oceans has been on my mind since the day that I picked up Debra Veal's book on that fateful day in London. Yet, my mind has been in a constant struggle... I think about two months to the day until we would be setting off and all of the things that would have to be done in that time frame... renew passport, raise over $20,000, coordinate repainting and refitting of rails in the fours boat in England, coordinate shipping, order food, and not to mention... telling my PI that I'll be gone for a bit after Thanksgiving. Then, I think about being back in the Canaries, laughing in the pub with our fellow rowers, trying to buy supplies in the Spanish hardware stores, fitting the last of the equipment into the boat, finally getting started, the freedom of the ocean, phosphorescence, stars, laughing with your teammate at the eccentricities of life on the ocean, singing in the rain, watching the sun rise out of a gray horizon, and ultimately living your dream.

It's a lot to think about, but it's going to be a tough call no matter what happens. My problem isn't whether I'm following my dreams or not, it's which dream I am going to follow at this point in time. It's my age old paradox... if I'm on the ocean, I'll feel bad about taking so much time off of the PhD and worrying my family. If I'm in the lab, I'll kick myself for the next two years for not trying harder to finish what I started when I had the chance. Sometimes I wish it was just as easy as walking off into the wild, but then again, all of the challenges are just part of the adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Silent Sundays

One Sunday a month in the South Mountain Preserve is set aside as a Silent Sunday. No motorized traffic is allowed in the majority of the park, and thus, the noise of cars and motorcycles buzzing around is eliminated and replaced with... well, nothing. After a full, busy two weeks running around in the hustle and bustle and noise of life, it was nice to have a silent Sunday. After five miles along the Desert Classic trail, I was deep within the preserve. I stopped underneath a small mesquite tree to get a bit of shade, and as I set my bike down to get some water from my pack, I noticed the stillness and the silence around me. No noise - no horns blaring in traffic jams, no machines throbbing in the background, no television, no phones, no iPod. No bugs flying around, no lizards darting from rock to rock, no havelinas rooting around in the sand, not even a wind to stir the dried leaves on the ocotillo. Complete silence. A beautiful nothingness. A brilliant contrast from the normal course of existence in the Valley.

After the past two weeks, the silence was definitely well appreciated. Last weekend was spent up in Flagstaff for a 10s rugby tournament. Although 10s is not as fast paced as 7s, it is definitely more fun (as a back) than 15s, and the Scottsdale Lady Blues faired very well against all comers. I played a bit of outside center and fullback, got a few trys, and had a great time mucking about in the muddy fields (it was cold and rainy in Flag, but it was a nice change from dry, hot Phoenix). Out of the five games, we only let two trys get past us (one was completely my fault... ooops), and scored hundreds of points. We won the tourney, and won the rugby party as well by dressing up as American Gladiators.

The week itself went well with lots of promising results in the lab and plenty of time spent in the subbasement working on the electron microscopy project. On Tuesday, Angel, Kelly, Kohl, and I went to the Dave Matthews concert. He plays amazing live shows, and this one was no exception with an almost full moon rising behind the stage. Unfortunately, as I was being mesmerized by the incredible instrumentation and energy of Dave and Co., Come From Behind (my ultimate team) was being mesmerized by the hucks of Filthy McNasty. We're now 1-2 for the season. Ouch.



On Saturday after watching the Boilers demolish the Faulterin' Irish of that school from South Bend, Jeff and I made a road trip out to Western New Mexico. Schnepf Farms is actually in Queen Creek, but it was a road trip down there. Well worth it though, as it was the site of EdgeFest 2007, one of the Valley's best music festivals. Jeff knows almost all of the local bands, and his friends include various promoters and all the staff at Crabby Don's - the bar that was catering the event, so we got backstage passes, VIP, the whole works. It was amazing. We hung out with all of the local bands, talked to The Plain White Ts, had (free) lunch with The Bravery, and drank lots of free drinks. The music and energy in the place was just incredible. The band lineup itself was amazing - from two of my now favorite local bands, Comfort for Change and Vistalance, to the main stage acts of Hot Hot Heat, The Bravery, Flyleaf, Plain White Ts, Jimmy Eat World, Social Distortion, and Bad Religion. As a VIP, we got to stand practically onstage for these awesome acts. I had wanted to see basically every band that played the mainstage, so I was in heaven. Jimmy played every song that I wanted to hear, and had a great show back in their homeland (they're from Mesa). For Social Distortion and Bad Religion, Jeff and I gave up our cushy spots at the front of the VIP section to join the craziness going on down below in the melee of the crowd. We put our energy drinks to the test as we hopped around in the mosh pits and crowd surfed to our heart's content. You couldn't wipe the smiles off of our faces as we soaked up the incredible energy. Totally natural, crazy high... no drugs needed, just music and good people. I think that was the most fun I've ever had at a single concert, and that's saying something for me. Afterwards, we crammed half of the crowd into my Jeep (ok, just 6 of us, but it seemed like a lot more) to head to the afterparty at Crabby Don's. Again, lots of funloving people and a few more bands. I didn't partake too much in the free alcohol that abounded, but chose to just bask in the ambiance and chill with some good friends for the rest of the night/morning. When I finally headed home, I was smiling from ear to ringing ear with hundreds of good memories of EdgeFest 2007.

Sunday morning and early afternoon were spent watching the Bears and Colts at BW3s with a few friends (and some enemies who were rooting for the other teams). The Bears don't seem to do well with or without the Gross-man, but at least the Colts won :). After we'd had our fill of football and wings, I headed out to South Mountain to get in at least a little bit of adventure for the weekend. My original goal was to take Mormon out and National back, but the temperature was still hovering just under 100 degrees, and the lack of sleep and electrolytes had me thinking otherwise. So, I opted to do something else that I had wanted to do for a long time. I finally rode the entire length of Desert Classic. After riding out in Flagstaff and Prescott, the DC was a piece of cake. After I got past the water tank, I didn't see another biker, hiker, or horse for at least 3 miles. Alone, with just me, my bike, and the still desert around me. In the valleys of the foothills, I might as well have been deep within the Sonoran Desert as opposed to the middle of Phoenix. All I could hear was the rattling of my chain as I changed gears and my rattled breath as I charged up the hills. The beauty of the silence and solitude was invigorating, and my despite my fatigued state, I rolled along the hot, curving singletrack with bright eyes and a happy heart. Finally, after nine miles, I crested a hill and looked down into Ahwatukee - houses and palms trees and roads and telephone lines. Distinct from the rest of the ride filled with saguaros and mesquite, I knew that the trail was over, and I zipped down the last of the foothills onto a suburban street, feeling the wind rush past me as I let gravity take me down to Chandler Blvd. Without the trail to keep me entertained, I slogged the last ten miles on the road and went home for some well earned barbecued ribs. After a wonderful weekend of life in the balance between rocking and reflecting, I'm ready to tackle the week ahead.

Lure of the Ocean

The ocean is a special, magical place, escpecially when viewed from three feet above the water for several weeks, as any one of the 300 odd ocean rowers can tell you. And in addition to the ocean, the American Fire is a special, magical team. I was reminded of this last night when the three of us were back together again down in Awhatukee. There really is something about Kohl, the boat, and myself that I just can't explain. We've been through a lot... when we met for the first time on a beach in Toledo, we were not even contemplating buying her, but when we took the oars for the first time, we knew that there was a connection. Then, when we brought her "home" to Eagle Creek Reservoir a few short months later, we celebrated by rowing her all over the lake and sharing our beer and Doritos with her (by accidently spilling them all over) during our first night onboard. From the wind on Lake Michigan without a rudder, to the swift current and muddy waters of the Wabash River, to the million dollar houses surrounding Walloon Lake. From long road trips with her in the rusty van to 90 days and one million memories of Intercoastal Waterway, Biscayne Bay, and the Atlantic Ocean down in Florida. And then, after all that work and a year and a half together, setting off on the adventure of a lifetime. Fourty-six days of beauty, wonder, stars, storms, and the most magnificent sunrises you have ever witnessed.

I've heard a saying before, I don't remember if it was Maori or Native American, but I wish I had written it down, though. Basically it says that if you experience a near-death situation with someone, you become forever a part of each other and must do all that you can to make sure that they stay alive and well from then on. And despite all of the things that have gone on since that fateful Sunday, I still understand that. Last night out in the foothills of the South Mountains, I remembered why. It was just the three of us and the quiet comfort a clear night filled with stars and a half-full moon. I can't explain it, so I won't attempt to, but there is just a comfort and magic knowing what we've been through and the fact that we're still romping around this crazy planet.

It doesn't help that I got a call from Simon Chalk two days ago. When the 12 digit number from England showed up on my phone, I wasn't sure what to think, but after a 10 minute conversation, I was even less sure. I have a great life right now... I love my job, I love my classes, I love the adventures that I've got coming up here in Arizona, I'm having a lot of fun with ultimate and rugby, I've got great friends, my family is doing great, and just overall, I'm a very happy kid. But, a dream deferred is a tough thing to always have in the back of your mind, and you don't realize just how powerful it is until you've been given a chance to get back out there. The next ocean rowing race is just over two months away, and Simon gave us the option of putting together a 4s team or a pairs team, with both boats just about ready to go and with "minimal" costs (this still means many thousands of dollars in ocean rowing). It would be a long shot... I've just begun putting together my PhD committee and I have a very stable, low stress, life for once in my life. But I realize that deep down, I would defer those dreams for the shot at fulfilling another. I will not be satisfied until I do.

We haven't committed, just merely asked for more information, and are still digesting the idea that Simon has planted in our heads. The idea may remain just that, but the mere thought that I would risk my current life that I love for another life that I may love even more just shows the powers of a dream and the spell that the ocean holds over me. As we were leaving the boat last night, I accidently kicked the trailer in the dark at the bow of the boat, and blood started to trickle down the center of my left foot. When I got home, I cleaned it up, and noticed that the new cut is directly overtop of the scar that the boat gave me back in 2005 when we beached her. As much pain and suffering that the three of us have put each other through, we're still all a part of each other, and the lure of the ocean affects us all the same.

Welcome, Fall!

Yesterday morning I got up and rode my bike to work at 7:30 a.m. As soon as I opened the door, I could feel the change in the seasons. The normal blast of heat that usually greets me was missing, and as I started down the street, I could feel a faint (albeit very faint) chill to the air that brushed past me as I picked up speed. It even smelled different... not of anything in particular, but the lack of cooking asphalt odors was certainly a welcome change. I worked until 6 at night, so didn't really get to test the heat of the day, and decided that the cool morning was a result of my going in to work early, not because of any shift in the weather. So, this morning when I opened up the door to the same cool air at 8:30, I was pleasantly surprised. I rode the two miles into campus without sweat soaking into my clothes, and actually enjoyed the ride for once in a long time - taking time to notice the wind dancing on the lake with Four Peaks watching over the whole scene from the east. It REALLY IS cooler out. It JUST MIGHT be the beginning of the fall here in Phoenix. I'm not sure how long it will last, but it is most certainly welcome.

Especially after this weekend. What the weekend lacked in adventure, it made up for with sport and good friends. Friday night was spent honing my (lack of) skills in Guitar Hero and chowing down on pregame pasta at Suda's before a good night's sleep. Then it was up early on Saturday to line the pitch for our rugby game. It broke 100 degrees sometime while I was driving over at 9 a.m. Dry heat or not, it was HOT. For two hours we prepared the field, though it wasn't all boring - Kohl and I managed to break one of the spray paint cans used to paint the lines on the field, and by the time we were done, we had more paint on ourselves than the field, and Kohl even had a good portion in her mouth :). By the time we got around to running a few plays and drills, the sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight. When the game started at 11, the water was almost boiling in our water bottles. Since I primarily play sevens rugby, and since I'm as much of a rookie as they come for 15s, I was pretty much there just to fill-in in the event that the team needed extra bodies. So, for the first half of the game, Kelly and I ran around as touch judges and tried to find shade along the sidelines, while the 30 on field ran around and tried to play rugby in the hellish conditions. We played the Surfers of San Diego (a perennially strong rugby club), and had decided that the heat would be in our favor since San Diego is "72 and sunny" year round, and we would be more adapted to the heat. I don't care how you look at it, you can't adapt to the fires of hell, and certainly not when you're running around hitting people while wearing heavy cotton jerseys. Even the lizards and snakes don't go around beating the crap out of each other at high noon. Anyways, I was more than happy to just watch. The game started out well enough, with the Lady Blues scoring the first try, but things went downhill from there. I went in for a bit in the second half, but as the weak side wing, didn't really do a whole lot. Like an outfielder, the wings are either the heroes or the scapegoats, and for the time that I played, I was neither. I tackled a few girls without letting them get to the sideline and ran along on offense, but overall, I just got sweaty and came out again when the girl that I had come in for had enjoyed a bit of rest (she was lucky, there were only three of us subs). By the end of the game, we looked a lot worse for wear and came out of it 19 - 49 and looking like we had just been through a boiling washing machine - hot, wet, bruised, and weary. Not the best way to start the season, but as I said, I'm only sticking around until adventure racing season really kicks in, so it was no skin off of my back. Plus, the social afterwards is fun win or lose. We enjoyed cold food and plenty of drinks, several traditional rugby songs and my fair share of rookie embarrassment (nothing too bad fortunately) until late in the afternoon. After a shower and a bit of rest, the evening was spent watching the men's game against the ASU team. It was much cooler after the sun went down, and quite enjoyable for all involved (except maybe ASU... they didn't score until the B-side game).

Sunday was the most nonathletic, unadventurous day that I have had in a very, very long time. I didn't even go outside except for a bit of yardwork early in the morning. I figured that I had done enough in the Phoenix sun for one weekend, and I didn't feel the need to put myself through that again for awhile. Despite the lack of adventure, I had a very good day. The morning was spent cleaning around the house and watching football. The Colts won, and shortly afterwards, several of my friends and coworkers started showing up to prepare food and decorations for another coworker, Namrata's, surprise baby shower. When Namrata arrived around 3, she thought that she was attending my housewarming party and she hadn't the faintest clue that we had been planning this for months... we really surprised her well, and the expression on her face when she walked in the door was priceless. For the rest of the day we ate some amazing Indian food, played games, watched Namrata open dozens of presents, and played with Michelle's five month old, Lela, who is growing in leaps and bounds every day. I'm not sure if she's going to be a rower (she has really strong legs), a soccer player (she loves to kick), or a basketball player (she can grip a balloon like it's her job), but if I babysit her enough, I'll try to turn her into a rower. She also didn't mind sitting on my bike, so we'll see... Anyways, it was a great afternoon, and Namrata was overjoyed with the surprise, so very successful overall. I was worn out by the end of it though (playing with babies is a tough job), and ended the weekend by falling asleep on the couch as the eastern winds began bringing the cooler air into the Valley to start off the week.

Hopefully the cold front will stick around at least until this evening so we can celebrate a win for Come From Behind, my co-ed ultimate frisbee team, while celebrating the coming of autumn. It is the Fall League afterall...

So long, sweet summer

The beginning of fall back in the Midwest is one of my favorite times of the year (second only to the beginning of spring). It's the time when the hot, humid summer gives way to the cool, breezy autumn. The sun filters through the changing colors of the leaves on the maples and ash trees, following the trend that the poplars started in early August. The dried corn stalks rustle in the wind as they prepare for harvest and the squirrels busy themselves with making nests for the coming frosts. The breeze brings with it smells of dust and dry earth and smoke from the first bonfires of the season, started in the early evening to ward off a chill and the last of the mosquitoes.

But, we don't get things like that here in Phoenix, and it won't cool down until Halloween, so we have to go and find the fall, which is exactly what a few of us Phoenicians did this weekend.

Friday evening, Jeff and I spent happy hour at a little bar near campus that serves $2 Coronas and plays awesome indie music. We sat on the massive porch underneath some ash trees (which are sort of trying to change color) basking in the ambiance, and inviting friends that walked by to come and share a round. Happy hour came and went, and by 9 p.m., I had spent $20 on Coronas (you do the math). I said goodbye to the table full of friends that had gathered and carefully biked myself home before passing out in anticipation of a full weekend.

I woke early in the morning feeling ok, and headed up to Angel's where she and Bill were waiting for me. We loaded the bikes in the back of his truck and headed back to Prescott. Since we had had such an amazing time the previous weekend, we decided to try a different trail. We passed the time with my story of Atlantic rowing... Bill (a pretty risky outdoorsman) was impressed. After an hour and a half of driving, we turned off near Lynx Lake and made our way to the trailhead for Trail 305. Bill had tried the trail last Sunday, and said that it was awesome, so Angel and I wanted to try it for ourselves. It certainly did not disappoint. The first few miles crossed several roads through the campground, gradually gaining elevation through a series of twists, turns, and rolling hills. Once we got through the campground, the rocks disappeared and the trail wound along narrow ridges giving a technical feel to the otherwise smooth trail. Like our own personal rollercoaster, the trail dipped and switchbacked for seven gorgeous miles through pine forest broken up by patches of Indian paintbrush and wild snapdragons. At the end of the trail, we paused to enjoy our surroundings and share more adventure stories. In the words of Jimmy Buffett, Bill has lived "an interesting life," and I'll just keep it at that. Good stories though. If the trail out was fun, the trail back was incredible. On the way back, I decided that the 305 was my favorite biking trail so far. The trail gains about 1000 feet of elevation on the way out, which means that the way back drops the same. Our own personal rollercoaster. Dip, dive, try to stay on your bike, curve around, miss a tree, jump a root, grip your handlebars as you speed down the ridge, get to the bottom, and laugh out loud at the joy of it all. Seven miles in heaven. We didn't want to stop at the end, and I would have happily rode around all day on that trail. We went into town for lunch, and even though we went to a really nice, historic little restaurant, my stomach and I got in a fight. I don't know whether it was the Coronas from the night before, the salad that I started my meal with, or my predisposition with the Big 10 football that was on the screens in the bar, but my stomach was not happy, and it wasn't being tactful in letting me know. I took my food home in a box (this very rarely happens) and spent the return drive in a fog lingering between listening to my belly and not listening to Bill (while Angel slept in the back of the cab). Fortunately, by the evening I was feeling better, and I spent it vegging on the couch and eating the rest of my lunch.



On Sunday, we gave Hannah one last Arizona Sunday of freedom before the wedding. Since she had not yet been to Bell Trail and since Angel and I had had so much fun there last weekend, we decided to tackle the place as Team ODP. On the drive up, we came up with nicknames for each of us within our adventure racing team. The names are strictly confidential, but I will say that they'll give us plenty of things to laugh about when we're exhausted and 15 hours into a 24 hour race. The hike in was much more enjoyable than the previous weekend's bike, and Hannah spent it much as I thought she would - taking pictures (which I appreciate). We trail ran a little bit (have to get a little training in, right?) and got to the swimming hole in no time. I dove quickly into the breathtaking water, and promptly lost my watch in the 10' deep pool. Fortunately the sun was high and the water was clear, and after about 10 minutes of Angel and I diving to the bottom, I found it and resumed my playing (many of Hannah's pictures at this point show Angel and I just staring into the water). We climbed, jumped, and dove for some time, letting Hannah enjoy the playground before we got a little restless and decided to explore upstream. Like Havasu and Fossil Creek before it, Beaver Creek had little surprises around every corner. Whether it was a watersnake (or 4), a large red sandstone outcropping, bright flowers, caves in the sandstone, rushing rapids filled with boulders, or a calm reflective pool, the stream kept us intrigued for about a mile. You could feel the whisper of fall upon the air as we made our way through a maze of small trees along the banks, crunching on newly fallen leaves and smelling the changing seasons in the breeze. After about an hour of "looking to see what was just around the corner," we headed back to the swimming hole, where recess was in full swing in the adult world. The nice part about the area is that it is 4 miles from the parking lot (as well as on the wrong side of Sedona), and it sort of filters out the lazy, drunk, obnoxious crowd, and invites the young, crazy, exploring types who just want to have a good time. Among our playmates were fellow climbers and jumpers, and like young kids on the playground, when we saw that someone was doing something fun, we wanted to try it as well. The entire place was diving and climbing and jumping, and one adventurous guy even set up a slackrope across one of the pools. Although the three of us didn't get to try it, it sure did look like a fun challenge. After we were all played out, we sat on the warm red ledges and just reflected on the wonder of it all. I am such a lucky kid that I get to experience things like this, and even more fortunate to have friends as crazy as myself who enjoy it as well. It was getting late in the day, so after one or two more jumps, we packed up our stuff and headed back to the car. I cut open a prickly pear for Hannah to try, and ended up getting a whole bunch of prickles in my hand (that weren't so welcome as I sleepily tried to tweeze them out when they started bothering me at about 3 in the morning), but it did taste good. When we were almost back to the car, we heard people down at the creek and wondered if there was anything interesting down at that part of the stream, so we bushwacked down to investigate. We were aptly rewarded with a stretch of creek as beautiful as Slide Rock (Sedona) without all of the people. For hundreds of feet, the red rock of the streambed was carved into long chutes and bowls, creating perfect spots to slide in the rushing water. Once we thoroughly explored and played in the area, we finally headed back to the cars and started back to Phoenix. We were starving the entire ride home, and Hannah didn't help by letting us know how Tom was fixing dinner that would be ready when she arrived. When I finally got home, I made dinner and ended the fabulous weekend by watching an episode of Survirorman that took place in... where else but the Sonoran Desert. Now I know how to take a creosote bush shower, eat crickets, and make a needle and thread from agave. It may not be fall yet here in the Valley, but I know I'll survive with weekends like this.