Blood, Sweat, and the Sea

You have to go there to come back...

2009-08-19T16:47:00.000-07:00

I've been in a fairly introspective mood lately, and though I haven't written on the blog lately, it doesn't mean that I haven't been writing. No, I'm done with comps, so I'm not writing on that, and although my research is coming along really well, I'm not writing manuscripts at the moment, either. With a little inspiration from the recent finishing of the inaugural Indian Ocean Rowing Race and gentle nudging from Tim (thanks!), I've finally gotten back to writing my ocean rowing book.

As Jimmy Buffett put it as he was writing about his fifty years of adventuring: "That to me is the way any good romantic would look at his life: Live it first, then write it down before you go." That's the way I've looked at it for awhile, too, and to put it simply, I've been too busy living my adventures to find time for writing them. I've had some pretty great adventures in the last few months, and maybe someday I'll start writing about those again :). But, I've put it off the book long enough now, and I owe it to the story to get it down on paper.

It's a mammoth task, but one that I enjoy immensely. So immensely that I sometimes get carried away while I am writing and forget that I really am on land (with the responsibilities that come with it) and not out in the middle of the ocean, surfing waves and dodging squalls. I have had to set timers in order remind myself of experiments (which I have never had to do before), as time flies by with my fingers flying on the keys, trying to convey the brilliant intensity of an ocean sunrise or the absolute calm that is experienced during a peaceful night with a million stars cradling you in their pinpoints of light.

It's amazing to go back and relive all those memories, and getting back to the book is truly good for my soul. In doing it, I remember exactly why we went out there in the first place. Life on land is inevitably hectic and complicated, no matter how chill you are or how much you try to simplify (as Sarah Outen is currently figuring out as she tries to become reacquainted with society - it's not easy!). Life on the water may be hard, but it is pure... more pure than could ever be experienced on land, and it is that purity that I really miss and reconnect with as I write again. It is infectious and addictive, and I feel that I could write about it and tell stories about it for the rest of my life, if only to relive those most inspiring days again. If I can manage to illustrate just a little bit of how pure and simple life can be, then I will be happy with the outcome of the book.

I had not been out to the Fire recently, and after writing so much, I felt that I owed her some quality time, so I headed out to just be with her on Monday night. We both definitely needed it. I didn't bring tools to work on her or friends to show her off. I just wanted to be with her. I sat there on the bow and stared at my reflection in the cabin hatch in the waning evening. I held on to her gunwales, fingering the rough patches of repaired plywood and feeling the strength of her hull, remembering all of the times that we have shared together through the years. I thought of the hectic months of training, the humorous road trips, the frustrating days lashed to a sea anchor, the refreshing rain squalls, the frightening monster waves, and the finality of defeat in our capsize. I've spent more time with her than most of my friends (with the exception of Kohl, of course), and she is as much a part of me as any person in my life. I really do love her unconditionally, and it was good for both of us to be together. As the twilight faded, I stepped into the cabin and lay down, staring at the quotes Kohl and I had written on the walls. Even sitting there in the storage lot, hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean, it still felt like home.

Short excerpt from the book so far, corresponding to Day 5 of the '05 trip:

"During my off-shift between 4 and 6, I had nothing to do but relax. I had made lunch and called Bill on my previous off-shift, and having nothing else pressing on my agenda, I crawled into the cabin and curled up on my side down the centerline of the boat, making sure not to disrupt Kohl’s strokes by offsetting the boat. All I could do was smile. Never in my life had I felt this comfort before. Everything in my life was perfect at that moment. Every detail filled me with happiness - the padded blue walls and two inch inflated sleeping mats cradling me in the tapered stern, the color of the sunlight streaming in through the rear hatch, the creak of the rudder, the rhythm of Kohl sliding down the salt-encrusted tracks, the rush of the puddles whooshing past the hull. The waves rocked the boat into a familiar swaying lullaby and I felt safe and contented, knowing that we were living our dreams. We were headed towards Antigua and making history, basking in the freedom that was ours for the taking. In the entire vast blue expanse of ocean, the cabin was cool and dry, and it felt like home."

I guess you really do have to go there to come back...

Inspiration

2009-07-23T16:47:00.000-07:00

Life has been going incredibly well for me lately, as the month of July usually is for me... That’s not to say that it has been without its difficulties, but those challenges only serve to add value to my character and make the good times seem even better. It’s easy to be inspired when things are going well, but I am definitely not taking it for granted. The new challenges, incredible people in my life, and beautiful locales that I find myself in make for a very inspiring life.

As much fun as I've been having here in AZ, it was certainly pleasant to escape the Valley heat and head back to the Midwest. It is home, and always will be, and the peace that I felt as I touched down in Louisville was overwhelming. The simple pleasures in life are sometimes the best, and home is definitely one of them.

I stepped off the plane into a humid July night, hopped into my rental car, and had my favorite radio stations dialed into the presets before I even pulled out of the parking lot. As I cruised north on I-65 with the windows rolled down and the radio blasting, I had compiled top ten list of things that I love about coming home before I had even reached our driveway. 1. Downtown Louisville. The familiar buildings, landmarks, and Waterfront Park… small enough to be friendly, but big enough for lots of culture and things to do. Love it, and keep it weird! 2. Cool temperatures. Pretty self-explanatory, here. So simple, but so nice. 3. Kennedy Bridge. It’s the first time I’ve seen in painted in years, and it really was special all lit up and reflecting off of the mighty Ohio. 4. All of the amazing radio stations, especially 91.9, that play all of my favorite indie bands and loads of others whom I haven’t heard about yet. I really miss it, and my day was made with the first few notes of Rogue Wave on the radio. 5. The smell of red clover in a freshly cut hay field. Heavenly, indescribable. 6. The sounds of the cicadas and crickets in the woods. Again, a comforting, beautiful sound. 7. Mosier Knob. When Supertramp’s Take the Long Way Home came on 107.7, I decided to take their advice, and wound around the southern Indiana hills at midnight just because I could. 8. Lightning bugs out in the fields. We don’t really have them out in AZ, and I forgot just how special they are. 9. Tassled corn. The sight and smell of it brings me right back to lazy days of my childhood down at the swimming hole. Good stuff. 10. Country roads. The grid system of greater PHX makes it easy to navigate, but fairly boring. They don’t write songs about the grid system: long and winding roads, they’re a different story. The time I spent back in the land of green fairly flew by as I made good use of those country roads.

For the first part of my trip, I got to interact with some of the top scientists in my field at the Plant-Based Pharmaceutical Symposium, had my best research presentation to date, got a tour of one of the leading bioprocessing plants in the country, and learned about careers that I didn’t even know existed. By the end of a very full two days, my head was crammed with new information and exciting new possibilities for research and my life. To say that I was inspired would be an understatement.

I also spent some amazing quality time with family and friends while touring around my home state: picking veggies at Dad’s in Floyds Knobs, a quick visit with my Gran, a cruise through Pekin and Salem, Em’s birthday in Indy, a nostalgic trip around Purdue, some crazy homemade wine-fueled antics with Jessie on Daisy Hill, and a little walk with Mom on the farm. The whole trip relaxed me in such a complete way that I haven’t felt for a long time. After months of preparations for my comprehensive exams and the conference, it felt incredible to have successfully finished everything, and it shone in my eyes every second that I was there. It really was the perfect way to end a few stressful months, and as I rocked to the gentle riffs of Band of Horses on the front porch, watching the sun come up over the woods and fields, I knew that there was nowhere else that I would have rather been at that moment.

That’s not to say that I haven’t had those moments back here in AZ… on the contrary, I’ve managed to have some pretty kickass adventures on the weekends even during the craziness of preparing for my comps. And the smile on Tsafrir’s face when he informed me that I had passed is one that I will not soon forget.

So, I returned from my Midwest excursion to the start of the monsoon season here in the Valley, and am now back to the life that I’ve made for myself here. It’s good to be back to bench research, back to my Arizona family, and back to adventures that can only be had in the great, wild West. Stay tuned for more… I should be a little bit better at the blogging now that life has returned somewhat to “normal.”

All that you can't leave behind...

2009-06-21T22:29:00.000-07:00

I always find it amazing how music can take you back… as poignant as a faint, but familiar, scent on the breeze. When I got home on Friday, Jack was playing U2 in the garage (because that’s all that’s good on my iPod, apparently :)). I really do enjoy U2, but it’s been awhile since I’ve listened to that album, and with it flooded back some of the best memories of my life…

Eight years ago, almost to the day, I was a happy 17 year-old kid, packing a suitcase for a place none of us had been. My life up until that point had been an incredible mix of highs and lows – but had mostly centered around the open gyms, cross country hills, softball fields, band buses, and freedom of one of the largest counties in Indiana. I had just returned from my first real overseas adventure, and although I had incredible time running around Madrid, Barcelona, and Paris, I had no idea what was in store for me in the coming month. No amount of map studying, e-mails, or information packets could have prepared me for the way my time in Israel changed my life. With my passport tucked safely in my bag and “All That You Can’t Leave Behind” spinning in my Discman, I settled down on the El Al flight and watched New York disappear into the clouds, not knowing then that I would come back to the States with a new passion for life and an emerging understanding of the world around me.

I must have listened to those 11 tracks several dozen times in the course of that summer. In my bunk the first few nights as the jetlag wore off, during ping-pong matches in the commons during our down time, while writing e-mails back home, on the coaches to and from all of the amazing places we visited that summer, while falling asleep on Asher’s shoulder as we rolled through the desert. And now, listening to them brings me right back there, and I can’t help but smile at the hundreds of incredible memories that link back to that album.

What I also find amazing is how much my life today parallels those best days of my life… new adventures, incredible friends, a shoulder that I can fall asleep on, challenging research that I’m passionate about, and a great big world that I am still only beginning to discover. I’ve varied my soundtrack dramatically since then, but I as I fall asleep tonight on this, the shortest night of the year, I can’t help but think that these songs will someday hold the same meaning as the ones from that U2 album. Life is good.

The Adventurous Life

2009-04-15T16:44:00.000-07:00

Adventure. It is infectious, ingrained in my blood, addictive. Dangerous, awe-inspiring, heart-stopping, and refreshing all at the same time.

A million words could not describe the feelings that I have for adventure. In the end, adventure is my life. I survive with the basic needs of food, water and shelter, am blessed and my life is made rich by my incredible family and friends, but the challenges and adventures in my life are what really make me tick. It shows in my everyday life. Normally my ride to work in the morning isn't special, but when the winds whip down Apache Drive, I smile and enjoy attacking them with gusto. When I find myself having to do the same analyses day after day in the lab, I grow weary, but if an unexpected challenge or new finding crops up, I am instantly engaged. A weekend spent mulling around town leaves me unfulfilled, but a few days rocking down slickrock singletrack or standing on the top of a mountain refreshes my mind, body and soul. It's just who I am.

So, lots of things have been on my mind lately, and even more things have been on my schedule, so unfortunately my blogging has suffered as a consequence. But, I had to get back to let all of these crazy ideas floating around in my brain out.

Life in the past few weeks/months has been amazing. Since mid-February when I posted last, I have knocked off about 7 of the items on my list of 101 in 1001. I've completed a 24 bike race solo, climbed Weaver's Needle, hiked the Peralta Trail, climbed Baboquiavari (though we didn't summit, so it doesn't fully count yet), snowboarded in Colorado with my family in Winter Park, comfortably answered seminar questions at the MCB colloquium (100% better than last year), and mountain biked all over the slickrock with Jack in Moab. I would write about all of these adventures, but I'm afraid the post would be longer than anyone would want to read. Spending time with my family and friends in some of these amazing places makes my life worth every breath I take. It feels good to be accomplishing my goals, and the adventure of it all keeps me happy.

But, as many of you know... what my soul yearns for is the bigger challenges... the ones that strip life to its core, to its simple pleasures and pains, its pure, real, beautiful roots that are hidden in much of the padding of modern society. So, I have been thinking about the next big adventure. I will be (hopefully... research is fickle) graduating in the next two years. Once I graduate, I will have completed one of the biggest challenges of my life and will add three more letters to the end of my name. It will be the end of my formal education, putting me on the path to the "real world" if I so choose... moving on to bigger salaries, greater responsibilities, and (an unfortunate truth of living in the States) limited vacation days. And eventually, I'm going to find my perfect/intelligent/funny/adventurous man and settle down a bit and have some kids. So, I will need one more big adventure before I move on to those next chapters of my life. Right now, my mind is like a winter meadow - seeded with millions of ideas that are just waiting for the right conditions to germinate and grow into something beautiful. I've still got some time to decide and a ton of factors will go into the decision, but so far, here is the list of potentials in no particular order: Hike the Pacific Crest Trail. Hike or bike the Arizona Trail. Mountain bike the Great Divide Race. Assorted adventures in New Zealand. Climb Mt. Chimborazo. Indian Ocean Rowing Race 2011.

I almost hesitate to put that last one on there... it's a ton of money and I've already rowed an ocean, but gravity pulls me back to the ocean as much as it pulls the ocean up and down the shores. There is just something so pure and infectious about rowing an ocean that it will never leave my blood. Like the memory of a past love, the hard times are quickly forgotten and the joys of the time spent together are some of the best memories of your life, and if a chance to reunite with them comes about, no matter how insignificant that chance might be, it just makes all those memories come flooding back and the desire rises up again. The inaugural Indian Ocean Rowing Race will be starting this Sunday, and for the first time in my life since I learned about ocean rowing races, I will be not be in one of those boats. My muscles will not be propelling that dot on the ocean, instead I will be watching the representative dots move along a computer screen. Not quite as exciting, and although I am exceptionally stoked to watch others make history, I know that I am going to find it hard not to be one of them. It doesn't matter that I am having a blast at what I am doing now, or that I don't have the money, time, etc. to be out there at this point in my life. Some people have no self-restraint when it comes to buying too many shoes or eating too many cookies: I guess it's probably a good thing that my obsessions are a little bit more out of reach than the store or the cookie jar.

Alas, my ideas so far are just that, so don't go worrying just yet. I've got awhile to figure things out, and more will probably begin to populate that meadow in my mind before the spring of 2011. So until then, here's to the next batch of future ocean rowers, and to all of the adventurers out there!

24 Hours in the Old Pueblo... solo!

2009-02-18T14:32:00.000-08:00

Alright, I'm going to try to start blogging again. It's certainly been a busy few weeks, but an incredible one at that.

Most of it, as I have said before, have been training for and/or thinking about the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo. My first solo 24 hour race. Although Jack tried to help me in saying that, "it's just another bike ride," it was my first >10 hour bike ride, and I had paid for this bike ride, so I wanted to do well.

I had ridden some great training rides with Jack, Hannah, Angel, and Zumbala over the last few weeks, and on every one of them, I tried to keep my pace/heart rate at what I wanted for HOP, and kept my mind trained on what I had to do to keep going. That said, I never did a 24 hour training ride, and I really had no idea what to expect.

So, when Jack and I rode down to the course on Friday night, I was definitely nervous. We met up with the team, who had set up an amazing camp full of space heaters and lots of food, and then hauled the bikes out of the back of the camper and set up our own little world in 24 Hour Town. The camper is absolutely perfect and we enjoyed a great, candlelit meal of pasta and spiced cider sitting in the warmth of the camper while the temperatures dipped below freezing. When we finally went to bed, my mind was torn between enjoying the last bit of respite and worrying about how I was going to fare the next day. The sleep monster finally took over and I slept soundly until the sun came up the next morning.

We awoke to a crystal clear, albeit cold, day and began it by eating everything we could get our hands on in anticipation of the long ride ahead. The morning was spent making last minute adjustments to the bikes, signing in, attending the preride meeting, and some more preride fueling. Before I knew it, the clock had rolled around to 11:30, and it was time to head down to the start.

Even though I knew I had 24 hours to race, my adrenaline was still pumping at the start. The atmosphere of over 600 riders and teams is infectious. I lined up about midpack for the LeMans start, chatting with friends and teammates in the final seconds. When the gun went off, I jogged with the pack for the 1/2 mile to our bikes and then fell into the swarm of riders on the pipeline road. My adrednaline was pumping like crazy, and despite my efforts to keep my heartrate down, I tackled the seven hills affectionately known as "The Bitches" with gusto. By the end of the hills, I was solidly in the middle of the pack and coasted along with the group to the beginning of the singletrack. Even though we were lined up like a giant snake, I was much further ahead in the line than I was last year, and we kept a pretty good pace through the first stretch of singletrack. The weather could not have been more perfect, and the riders around me basked in it while we shared in the great community of endurance mountain bikers. We talked about our previous races and what we thought of the 24 HOP, and how nice it was compared to last year, until at last we came out to the end of the Rattlesnake Trail, wished each other luck, and proceeded at our own paces along the jeep road. We spread out fairly well before we came to the His/Her Trail, but I was still on top of the world and feeling great. I fairly flew through to the Junebug Trail singletrack, and was happy to find that the spots where I had trouble last year didn't even register this year. Before I knew it, I was steadily booking it up the Highline Trail. Again, the hills that had so haunted me last year didn't faze me, and I reached the top in top form before flying down the last section back into camp. After going through the exchange tent for the first time in my solo 24 career, I stopped to suck down a Hammer Gel and got back in the saddle for a second lap.

The field was completely spread out by this time, and I rode the singletrack (first lap skips this part) to the bitches mostly on my own. I got passed a few times and passed a few other riders on the hills, but made it to the end of the first section still feeling great. I had the Corral Trail all to myself, and the combination of the beautiful surroundings including the snow covered mountains to the south, the sunny weather, and the speed with which I was flying, I was really on top of the world. The rest of the lap was spent in the same manner, and I was still overwhelmed with how good I felt even on the last climb. After my second trip through the exchange tent, I sucked down some more Hammer gel and some trail mix before clipping back in and heading out for another.

By the time I reached the bitches for the 3rd time, I was beginning to feel the effects of the previous 35 miles, but I still mashed up them with as much effort as I could. By the time I got to the His/Her Trail, I was visibly tired. My feet were cramping in my shoes and my rear end was starting to complain. I took a short break from the saddle by walking up the hill just before the start of that singletrack, felt better, and pressed on. The Highline Trail was much harder than it had been the first two times, but it felt very good to cruise back down into camp.

After my 3rd lap, I headed back to camp for some awesome pasta compliments of our team, Zumbala, rested a bit, and tried to get in our camper that Hannah had accidently locked shut. About 20 minutes later, Jack returned and broke into the camper via the emergency exit so I could gulp down some hot cider, grab a long sleeve shirt, put my lights on my bike, rest a little bit, and then get back on the trail. The sunset was gorgeous, but the absense of the sun made it cold, and I was definitely not very fresh. I walked several of the bitches to try to stretch out my muscles, and began to push myself mentally. By the time I reached the halfway point of the lap, I was bonking. I started wobbling on my bike on the flat sections, and dropped my gearing down to just stay moving forward. Riders were passing me left and right, and I wasn't even sure I was going to make it. Try as my mind would, it could hardly keep focused on the trail ahead, much less push my body to its best. I was contemplating how far I could make it when a light behind me failed to pass. I yelled back to the rider that they could pass, but the response was,"It's ok, I'll just stay here and stare at your a**." I was so out of it that it took me a few seconds to match the voice as Jack's, but in the instant that I recognized it, my world changed. I had been so focused on my own goal of finishing the lap, that I had forgotten about the rest of the world. We rode together for most of the rest of the lap, talking the whole way, and having my training buddy there really lifted my spirits and allowed me to push a little harder. We went back to camp together where I ate and drank everything I could get my hands on, and took a little nap in the camper. My little nap lasted a bit longer than I would have liked, and Jack went out for his next lap before I got up, but I woke around 1 a.m. feeling much, much better and ready to tackle the world. I hopped back on my bike for Lap #5 with a renewed sense of energy. That's not to say that the lap was easy: I still finished it much slower than my day laps, and by the end of it, I was exhausted again, but I got through it without falling off my bike. I came back to camp for some greatly appreciated hot soup (thanks again Zumbala!), talked to my teammates for a bit, and crawled into my sleeping bag without even talking off my stinky outer layers. Two more hours of sleep later, my stomach was not agreeing with the 24 Hour race format, and I woke up more due to necessity than desire. Since the port-o-johns were down at the lap start, I figured I might as well go back out again after I used them, so as the sun was just beginning to light up the race course, I headed out for #6. By this time, my muscles were shot, but my head was clear with the rising sun. In my rush to get out of the camper before I increased the padding in my biking shorts, I had forgotten my gloves, so my hands froze to my grips while I bombed down the bitches, but I knew that the sun would soon warm them up. I walked up the majority of the bitches, getting words of encouragement from the other tired riders that passed me. Once I finished with the hills, I looked around at my incredible surroundings with the sun reflecting off of the nearby peaks and I smiled in my exhaustion. At that moment, I felt so inspired and so lucky to just be alive in this beautiful day. I fairly flew down the singletrack of the Corral Trail, just basking in the morning. Once the inclines started again, my pace slowed down to what my tired legs could handle, but nothing could touch my mental state. Even when I got to the Highline Trail, I kept my mind focused on the next section of hill, and I was almost surprised to find myself at the top when I arrived. I got checked off for 6 laps at 9 a.m., which left me 3 hours to knock off at least one more lap, so I headed back to camp for an absolutely amazing breakfast of potatoes and eggs. It felt so good to see everyone in the daylight again, and knowing I only had one more lap had me in the clouds. I hung out in camp until about 9:45, giving me 1:15 to complete my last lap in order to come in after the 12 noon finish time. With the warmth of the morning and the excitement of my last lap, I jammed my legs into the pedals to get over the bitches and said happily said goodbye to them for another year. I spent the rest of the lap on an adrenaline high, so very happy to be completing my first solo 24 hour race. With reserves of energy that I didn't even know I had, I bombed up the last hills, bunny-hopped over the rocky section at the top of the hill, and cruised into camp as fast as I had during the first lap. I made it back to the end of the lap in 2:05, 10 minutes faster than I had anticipated, so I pulled off the trail with some other riders and waited for the clock to roll over to noon (if you come in before 12, you have to do another lap or be counted as DNF). Hannah came in about 5 minutes into my wait, so we made our way to the exchange tent and crossed at 12:03 p.m. 24 hours and 3 minutes after I started.

I had completed my first 24 Hour Solo mountain bike race. 7 laps, and 119 miles. Success!

We headed back to camp for a celebratory chocolate milk for me and Coke for Hannah, and Jack rolled in shortly after for his post-race beer. We all ended up doing very well. Hannah's 4-woman Zumbala team took 7th of 15, Jack and B.J. took 23rd of about 60, and I took 10th of 20. Overall, I was stoked to have just finished, and now that I know what to expect, I can't wait to improve. Keep posted for the next one!

Ok, so maybe not quite...

2009-01-30T15:50:00.000-08:00

Well, I said that I was back, and although I really am back to the ol' grind here in Arizona, my blog postings have been less than stellar, I know.

I have been up to quite a few things with adventures, training for the 24 Hours in Old Pueblo, my research, teaching, and preparing for my comprehensive exams. Most of the fun things that I've been up to can be viewed on my Picasa site, otherwise I hope to REALLY be back to regularly scheduled blog posts in the next week or so.

Thanks for your patience, have a great weekend, and Go Cards!

I'm Back!

2009-01-05T08:59:00.001-08:00

Sorry again for the long hiatus... been a busy, but awesome holiday season. A lot has gone on in the month since I've last blogged, but fear not, I'm not going to go into every detail of it. Just a Clif Notes version of what's been going on in the last month... I'll be back to regularly scheduled blog posts shortly.

I ended the semester in a great way, watching my little MBB245 students fret over their finals and then taking a hike up Brown's Peak for one last little adventure before heading off to Indiana.

I spent an amazing two weeks back home, where the temperatures fluctuated between -10 (with windchill) to 65. I actually really do miss the cold weather, so it felt great to get all bundled up and have to put shoes on.

I spent the first part of the holiday with my dad and sister out at my dad's new farm where we walked around enjoying the peaceful forests, eating beechnuts, and finding the perfect 16' tall Christmas tree (they always look so much smaller out in the woods!). It was the first year we've gotten a pine tree (instead of a cedar) since we moved to southern Indiana, and we had a great time decorating it.

The next few days were spent eating homecooked food (and plenty of deer jerky), visiting with family and friends, and curled up with a hot cup of tea and a good book.

It was great to actually spend the holiday on dry land, as I've spent 2 of the last four out on the ocean. You don't realize how much it means to you until you're thousands of miles away, and I happily took my post again as the Trash Monster at my Gran's on Christmas Eve. Everyone loved the coffee table book that I had published, and I got exactly what I had asked for (socks and underwear, oh, the joys of being a graduate student!) as well as some other pretty cool presents. My gran treated the family to an incredible massive dinner on Christmas, and my sister was surprised with a ring from her boyfriend/fiance Justin!!!! Super exciting for all of us!

My dad and I spent Boxing Day turning a 4' x 8' sheet of marine plywood into a beautiful new rudder for the American Fire, some footstretchers, and the last of the repair pieces for the Fire. It was a very productive day, and felt great not only to work with my dad again, but also to get so much accomplished. The Fire's going to be back to new in no time!

On the 27th, I headed up to the farm to celebrate my mom's birthday. After romping around the woods for a few hours, we headed to town for her birthday lunch, some shopping at Unique Thrift Store in Portland, and a movie, and then talked and laughed and caught up well into the morning hours. I woke to a gorgeous sunny morning, and took another long walk all around the farm as I've done a thousand times since I was a kid. I came back and visited with Mom, Emi, and Justin long into the afternoon before we headed back to Dad's.

I spent one more day relaxing and hanging with my family before loading up my bags and catching my flight back to Arizona. All in all, it was an excellent time at home, and I was sad to go.

But, I hit the ground running after returning, donning shorts and t-shirts once again in the brilliantly warm weather. I spent a few days at work, checking to make sure that my experiments were still doing well before spending New Year's Eve at Maloney's, the Insight Bowl (poor Big 10 this season), and then rang in the new year with some of my grad student friends and ended the night telling stories around a backyard firepit.

Jack and I started the new year with a 20 mile mountain bike ride at McDowell Mountain Park and I had a blast showing him the fast section on the Tonto Tank Trail before heading over to Jeff's aunt's house for some new year's beer and guacamole, and then to a bar in Scottsdale to watch the Rose Bowl (same sentiments as before).

The second day of the year was spent in a similar manner, and Jack, Fuji, and I took on Desert Classic of South Mountain. I trained at race pace and then raced back to where Jack and Fuj were rolling along until we all got to Telegraph Pass, where we hoisted our bikes up to the top. We rode the road down all the way to Suda's (stopping several times along the way to steal grapefruits and clementines growing near the road), and ended the night at Gallagher's where we hungrily wolfed down burgers and beers.

I spent the third day of the year snowboarding at Sunrise with Suda. It was only her third time on a board (her beautiful, brand-new board), but she did really well. Conditions were just about perfect: 40 degrees, sunny, and a good 8" of powder at the top of the mountain. It was fun, tiring day, and we chilled to some good music on the way home.

Now it's back to work, but I can't complain. All of my plants and cell cultures did beautifully over the break, and I've got several weeks before I start teaching again.

Dawn to Dusk

2008-12-08T09:58:00.001-08:00

Over the weekend I had my first long(er) endurance mountain bike race, the 10 Hour Dawn to Dusk ride... solo. Up until then, my greatest one-day mileage on a mountain bike was about 60 miles, and somehow by February I have to train for my first 24 Hour solo. It's a daunting, exciting task, but considering what I was doing this time last year, it sort of suits me.

I woke well before the sun on Saturday, packed The Fish and some warm clothes, and headed out to my current mountain biking mecca, McDowell Mountain Park. The sun hadn't even began graying the horizon when I walked into the check-in tent and picked up my race number - Number 1. Usually the lower numbers are reserved for the best riders, but in this race, they gave the lowest numbers to the women solo riders, alphabetically. I have to say that it felt both really cool and very intimidating having the number. I made my camp in one of the solo tents and talked to my competition before warming up at 7. By then, the eastern horizon was glowing bright orange and my heart was pumping hard in the cold morning. I was definitely nervous to see how I would fare on the 15.6 mile loop.

We started en masse at 7:15 a.m. just as the sun was peaking over the Supes. We spread out a little bit on the paved dogleg that led to Pemberton Trail before hitting the sandy singletrack. As per usual, we got bunched up again pretty quickly as there is only one good (ie, not a sand pit) line to take for the first few miles of the trail. It was a bit frustrating, especially as the first five miles or so are on an incline and if you lost your momentum (as you do when you are spinning in sand behind a line of 30 other riders), you were toast. Eventually I just bit the bullet and toughed it out in the sand pits, grinding ahead of the line of riders until I came to a spot where we were more spread out. My adrenaline had gotten me past the first five miles of incline, and I reached the first landmark turn to the west before I knew it. The next stretch of five miles is both a blessing and a curse. It has gently rolling hills that are a great respite from the inccesant incline, but also some rocky sections and large uphill waterbars. They didn't bother me at all on the first lap, though, and soon I was on what would become my favorite stretch of moutain biking trail in Maricopa County. It's a tough call, as I absolutely love the 4 mile Sport Loop as well, but this is just pure fun. It's about 3 miles of SUPER fast, winding, gently downhill, smooth singletrack - with waterbars thrown in every 50 meters or so. Wicked, wicked fun. My smile stretched from ear to ear as cranked it in my highest gear and jumped even the smallest of the waterbars. I couldn't help myself. That section flew by, and let back towards the campgrounds through Pemberton Wash, where it looped around the team camping area at Pemberton Trailhead, and finished the last few miles in the sand back to the staging area.

I felt pumped after finishing the first loop in 1:24, and since it was cold I had hardly drank anything, so I had my card punched at the exchange tent, sucked down some Hammer Gel, and headed back out for number #2. Without the distraction of hundreds of other bikers, the first section seemed to take a lot longer, but again, most of the lap felt incredible (the rocky sections were just ok). I finished the second lap in 1:30 (taking into account the brief stops at the exchange tent), loaded up on some more quick carbs, and headed out again. More than 30 miles into the race, I started feeling the incline a little more and was very glad when the trail turned to the west, but still felt pretty good. The rocky sections and tougher waterbars started to show themselves, but the fast descent still made me feel on top of the world, and I still ended the lap with a dust-covered grin. After 45 miles, I knew I had to refuel, so I stopped for a bit longer (10 minutes or so) to cram some ramen and tortillas in my face, refill my Camelback bladder with Heed, and empty my other bladder. The rest may or may not have helped. My butt had actually become numb while riding, but when I got back on the saddle after the rest, it started complaining, and five miles of sitting down on the incline didn't help. Fortunately I have had lots of training with dealing with butt pain, and I just sucked it up until it became numb again. Lap 4 was as much mentally draining as it was physically... I had challenged myself to complete 5 laps, but when I did the calculations after the second lap, I realized that 6 was possible time-wise - if I could hold out for that long. When you realized you are only half-way and have another 45 miles to go... your mind starts to want to quit. But, I enjoy the mental toughness game, and slogged on until I reached the rolling hills. At that point, the rocky sections were really starting to test my mental game, but I dug deep and rolled over every one with flying colors. I was really starting to get tired after the fun section, but the crowds of people at the campground yelling, "Go #1!" boosted my spirits enough to get me through the lap. When I got to the exchange tent, they had set up a good spread of food, so I sucked down a fruit smoothie, some popcorn, and the ever present Hammer Gel before taking a quick break to slather on some much needed chamois butter (no details there!) and hop on for Lap #5.

#5 was definitely the worst. I was at my lowest mentally with two more laps to go, and I developed a cramp in my right hamstring during the incline. I worked it out a bit on the rolling hills, but it certainly didn't like the rocky sections. By this time, the fast section became the section where I barely bunny hopped the waterbars and pedaled only enough to get me to the next stretch of trail. It seemed to take forever to get back to the exchange tent, but I finally did 1:48 later.

Although I was exhausted after biking 15 miles more than I ever had before, #6 was much easier than the previous one. The uphill section still felt endless, but once I reached the end of that, I was stoked. Even the rocky part didn't slow me down, as I knew that as soon as I was finished with that, I was home free. With renewed energy, I flew once more down to the camping area. The enthusiasm at the campground was infectious, and with less than two miles to go, I kicked it back up into my highest gear and pounded out the last miles. I crossed the finish line right at 5... having rode my mountain bike for 93.6 miles in 9 hours and 51 minutes. As soon as I passed through the exchange tent, all my adrenaline faded and I realized how tired I really was. I rolled back to the solo tent as the rest of the solo crowd slowly filed in. I scarfed every bit of food that I had brought, downed about a liter of Heed, and sat down and let it sink in... I had just successfully finished my first long solo gig, and I couldn't have been happier.

After I recovered and packed up a bit, I made my way over to the team camping area and hung out with Mike, Todd, and a few of our Tuesday night riding buddies before awards. I ended up taking 5th of 8 solo geared women, and felt pretty good about it considering the experience level of those ahead of me.

After awards, I tried to stay awake/social for a few hours at the Wild West Rugby Fest social, but I was down for the count by 10 p.m. Surprisingly, though, after a full night of sleep, I didn't even feel sore or tired, so I headed up with Jack and Fuji to watch the rugby matches at CAP Basin. The rest of the day was spent recarbing with Miller Lite, hanging out with the ruggers, trying to convince them that it wouldn't be a good idea for me to play considering the facts that I haven't played in ages and had just finished the longest mountain bike race of my life, and laughing at the drunken fun that is Sunday rugby.

Thanksgiving

2008-12-02T14:46:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, and this one was no exception. I got a bit shorted on the holiday last year, as I was busy preparing for rowing across the Atlantic, so I was very excited when I boarded the plane in Sky Harbor for a full long weekend with the family on my grandma's farm.

From the moment that I touched down in the brand new terminal in Indianapolis (which is gorgeous by the way), I became a kid again. Since we were really little, Thanksgiving has always been a holiday of food, family, and lots of adventure (real and imaginary) for me, my sister, and all of my cousins. We spent Thanksgiving Day at my Aunt Carol's house. After an incredible meal of turkey, homemade noodles, and all the fixings that could fit in the kitchen, all of us "kids" headed out to the woods where we spent the rest of the day jumping the creek, climbing deer stands, chucking hedgeapples out of trees (actually a really addictive game that we made up... you kind of have to be a rural, Midwestern kid to understand), and just generally exploring.

On Friday, it was back to Grandma's to begin the yearly tradition of making forts. We've done this since we were old enough to walk out to the pastures by ourselves, and I think we'll probably keep doing it until we have kids of our own. As we've gotten older, we've stopped battling aliens and other enemies, but there is just something timeless about designing and building things that I don't think will ever lose its fun. Since the farm was recently timbered, there were several tree tops out in the woods behind the house where we normally build our bonfire, so it was a perfect place to set up this year. We usually all get together and build one huge awesome fort, but since there was so much to work with this year, we all decided to build our own and be creative. Scott and Mitch went underground and built theirs into a pit left from the roots of a fallen tree, Emi got really artsy and wove a circular fort, Devin built a multiroomed mansion, and I opted to build an elevated fort in the cut top of an old hickory tree - which was a lot more difficult that I had first imagined, as it's kind of our unspoken rule that you can only use naturally occurring building materials. By the end of the day, I barely had my floor finished, but it was still a good time.

After supper, we all loaded up to go watch (a.k.a., embarrass) Devin in his final Brazil Christmas Parade as a Northview Marching Knight. We had a great time watching the band and all the cool floats, and fighting little kids for the candy that was thrown from them. We then spent the rest of the night tending to the bonfire out by our forts and enjoying each other's company in the frosty fall air.

Saturday was spent in much the same manner as Friday, with all of us trying to finish our forts. I think we may have to go back to the one fort idea, as none of us were very close to finishing by the end of the day, but we had some pretty cool frameworks built that just might withstand a year of the elements... only time will tell. That evening we took a trip to the Coxville Tavern for dinner, as Emi and I had wanted to go there for a long time. It turned out to be a pretty cool little place full of history there in covered bridge country. After visiting with some of our other family near Rock Run, we headed back to Grandma's and Emi and I curled up in the bunk room one more time.

Sunday morning dawned to about two inches of freshly fallen snow, which was absolutely gorgeous. I really miss the changing seasons, so it was truly refreshing. Emi, Devin, and I spent the morning checking out our forts (not weatherproof) and talking a walk in the lower pasture before heading out. Although the snow was beautiful, it didn't help matters much for getting back to Phoenix, and after several hours of delays, gate changes, and an hour sitting on the runway at O'Hare (I have yet to get an on-time departure from there September-April), I was headed back to the Valley of the Sun.

Catching Up

2008-11-17T08:44:00.001-08:00

Yes, I realize it's been awhile since I've blogged... been pretty busy around here, but in a great, fun way. Things are going really well in my life... lots of awesome adventures to be had and awesome results in the lab.

Ben, Josh, and I took a little camping trip the weekend of Nov. 15th up to Bell Trail in the Wet Beaver Wilderness. We backpacked in four gorgeous autumn miles to The Crack swimming hole, where there were several groups of likeminded people with tents and hammocks strung across the rocks and trees. We managed to find an awesome spot, though, and set up on a small beach next to the creek below the sandstone cliffs and caves. After setting up camp, we hung out at the swimming hole. The weather was warm and the sun was still above the canyon walls, so I decided to take one last flying leap off of the rock for the season. The cold water took the air right out of my lungs, but it was worth it. We played around the area for awhile before climbing up and exploring the canyon walls, enjoying the incredible views from the top and scrounging for some firewood. After our exploring, we spent an hour or so trying to make fire out of flint/magnesium and Ben's knife. We got some good sparks in our cedar bark nest, but not enough to explode into flame, and eventually got out the lighter. We cooked up an amazing meal of chicken, pork, and rice and then spent the rest of the night doing our best to polish off a bottle of RC Cola and a handle of Jim Beam. The light of our fire reflecting off of the canyon walls eventually died down and gave way to the light of the moon, and we finally crawled into the tent in the early morning.

We woke in the morning to the sun peaking into the canyon and the sounds of lots of birds and the gurgling creek. Very peaceful. After enjoying the ambiance for awhile, we packed up camp and hiked out, enjoying the perfect weather.

The next weekend was a fun one as well. It was a busy one for Jack, Todd, and the rest of Dragonfire Racing as they premiered Godfrey Film's new movie, Thrillbillies, and also got ready for the Baja 1000 (Jack raced Ironman on his motorcycle, Todd was paired up with another guy in a car).

Saturday was ultimate frisbee fall league finals. Since we didn't quite have the stellar season (2-8), half of our team decided not to show up for the finals, and I was the only girl on my team for our playoff games. We got crushed in our first game, but managed to pull out a win in the second one to a team that we had beaten earlier in the season. It was a tiring way to go out, but it was fun in the end. The good thing about going out earlier in the day was that we got to chow down on the post-season feast and watch the finals while the last four teams were still battling it out.

On Sunday, Ben, Josh, Haydon, Tess, and I headed out to the Sierra Estrellas to climb Quartz Peak. I had tried to do this in the spring, but felt that with a group, better directions, and a fearless dog, we could tackle anything. The drive out there wasn't as creepy as I remembered it, and I actually had a blast taking the Jeep down the sandy dirt roads. The climb up took about 3 hours with plenty of breaks to rest, enjoy the view, and pull cholla out of Tess's paws. The view from the white quartz summit was amazing, and you could see the entire Valley from a totally new perspective. And, I finally got to meet the famous Mad Hiker, Charles, who was also enjoying the summit with a few friends when we got there.

After chilling on the top for a bit, we headed back down and I had a great time taking the Jeep back through once creepy and now familiar territory sand ruts and back to Tempe. All in all, a great weekend.

The Boy in Striped Pajamas

2008-11-16T20:36:00.000-08:00

I went to see The Boy in Striped Pajamas Sunday evening. I had been looking up other movies times, and an advertisement for the film caught my eye. Jo had talked about a book of the same title while we were out on the ocean, and though she didn't do a great job in the storytelling, the basis of the book did catch my attention and I made sure that I added the book to my reading list. For better or worse, the current list of books that I would like to read is far greater than the time I have allotted myself for reading them - as the pile sitting on my desk clearly indicates - and I haven't even gotten around to checking out The Boy in Striped Pajamas. So, I decided to find out where the movie was playing. My first guess was correct, seeing that it was a BBC film and I hadn't heard about it yet, so I took a shower to wash off the weekend's grime and made my way up to Scottsdale.

The movie was absolutely amazing. This may be biased, as I haven't read the book, but the movie did exactly what the book was trying to do: make people think. There weren't a whole lot of people in the theater, but we all sat silently as the ending credits rolled. No one got up for a few minutes; the film had been so powerful. No special effects, no crazy cinematography, no stunts, no famous actors, and the film wasn't even based in the native language where the film took place (Nazi Germany, and the actors were British, so it took a bit to get a feeling that they were indeed in Berlin). But it made you think, and that's exactly what I've done the rest of the evening.

I'm not about to spoil the movie, as I'm pretty sure that it will be coming out to additional theaters, and I am going to recommend that everyone go see it, but here is what it made me think about.

Why are we so bad to other people? I am a very fortunate kid. I grew up in a rural Midwestern town, was nurtured by an incredible, loving family, went to a great school, and had lots of freedom to run, explore, and question the world that was around me. That upbringing allowed me to travel, grow, and learn about other places and cultures, and I grew up to be to be an outgoing, adventurous, and fairly open-minded person. But not everyone is so lucky. A lot of people around the world are brought up in homes that limit their thinking, that brainwash them into thinking that one specific religion, one race, or one way of life is above all others and is the ultimate right. They are taught that from such an early age and in such an absolute manner that it is part of them, and they don't know any other way, and more so, do not want to know anything different, anything outside of their own. Their way of life is comfortable to them, and anything unknown to them is uncomfortable and foreign and possibly dangerous. They don't stop to identify with the other, because it is unknown, and learning something new takes courage and effort (and only the greatest of adventurers would be able to do that, to paraphrase the movie). All of their lives they have been taught that their way is the only way, and all others are wrong. They have taken it as truth without looking deeper, without actually looking for the truth.

The problem is not a new one, from warring tribes of the earliest peoples to the Crusades to the Civil War to the Holocaust to the current genocides that are occurring throughout the world, to right here in our neighborhoods, right now. People generally making life a living hell for those who just want to live and love.

For example, the current protests that went on this weekend against the ban on gay marriage. Where I stand on the issue doesn't matter in the context of this essay. What matters is that the two sides don't understand each other. There is a Mormon Church that sits right on the edge of campus that gives $1 lunches to students once a week. As a grad student that is currently paying off ocean rowing debts, I know that I can definitely use the cheap lunch, as can a bunch of my friends. But one of my friends won't attend the lunches because the Mormon Church gave millions of dollars to the Yes to 102 (basically banning gay marriage in AZ) fund. She doesn't know any Mormons and doesn't want to get to know any of them because of what they stand for. I've got several Mormon friends, and they're pretty good people, generally just wanting to live a wholesome life and spread good will to others. On the other side of the story, the Mormons don't know my friend. She's a great person with an incredible personality who is currently working (way) hard(er than me) towards getting her PhD and making the world a better place. But because of their differences, the two sides will never even try to see eye to eye. They will never try to become friends. They will blindly shove blankets of hate both ways, only fueling the hatred more, never learning, never growing, never trying to understand the other side, never actually solving anything. And this is just one example. How many times over the past few months did you hear that someone hated Republicans or Democrats? How many of them actually took the time to understand the other side? How many instances of racism, sexism, or religious hatred, none of which are actually based on any truth? And that's just in the United States, and we're supposed to be a developed society.

It's awful, and we do it to each other every day. How many times have we seen hatred around the world, caused by a brainwashed fear of a difference, an unknown, blind to truth. In the great scheme of things, we're all the same human race. When everything is boiled down: race, creed, color, whatever, we all want the same things: to live, to grow, to love and to be happy in our own right. And to put down a person you don't know, to judge without the truth, to judge a population of people without understanding them, is just flat out wrong. But yet, it continues on, and no part of the world is immune to the disease. Some cases more severe than others, resulting in the deaths of millions, while others kill hope and happiness with hateful words and actions. Both have real and lasting consequences. Humans have been around this planet for tens of thousands of years. Isn't time we evolved from the judgemental creatures that we are, and took more time to actually try to understand things from a different angle, to take time to uncover the truth about the other side? To maybe coming to peace with our differences, forgoing our resilient pride for once, and realizing that the resulting bond is not a compromise, but a realizing of the truth, to see that we're more alike than we are different?

Go see the movie.... and think about it.

24 Hours of Fury

2008-11-10T16:31:00.000-08:00

In my quest for bigger and crazier adventures, Jack, Hannah, Todd (Jack's boss), and I raced in the 24 Hours of Fury over the weekend at McDowell Mtn. Park. We raced as a 4 person co-ed team in the 24 hour mountain bike race, which is the first step in my ultimate solo 24 hour stint in the 24 Hours in Old Pueblo in February.

Jack, Hannah, and I joined Todd on Saturday morning, and had no problem finding our camp amid the dozens of tents and small RVs. Todd had brought Dragonfire's MASSIVE trailer out for the occasion, and we dwarfed even the big-name sponsored teams' camps with the tricked out big rig. The front cab had a fridge, microwave, couches, flat screen TV, bathroom, and the whole bit. The back had enough room to ride around in, as well as a loft with more couches and cots. We hauled a couch outside, set up the grill, and just smiled at everyone's envious looks.

The race started at noon, and similar to last year's 24 HOP, I took our team's first lap. It was a mass start (no lemans), and although the first 20 minutes or so were crowded on the first bit of normally fun, fast singletrack, by the time I got past the Pemberton Wash, the field of 100 riders or so had thinned considerably. The back stretch after the major hill (about halfway through the 10 mile lap) on the course seemed rockier than normal, but I got through it without too many problems and finished my first lap in 1:06. Hannah took off for the second lap as I got some cold fluids into my hot, dusty lungs and hung out with the rest of my teammates and our fans for the next few hours. Todd and Jack both rode two laps during their turns, so my next lap didn't come around until 6 p.m. For my first night lap, I felt fast, but came in much slower than my first in 1:12. I was feeling a bit tired after the second lap, so got some nourishment in me and watched Cars with Rudy on the screen that the race organizer had set up. After the movie, I crashed onto the couches in the trailer for a few hours in preparation for my next night lap. Jack had had a rough second lap, so I woke up and got ready to take Todd's place after he finished one lap, but when he came through, he waved me off, saying he'd be fine for one more. I chilled in the trailer with Angel and Rudy while my teammates slept and then headed up to the start again at midnight. Todd didn't come in for another half an hour, having had a very tough lap that involved two crashes and a pretty hard bonk. I headed out into the cold darkness, my HID headlights illuminating the kangaroo rats hopping across the trail and leading me on to the next hill. The field had spread out considerably in the course of 12 hours, and it felt like I was the only one on the course, alone with the vast desert and a full sky of winter constellations spread out to all horizons. Those stars are old friends that have watched me during many of my adventures since I was a kid staring up at them from our frost covered roof, and their faithful eyes smiled down at me as I made my way through the course for the third time. Although I was pumping hard and my lungs burned with the cold air, I felt completely at peace, completely in my element. It was late and I was tired, but the joy of the challenge welled up in my heart, and I could not have been happier. Unfortunately, Fish wasn't quite feeling it, and the chain problems that I had experienced earlier in the race became more pronounced as the cold derailleur cables refused to shift. It made the bigger hills more frustrating, but even that could not quell my happiness, and I rode into the staging area feeling like I could ride forever. The lap ended up being my slowest (1:17), but I have to say that it was my favorite one.

I slept again while Hannah, Jack, and Todd each took a lap, and then strapped on my helmet just as the first bands of gray etched the eastern horizon. Sunrises out on the ocean were some of my favorite times, and sunrises in Arizona are just as spectacular. The arrival of the sun means warmth, light, and a renewed sense of energy. By the time I reached Pemberton Wash, I was able to make out the trail ahead of me without the aid of my HIDs, and my speed increased dramatically. I rolled back to the start in broad daylight and handed off our timing chip to Hannah and went straight for the pancake breakfast that the race officials were putting on. Two blueberry pancakes and a short nap later, I was feeling on top of the world. Our day laps were much faster than our night laps, but the team behind us was slowly creeping up on us, a mere 8 minutes behind as the boys took their last laps. We were in third place, so wanted to maintain the lead as much as possible, so when I took off at 10:30 a.m. for the last lap of the day, I was definitely on a mission. I had an incredible lap, powering up all the hills, bombing through all of the rocks, and kicking it up into my highest chain ring for the majority of the ride. I finished in 1:07, which left us solidly in 3rd place for our category.

I downed a liter of HEED, munched on some cookies, and found my way back to camp, where I scarfed down some more calories (eggs and sausage) and then celebrated with the rest of the team with some champagne. It had been an excellent race, and we were all happy with the finish. Although none of us won anything in the raffle, we did take home a great plaque for our efforts. Jack and I were exhausted and spent the rest of the afternoon passed out on the couches. I rode 50 miles in a little more than 5.5 hours, so it's just the first step in my long endurance races. Stay tuned for the next step, the Dawn to Dusk in December!

Halloween

2008-11-07T08:48:00.001-08:00

All of the election discussions that had been going on in the weeks leading up to Halloween had put more than the coverage of the war and the state of the European economy on the back burner. By Thursday night, I still hadn't decided what I was going to be for Halloween, so I was saved when Jack brought home an energy drink cooler. We spent Thursday evening knocking out the top and bottom and scraping out the insulating foam before I slipped it over my head and was transformed into a... Monster!!

Halloween night was spent at Cripe's house for a party with the majority of VOTS and a few fellow grad students. We've got a pretty creative bunch, with several Michael Phelps, a group of droogs from Clockwork Orange, the cast of Kill Bill, and many others, but Josiah definitely took the cake with his speed camera costume. After a good evening hanging out at the house, we took a stroll down Mill Ave. to admire everyone else's costumes. All in all, a very fun night.

Even though it had been a late night, Jack, Hannah, and I still got up (not so early) to go biking at the McDowells. We parked at our normal spot along the road, snuck under the fence, and were almost to the trail when we looked out over the course to see that it was filled with bikers. We had figured that there might be a bit of traffic in preparation for the 24 Hours of Fury (which we were also training for), but we weren't prepared for the massive multicolored string of riders along the course. As soon as a few bikers got close to us, we noticed the race plates on the bikes and realized that we had forgotten about the Dust Devil race that was going on... on all three of the competitive loop trails. So, we got in the mix of racers and made our way to the parking lot and headed up instead to Pemberton. I was feeling great, and rode ahead of Jack and Hannah enjoying the beauty and solitude of the empty trail. Hannah was feeling a bit under the weather from the Halloween festivities and it got pretty warm through the course of the late morning, so we took plenty of breaks and had an excellent ride along the easy trail. I had never been down the back stretch of Pemberton, and though it was a bit rocky, I absolutely loved the fast downhill, and Jack snapped pictures of our awesome verticals (ok, more like 6') as we hopped over the waterbars. After a good 15 mile ride, we took a Jeep trail back to the truck, got smoothies at Jack-in-the-Box on the way home, and called it a day.

Round #2 of Halloween commenced Saturday evening at Josh's house for the SoLS grad student party. It was another great night of awesome costumes ranging from a group of cross-dressing Red Hat Society ladies, Team Zissou, and a massive eyeball.

After two late nights, I was tired on Sunday, but exhaustion has never kept me away from my true love. I headed out in the late morning to work on the Fire and spent the rest of the day making her look good, putting in the new hatches, and taking measurements for the new equipment and final repairs. No crazy adventures, but a good weekend overall.

Finding Fall

2008-10-26T12:35:00.001-07:00

Those of us here in Phoenix don't get the autumn season the same way that the majority of the country gets it. We don't get changing leaves, harvesting of crops, toasting marshmallows over a big bonfire, or huddling together at football games in your favorite hoodie to keep you warm. For us, fall means that monsoon season is over and you will no longer get scorched or drenched when you walk outside. Nice, yes, but I really do miss the Midwest this time of year. So, in an attempt to enjoy the fall, we went looking for it.

The closest place to find the fall around here is Sedona, and that is exactly where Jack, Hannah, Angel and I headed over the weekend for some mountain biking adventures. We woke up far too early on Saturday morning after a fun night of carving pumpkins with some fellow grad students and headed north on I-17. We arrived at the Bike and Bean shortly before 9, got some advice on a good day's worth of trails, and then headed over to the Bell Rock Trailhead. Out of the 2.5 years that I've lived in Arizona, I've only ever been to Sedona twice, and have never even begun to explore it. The amount of people that flock there has deterred me in the past, but in the lull between seasons, we were hoping that it wouldn't be as crowded. It turned out to be absolutely perfect: mostly sunny with a few clouds scattered about and the crisp cool air being moved about by a light breeze. We started off on a long uphill stretch on a wide multi-use trail to Bell Rock and then took off to the singletrack Templeton Trail headed to Cathedral Rock. The scenery was to die for, and I couldn't get enough of it. At one point, as we were going down a small gravely hill, I couldn't help put take my eyes from the trail to marvel at the red rock and blue sky around us. I was talking to Hannah about just how awes... Crash! I skidded out mid-sentence and rode the rest of the day with a scraped and bloody right leg and elbow, but I just laughed it off and kept going. As we made our way to Cathedral Rock, I got my first taste of riding on slickrock, and I have to say that I am well and truly addicted. The stuff grips like crazy, and is just a blast to ride on. We wound our way around the rock formations and down into a small wooded valley where we found fall nestled in Oak Creek. The leaves were changing brilliant colors and we even found a rope swing and played like kids the big kids that we are in the beautiful area. As we made our way along the creek, Hannah had an amazing catch to what could have been a really dangerous crash over several big boulder steps. Her bouncing over her handlebars and catching herself upright and dodging the next drop was spectacular. We rode several more incredible miles around in a loop until it brought us back to the creek and around Cathedral once again. I can't begin to describe how fun, beautiful, and relaxing it was to be riding up there. Maybe those people who talk about vortexes are on to something... or maybe just that it's an incredible place, but either way, I was in heaven.

We continued back towards the highway for a bit until we found the H.D. Trail that would put us back on the northerly part of the Bell Rock Trail. From there, we took off on Little Horse Trail that offered some more slickrock, wonderfully technical bits, and lots more fun as we explored the northeast part of the trails around several red rock formations. Eventually, we came out to a Jeep tour area where the trail/Jeep road was made up almost entirely of slickrock. It was a blast to gain experience on the stuff, and makes me really want to go up to places like Moab and Fruita. We had been biking for about four hours when we all became ravenously hungry and found our way to Broken Arrow Road that led us to town. After a short stint on the dangerously busy, shoulderless Hwy 179, we turned into a little shopping center to find a Mexican restaurant, where we downed multiple Cokes and big juicy burgers. Hannah and Angel had to rush back to Phoenix, but Jack and I took it easy back to the truck (by necessity, as Jack's tubeless tire had a not-so-slow leak). We wanted to stay off of the busy roads as much as possible, so we tried to find an aptly named Mystic Trail that was supposed to start just outside of town. We finally found it at the end of a maze of new construction and multiple Lutheran churches and took it back to where it met up again with Bell Rock Trail. The last mile or so was incredible, with a very impressive view of the red rock and ALL downhill. Poor Jack had to limp down the beautiful doubletrack, but I fairly flew down, smiling from ear to ear as I jumped small waterbars and ate up the wonderful speed.

After an incredible day biking and soaking up the fall weather, we headed up Hwy 89 to Flagstaff. Jack's nephew, TJ, is a freshman at NAU and it was going to be his first game dressing for the Ice Jacks hockey team. After chilling with him pregame at one of the bars near campus, we headed to the rink. It's been awhile since I watched Chris play hockey in Chicago, and I found that I really do miss it. There's just something hardcore about the game that I really enjoy. TJ got several minutes of playing time each period, and the Ice Jacks whooped up on Santa Clara 13-0. TJ didn't score, but he had a lot of good looks, and Jack and I had a great time watching.

It was a late night up in Flag, so I slept in on Sunday and then spent the afternoon working on the Fire most of the day and just hanging out. All in all, a fun, relaxing weekend, and gave me plenty of energy to tackle the busy week ahead.

The Call of the Ocean...

2008-10-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

It's been just over a year ago since the Unfinished Business team came together to complete our dreams of rowing across the Atlantic. Since we finished at the end of January until just about two months ago, I had taken a complete hiatus from the sport that I had grown to love since my first timid strokes on the Wabash. After taking several million strokes over the course of 51 days, I was in need of a different kind of adventure and a break from the past seven years in which rowing had been my number one priority. As the saying goes, if you love something, let it go... And like the truest form of old love, even after months away from the oars, the passion is definitely still there. I really can't live without rowing, and it was only a matter of time before I got back into it. As a testimate to this passion, I've done the one thing that I never ever thought I would do... joined an erg class. Yes, erging... for fun... by choice. My friend Kelly teaches an erg class down at the lake, and Jack and I have joined once a week. It's modeled after a bike spinning class, and we row at different stroke rates with accompanying music, and I have to admit, that it really is.... (gasp) fun. I don't think that I've ever thought erging 10k was fun. Satisfying and competitive? Yes, but fun? Never until now. Maybe I've matured since the days down in Lambert Fieldhouse, or maybe the stakes in our little competitions are much lower when the outcome won't decide whether you get kicked out of the varsity boat or not, but either way, the hour-long workouts are very refreshing. Strokes at high ratings remind me of every single piece that I ever pulled out in the musty basement of Lambert, the collective power of the few dozen girls sweating beside me rising above any pain that we experienced, knowing that we would turn that power into gold medals in the spring. Strokes at low ratings with the resistance set high and a good chill song take me right back to the ocean. Looking out over the dark rippled reflections of Tempe Town Lake could almost be the vast expanse of the Atlantic, and an unexplainable calm that just feels like home washes over me. There is no doubt that rowing is in my blood, and will be for the rest of my life.

On the adventure side of things, it also feels incredibly good to be involved in another ocean rowing project. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love all of the smaller adventures that my friends and I find ourselves involved in on the weekends, but for the past five years of my life, I have been involved in one ocean rowing adventure or another. Although finishing the '07 race brought so much incredible pride and joy into my life, now that it's over, I've had to fill a void in my life, and the '09 project suits that spot perfectly for this point in my life.

Anne came in from Colorado for the weekend, and she, Mia, and I worked on the Fire most of Saturday. It was a long, productive day epoxying, sanding, cleaning out the cabin and hatches, removing old sponsorship stickers (and reminicsing about the stories behind each of them), and pouring over equipment lists and the plans on how to procure all of it. I gave them a tour of the West Marine store, and I think that they felt exactly how Kohl and I felt when we first started looking for equipment: like kids in a candy store, oogling over everything from bilge pumps to electrical panels to lifejackets. The sun set on us while we were still working on removing old stickers, so we called it a day having achieved quite a bit. I'm definitely enjoying the project manager part of ocean rowing, and watching Anne and Mia learn and grow is an incredible feeling to have, knowing that they're following in Kohl and my footsteps.

We had a good night out on Mill Ave with a few of my grad school friends before Anne left early Sunday morning. I had planned on going out to join some friends up on the Verde River where they had been camping all weekend, but as I've said before, ocean rowing is addictive, and I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon looking up equipment and trying to figure out potential sponsors. Then, in the evening, I joined Hannah and several of my other mountain biking buddies including Scooby, Chris, Ryan, and Josh for the first team meeting of ZumBala. Although I enjoyed my year with Missing Link, they're more of a social team than a racing team, and if I want to get better at biking, I'd like to be with people who can teach me, so ZumBala was a natural choice. All the guys are incredible people, and excellent riders. We already have some great sponsors set up, are planning on having support at all the races, and foster a family-like atmosphere that promotes both racing and the comradarie that is so special to me in the community of mountain bikers. And, one of our guys, Bruce is head of a company called 360 Adventures that does guiding for mountain bike, climbing, and hiking tours throughout the Valley, and as members of the team, we have the option to become guides for them (ie. get paid to do the adventures that we would normally do anyways). All in all, a great meeting and I'm looking forward to racing and riding with the new team.

Beer, Bikes, and Boilers

2008-10-13T10:15:00.001-07:00

After another long week and another presentation for lab meeting (this time explaining all of the nitty-gritty details of our plant expression system), I headed home and looked forward to an enjoyable, non-competitive weekend.

My original plans were to go to Tour de Fat on Saturday, volunteer with the recycling group on campus to get free beer, and then go hiking somewhere on Sunday. You know what they say about the best laid plans...

Since most of my crazy ultimate friends (with whom we had dressed up last year) were in Colorado for a tournament and my grad school friends were being lame, I was just about to head out the door in normal street clothes for a full day of debauchery involving bikes and beer in Tempe Beach Park when Hannah called and changed my entire weekend plan. Rick from Sierra Adventure Sports had e-mailed us (Team ODP), and asked us if we wanted to defend our Extreme Heat victories in the last race of the series. After the Gilmore AR disaster, we had decided not to enter any more adventure races until we got some more training under our belt, but we couldn't refuse a free race. It was SAS's first night adventure race, and we were excited to say the least.

I still had until 3 p.m. to enjoy Tour de Fat, so I headed out on my bike towards Tempe, tried to adjust my seat while I was still riding (not recommended), and promptly rammed myself into a parked car, bruising my right thigh and crumpling to the pavement not 100 ft. from our house. I returned to the house, cleaned up the new gash on my left knee, and headed out again. Tour de Fat is one of my favorite events of the year, and this year was no exception. Although I had missed the bike parade, there were still thousands of people at the festival enjoying the lovely combination of New Belgium's finest beers, the comradarie of fellow bikers, and several really fun bands. I met up with several of my grad student friends, some ultimate frisbee buddies, the Missing Links guys, and some STP racers that are part of my new mountain biking team, Zumbala (more details to come). Even though I was no longer going to be able to volunteer with the recycling group, I had friends that had taken a morning shift and had been given too many (!) beer tokens, which they kindly donated to me. With a race that evening, I couldn't enjoy more than a few of New Belgium's fine brews, but that didn't stop me from trying out all of their amazing bikes. We all had a good laugh attempting to ride unicycles, shoe tire bikes, miniature bikes, bikes that had springs for their frames, and all sorts of other very unique cycles. All in all, it was an incredible event with lots of good bikes, beer, and friends.

I rode home without incident, and made it back to the house to get ready to head out to the McDowells. Hannah and I got to the Pemberton Trailhead shortly before the pre-race meeting and joined the 15 other teams as the sun sank lower in the horizon and the cold started to settle on the desert. The race started like an Easter-egg hunt with all of the teams scrambling for 5 points positioned near the staging area, and then performing a somewhat chaotic frisbee-throwing mystery event before turning on our lights, jumping on our bikes, and heading off into the last glow of the sun. The trail is gently inclining, and we started picking off teams one by one until we were leading the pack. The checkpoints were all on the trail, and though my knee and thigh were sore from my run-in with the parked car earlier, we were both feeling great and had only one team pass us. After a few checkpoints, we turned off of Pemberton to an amazingly smooth, winding downhill trail filled with perfectly spaced and elevated waterbars. I was completely in heaven, jumping down the waterbars with my headlights shooting into the darkness ahead and a full sky of stars above. Before we knew it (and after only one minor wrong turn), we were back at the TA, where we performed another mystery event involving transporting ourselves around the TA on blocks of wood. Then it was on to the trekking part of the race. We started out good enough, hitting the first checkpoint right out of the TA, and finding the second one after a little bit of searching before heading down a wash to the third point. Unfortunately for us, we couldn't see in the dark that the wash split into two, and we took the wrong fork of it. We only realized this when we found ourselves back on the main road, but it didn't take us long to find our way back to the trails where we found the next point, although our mistake cost us a few race places. The next section took us along the technical loop of the competitive track, which we followed out to the Pemberton Wash and the next few points. Finally, we found our last point while hiking along with another team, and began to make the last push for the finish line. We got back to the TA 3 hours and 21 minutes after the race had begun, very satisfied with our 4th place overall and 1st place women's team placing. As all of the teams starting coming in, we kicked back with some Coke and enjoyed each other's company in the warmth of the mystery event's wood fire. It was a great comradarie of all the teams that had gone through our first night race, and it seemed that everyone had enjoyed themselves out on the course. We stayed and talked to Rick for awhile after the race to thank him for inviting us out and then headed home, with our 1st place finishing dog tags around our necks.

My body was definitely worn out, and I woke up early Sunday morning with my knee and thigh sore from the day before's injury and my entire body begging me to just stay in bed. I had plans to go on some sort of adventure, but the sleep monster won again, and I slept in until mid-morning. I took the day to relax, read (for fun!), and just hang out. I didn't have the heart to watch football, as Tiller's really having it rough in his last season. I still do and always will love Purdue, though, so it was nice to hang out with some fellow Boilers in the evening. D, one of Kohl and my old friends from our crazy college days, was in town for the weekend, so I fixed dinner and the three of us hung out in the evening, sharing new stories and reminiscing about our wonderful days in West Lafayette.

So long, sweet summer

2008-10-08T10:06:00.001-07:00

It was a long week in the lab, made longer by the fact that I didn't have any good pictures of adventures on the weekend to keep me going coupled with the fact that I had exams to proctor in the middle of the week and a lab meeting to prepare for on Friday. It was the first lab meeting I have given this year, and now that I am a third year grad student, I felt amazingly confident giving the presentation. It was a great feeling to have, and gave me promise as I start preparing for my comprehensive exams this spring. As soon as the meeting was over, I rushed happily out of the lab, loaded up the Jeep, and headed east. Pierre and Evelyn beat me out of the Valley (as I couldn't exactly leave before I was done presenting as they had), but I followed soon after, driving into the sunset-glowing Superstitions that I had looked so longingly at on Sunday. We were all headed up to Show Low for Epic Rides' Tour of the White Mountains, which promised to be an incredible 60 miles of beautiful singletrack in the heart of the mountains. There are two ways to get to Show Low, and since I had been through Payson many times before and was in dire need of an adventure, I decided to stay on Hwy 60 and travel through Globe. On the map, the route appeared shorter than the Hwy 87 route, but I came to the realization as to why it wasn't "the way" quite quickly. Construction and the long winding hills for 100 miles kept my speed under 50 the majority of the way, and I didn't make it to the Show Low Bluff until Todd had finished the pre-race meeting.

No matter, I checked in, and followed the sound of Bill's voice to the Missing Links area of the campground, which ended up being a field of large volcanic rocks. That, coupled with the fact that the temperatures were below 50, finalized my decision against setting up the tent. I hung out with the guys before Pierre and Evelyn returned from dinner in town, and then curled up in the back of the Jeep for a bit of rest before the big ride.

The next morning dawned cold and a bit cloudy, but we were all excited about the day ahead of us. The ML guys were all riding the 30 miler, and Pierre, Ev, and I were going to tackle the 60. We met a few of Landis guys at the starting line, said good luck to everyone, and were off. On the map, the first 30 miles were to be up and the second 30 down, so I was mentally prepared for a tough start. After a short ride on a Jeep road, we started climbing. Ev and I stayed together for the first few miles, but her triathlete fitness soon prevailed and she passed me before the 1st aid station. At Mile 7, I grabbed a few orange slices and some HEED, and set out to catch Ev. A mix of rolling single and doubletrack made up the next 8 miles, and though I could definitely feel the effects of elevation, I was feeling pretty good when I rolled up to the 2nd aid station for some Oreos and some more HEED after 1/4 of the race was completed. The next 12 miles were mostly up on a Jeep road, and I just cranked it up the many hills, passing slower riders and really getting into a good cadence. The miles flew by, and before I knew it, I was at the third aid station, downing pickles and pretzels and feeling on top of the world. Unfortunately, I wasn't at the top of the world yet, and the next 3 miles or so were very steeply inclined. The loose forest soil made it impossible to ride up the slopes, so for two long, steep mountains, I pushed my bike to the top. But, at the top of the 2nd peak, the race was supposed to be all downhill, and I couldn't have been happier. The descents were fairly technical (sharply curving switchbacks and lots of roots), but very fast, and I flew down. For several miles, I rolled along the singletrack, on top of the world. It wasn't all down, however, and there were still plenty of smaller hills to tackle. I was mostly on my own for this part of the ride, and I got to enjoy the serenity of the tall dark pines coupled with the bright contrast of white shaking aspen displaying their radiant yellow foliage as I rode along. It was 17 miles along this stretch until we got to the next aid station, and after about 13, I was ready to see some people again. In the last 4 or so, one rider began to have bike problems, and he and I leapfrogged each other, wondering aloud to each other where the aid station was supposed to be. Eventually, though, we found it around 2 p.m. It couldn't have come sooner, and we began devouring goldfish crackers and gulps of HEED as the clouds that had threatened rain all day began to become more ominous. I began to feel the effects of the long ride about 50 miles in. I had mentally prepared myself for a nice, fast descent on the back side of the course, but it couldn't have been more different. The mountains are essentially a volcanic graveyard, and for what seemed like miles on end, the trail consisted of washes filled with oddly shaped baby heads (large annoying rocks about the size of a baby's head). My physical state was completely in tune with my mental one, and as long as I kept myself fed and watered, my mind could tackle the torturous rocks. But the more miles I put on, the more tired my body became, and turning a corner on a rare smooth spot on the trail only to reveal an uphill battle with the baby heads almost made me want to cry. The fact that I hadn't seen anyone since the aid station wasn't positive either, though I didn't feel much better when a pro-looking girl passed me as I was bumbling up a particular tricky part of trail. I sucked it up though, and just kept rolling/bouncing along for the next 5 miles. Just as the boulder forest ended, the skies opened up. It had been sprinkling for the last hour or so, but it began to pour with about 4 miles to go to the aid station. By this time it was already 3 p.m., the race cut-off time, and my spirits were pretty low as I wasn't sure if they were even going to let me finish the race. The next four miles were tough and... well, heavy. I almost wished for the boulder fields to return as the trail became a ribbon of peanut butter which stuck to my wheels, brakes, gearing, and all parts of my body. Every few minutes, I had to stop to scrape everything down just to continue. By the time I reached the aid station, I had resorted to pushing my bike up the hills as it was too heavy/caked to even try to ride. The guys manning the checkpoint were lot letting people continue, and several riders who had arrived before me were busy wiping mud off of their hands to cram some Oreos down before the rain got to them. Although I was disappointed that I wasn't able to finish, I still ended up riding about 59 miles, as the course was actually 68 miles long (much to the chagrin of those with bike computers). I got sagged back to the finish line just as the last of the ML guys were leaving (as they had only ridden 30 miles and had gotten done before the rain). I found Pierre curled up in his car, but Evelyn hadn't arrived yet. The course was a complete mess, and riders in varying states of mud and exhaustion were scattered all over the place, with several completely caked with their bikes draped over their shoulders marching numbly into the finish. When we realized that Ev wasn't being sagged in, we went out to go find her and set out marching ourselves into the muck. We met her about two miles from the finish, carrying her broken bike (she broke her back derailleur in the mud) across her back like Jesus carrying His cross. She kindly refused our offer to help, and was determined to make it across the finish line. She was one of the more ambitious ones: frustrated racers were ditching their bikes off the trail, just wanting to get to somewhere warm and dry. We walked along with her and gave her company and encouragement during the long, rainy trek to the mucky finish line. Once we all stopped hiking, it got really cold, and we headed to Epic Ride's tent to warm up. Even though I don't normally drink coffee, the warm, black liquid that they were serving from the camp stove was incredible. The majority of the race fleet that had returned to the starting area packed camp and headed home, leaving only a few dozen supporters and weary racers huddled in the tent and scattered about the camp area. The Epic Ride staff scurried around trying to get a handle on the situation, the first-aid and rescue workers bandaged and blanketed injured riders, the bands that were supposed to play the post race party were long gone, the New Belgium guys watched their kegs of Fat Tire collect rain water, and the poor barbecue cooks huddled miserably under their tarp, graciously feeding those of us who remained. Even though we hadn't paid for the meal, they served us up with massive helpings of pulled pork, beans, and potato salad that warmed our bellies and lifted our spirits. A change of clothes made all the difference in the world, and after sun set and the last mud-coated rider limped his muddy frame across the finish line to our cheers, the New Belgium guys dragged a keg over to Epic Ride's tent and Pierre, Evelyn, and the Epic staff hung out for a post-race "party." It wasn't quite the way it was supposed to go, and Todd was visibly stressed to the max, but once everyone had some hot coffee or cold beer, the blood starting to flow again in our tired bodies, and the stories started flowing from the long day. We talked and laughed until the three of us could no longer stand in our exhaustion, and then wearily left the warmth of the camp stove and made the long trek across the cold, soggy volcano field back to our cars where we crashed immediately.

We woke to a surprisingly clear, sunny, albeit 40 degree cold morning. After a breakfast of freeze-dry noodles and Oreo cookies, we did our best to brush the pounds of mud off of our bikes and packed up. It wasn't the end of the adventure by any means, though. I bought the Jeep specifically for times like these and wasn't worried about getting out of there, but Pierre and Ev's Ford Taurus wasn't exactly built for the "road" ahead. In between our camp and the paved road lay a mile of super-thick sticky mud and deep puddles bordered by a fortress of volcanic rocks that were strategically hidden in the tall pasture grass. We made it about halfway there, when a 4WD vehicle heading the opposite way stopped Pierre and warned him of the carnage that lay around the next bend in the road. We parked off of the muddy tracks and walked down the hill to see several cars stranded in the middle of the road and off in the marshy field. The mud and rocks had stopped several 2WD cars in their tracks, and a towing service was charging over $500 to get them out. We scouted out a safe path for Pierre to drive and rolled rocks out of the way before heading back to the cars and trying it out. He gunned it across the field and made it across the sloppy drainage culvert without problems, and I followed behind, immensely happy with my 4WD's performance.

The temperature wasn't breaking 50 in Show Low, and the skies had turned gray and were leaking once more. The cold and wet had seeped into my bones, and my mind could not fathom that it was warm anywhere in the world, much less in the state of Arizona. None-the-less, I headed down to Tonto Creek anyways to join Hannah and Angel for one last summer hike through the water. When I arrived, it was like I had traveled to a different planet. It was in the 80s when I pulled into the dusty parking area at the trailhead and pulled off my fleece and changed into some boardshorts. I squished back into my muddy Solomon's and headed down the trail to find my friends, carefully peeling prickly pears as I went for an early lunch. I passed only two other groups before I found them crawling along the edge of the granite banks.

The warm sun and beautiful surroundings warmed my psyche, and before long, all three of us were scrambling up the smooth cliffs to my favorite jumping cliff at Tonto. Since the water level was a bit low, we picked a shorter cliff to test the depth before shedding our packs and swimming around the cool, deep pool. I climbed back up to the top again and jumped off a few times, reveling in what I knew were going to be some of the last jumps of the season. Even though my body was still very tired from the day before, I couldn't have been happier. We continued upstream to our slide rock and the waterfall, and then scrambled up and over it to explore a bit further into the canyon as I had only once before. There are miles of pink granite canyon beyond the waterfall, but alas, Hannah had to get back to town in the evening, and we cut our exploring a bit short as the sun began to throw longer shadows on the towering walls and a brisk wind cut through the canyon, signaling that summer was over and we should probably get back to the Valley for the rest of the season.

I got back to Tempe in no time, washed down all of my gear, made a big pot of macaroni and cheese, and relaxed a bit after an incredible weekend of adventure.

Wake me up, when September ends...

2008-09-30T10:21:00.001-07:00

Sometimes it seems that my life is just one big adventure, and I know it seems that way to many of the people that know me. My labmates are always eager to hear about the weekend's adventures on Monday morning, and I rarely cease to entertain them about either an amazing new spot that I found or some crazy debacle that I found myself in. It seems to be the story of my life, and one that I am quite happy with.

But, a few weeks ago, during a conversation with my dad, he asked me if I ever got bored or jaded with the adventures. I responded with the negative, but then it got me thinking... I somehow manage to get myself into some sort of adventure pretty much every weekend, and haven't really had a week without one in a long time. So, I decided to take it easy over the weekend and see what it would be like.

I had an enjoyable night hanging out with friends up in the north Valley on Friday, but ended up staying much later than anticipated, and woke up grumpily on Saturday morning to Hannah's knock on my bedroom door at 6 a.m. Fortunately, Jack had had a late evening as well, and so I wasn't the only one groggily loading my bike into the truck as the three of us headed up to the McDowell's to meet Angel for a morning ride on the competitive track. The sun was shining brightly, but it wasn't terribly hot as we warmed up on the backside of the long loop before we made our way to the parking lot. By that time, I had shaken most of the sleepy out of my system, and was happy to be out riding. We had a great trip around the 9 mile loop, stopping occasionally to wait for each other at the top of the long hills, and then returned to the parking lot where Jack took another long loop, Hannah and I took the sport loop, and Angel played around the area before heading back to her car. The sport loop is like mountain biking candy, and I can't get enough of its easy rolling hills, fast curving descents, and all-around flow. Yummy. After a successful 15 mile ride, we headed back to the cars and waited for Jack to return before having a filling post-ride Denny's breakfast.

I spent the remainder of the day watching football, reading, and napping. Even in Tiller's last year, my Boiler's haven't changed much... they looked great in the 1st half, but I almost couldn't watch the 2nd as they fell apart against the Fightin' Irish's offense. In the evening, a whole bunch of my grad school buddies and I headed out to Tempe. Even though my once staple Mamacita's has changed hands and no longer offers $2 Coronas or good music, it's an old habit that we can't seem to break, and we started the night there before lots of pool and dancing down on Mill Ave. until the wee hours of the morning.

On Sunday, I stuck to my guns and didn't go out on any adventures. I slept in, which I have to admit was very nice, read a lot, got things done around the house, and went to the lab and even worked for a bit. As the sun began to set behind the White Tanks, I left the lab and headed to the grocery store to finish off the day. Looking east, the sun reflected beautifully off of the Superstitions, and I felt more than a tinge of guilt that I hadn't taken advantage of the beautiful day. I immediately wanted to hop on my bike and at least get in a Greenbelt ride or something that would absolve the feeling of a wasted day. Alas, the sun soon faded with the day as I left the store, and I headed home without any good adventure stories for the weekend.

It just goes to show me how adventure and nature, and just getting away from it all is so important to me. My adventures relax me and reenergize me for the week ahead, and without them, I just don't feel the same. So long as I keep them varied and new, I don't think I will ever get jaded with them. And fortunately for me, Arizona and the West have plenty of places to get lost in, and I look forward to exploring as many as I can while I am out here. Until next weekend...

Blunders

2008-09-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the long hiatus between posts... been a bit busy here in the crazy life of this crazy rower.

Friday (Sept 19th), was a bit of a bittersweet day. It was Matoba's last day here at ASU. Matoba has been one of my mentors since the beginning of my PhD, and his advice and understanding have been instrumental in my growth as a scientist. After seven productive years at ASU as a post-doc and research professor, he accepted a tenure-track position at the University of Louisville and the Brown Cancer Center, and though we are all excited about the new opportunities he and his family will have there, we will also truly miss him. Friday night we had a party to wish him well. It was a grand affair at the Mor residence with the entire lab and some of the labs over in Biodesign, as well as all of their families. Lots of eating, drinking, and playing with the plethora of kids. Oh yeah, and spiking Matoba's hair into a mohawk. Good times.

After the festivities, I joined Hannah and Angel and we drove up to Prescott to set-up camp for the Gilmore Adventure Race. When we arrived at the transition area in the middle of the cattle ranches, a full horizon of stars greeted us in the cool (although a little smelly from the cows) air, surrounded by mountains. It was a wonderful contrast to the hectic weekday life, and I snuggled into my sleeping bag happily excited about the next day's adventure.

We woke to a prodigious day full of bright sunshine and dozens of teams milling about getting ready for the big day. Everything was looking great until we realized that we didn't know where the keys were to the car's bike rack, and both Angel's and my bike threatened to become immortalized on top of the little Subaru. For better or worse, the locks on those things aren't the greatest, and I managed to loosen the bolts enough that we got them down without too much hassle (let that be a lesson if you think your bike is safe in a Thule rack). And then the day went down from there...

I still don't like talking about the actual race, as it ended up being such a disaster. Most teams are made up a diverse group of people who each have a special skill or talent to bring to the team. Our talents are... well, special maybe, but not in a positive sense. I have special navigation skills that were responsible for making us trek several extra miles in the first leg of the race and completely miss one of our first points. Hannah has special running skills that make her legs fall to pieces. Angel has special biking skills that allow her to be shaken to bits on her fully rigid bike. The ODP Special, ladies and gentlemen. We had joked at the beginning of the day that things couldn't have gotten worse than the blow-up self-bailing kayak fiasco of the Lake Hodges Adventure Race, but after 8.5 hours of getting lost, scratched up, losing/finding a camera, trekking ~8 miles, dodging giant kamikaze grasshoppers, biking ~20 miles, hike-a-biking down a 30' waterfall, and finally rolling into the finish line 1/2 hour late with only 4 navigation points checked off for the entire day to the applause of the entire crowd of seasoned racers - I definitely felt that we had outdone ourselves. Hannah has a very good description of the race, but for once, I'm going to be trite on the subject and just leave it as a good training day in controlling frustration in a very beautiful setting near Granite Mountain in Prescott.

In the end, I did win a small first aid kit in the shwag raffle, so the day wasn't a complete loss. We headed back to the Valley munching on the best tasting gas station nachos in the history of processed cheese food, and then spent the evening watching the Lady Blues battle Coast Rugby at Chaparral. Even after such a crazy adventure race, Angel played almost the entire game. I don't know how she did it, as I was completely whooped and as soon as the game was over, I barely had time to take a shower before I fell asleep.

I took it easy on Sunday, hanging out with Kohl, watching movies, just generally relaxing, trying to forget about the previous day's blunders, and looking forward to the next adventures.

New Adventures

2008-09-15T14:20:00.001-07:00

It is nearing the end of monsoon season here in Tempe, and by now I have become accustomed to the frequent storms that dot our landscape in the evenings. On Wednesday night as I was leaving campus after a 12 hour day, the streetlights were reflected from the low lying clouds and it was just sprinkling as I left the building. It doesn't just sprinkle during monsoon season, though, and before I had gone a quarter of a mile, the sky opened up, soaking me in seconds and leaving me no choice but to continue the rest of the four miles home in the downpour. The ocean has taught me a lot of things, but one of the biggest things that it taught me was to find humor and joy in every situation. So, as I sloshed home through the flooded streets for the second time in three weeks, wiping my eyes every few seconds to see ahead of me through the blinding drops, I smiled and reminisced about the days on the ocean and how it all came about.

At the end of the summer of 2003, I was sifting through an Oxford Street bookshop in London, searching for a book to read on the flight home to the States after an incredible summer abroad. I was looking forward to going back to Purdue, hanging out with my friends, resuming practices on the Wabash River, and starting my junior year of college. What I didn’t know was that one of the books that I would purchase that day would forever change my life. As I sat in the tall grass of Hyde Park that evening and watched the planes circle around Heathrow, I opened up Debra Veal’s, Rowing it Alone, and got goosebumps in the warm August twilight. Her story captured me, and though at the time I never fully understood the reason for those goosebumps, I knew that deep inside of me, I wanted to row across an ocean. By the time that I landed two days later in a stormy Chicago, I knew that I was hooked. The beautiful blend of rowing, adventure, and the unknown held me in its grasp, and I could not stop thinking about it. For months, my obsession grew, and the more I researched, the more I talked to people, and the more serious I got about actually partaking in the adventure, the more I knew that I could not live my life without making the dream real. When Kohl and I registered for the race in January of 2004, we could hardly contain our excitement, looking forward the absolute adventure of a lifetime.

Now, five years later, the adventure is coming full circle, and I am happy to be helping the next generation of American ocean rowers. Anne came in from Colorado over the weekend with two of her friends, and from the moment that I opened up the door on Friday evening, I could feel the exact same excitement emanating from her as Kohl and I felt when we were first starting out. It was infectious, and I recalled my days when the adventure was new and the dream began all over again. We spent the entire night looking at pictures and sharing stories about the row.

The next morning after some pancakes, we headed out to see the American Fire. I remember the first time I saw an ocean rowing boat, the American Pearl, with Mack, and then the first time I saw the American Star in Toledo. Both times, I was overwhelmed by the tangible hold that the boat put on the adventure and I could not stop smiling. I think that the feeling is universal for those who are truly passionate about ocean rowing, as Anne had the exact same reaction when we pulled up to the boat. We spent several hours going over the boat, telling more stories, and letting Anne get a feel for life onboard in the late summer heat. By the time we went to lunch, where Kohl joined us, Anne was truly hooked. As Anne shared her own story of her original teammate dropping out, we suggested a few others who might be interested, and Kohl texted Mia. A few more texts and a phone call later, a partnership was born, and within the hour, the new American Fire team was finalized. We went back to the boat, where the four of us equally shared in the new excitement. Kohl and I looked on like proud parents as Anne and Mia crawled into the cabin and all over the boat and started talking about how they were going to go about their adventure.

That evening, we headed to Hannah’s to watch Ohio State get clobbered by USC (it was pretty much a bad week for the Big 10), before going over to Jose’s for an ultimate Frisbee party to celebrate the start of the fall league. It was an excellent way to end an exciting day, and I look forward to watching the campaign grow each day until Kohl and I are standing in the Canaries, watching our boat and new team as they row into the horizon.

Anne and her friends left early on Sunday morning in order to get back to Colorado by Monday for work, so I decided to join Case, Fife, Trish, and Cody for a trip to West Clear Creek near Camp Verde. I had heard a lot about this gorgeous canyon, but had never actually been up there, and I was excited about the day ahead. After a few miles on the dirt roads, we arrived at the trailhead near the namesake creek underneath the yellowing cottonwoods. The five of us started out along the creek before the trail meandered up to the desert floodplain. Almost immediately, Case picked up some Indian pottery shards along the path, and for the rest of the trip, we all had our eyes peeled for the artifacts. We explored an old settlement ruin and then made our way back to the creek where we were greeted with a beautiful outcropping of red rock that boasted some excellent jumping cliffs and a large rope swing. Even though the water was still cool from the night before, it didn’t deter us from using the cliffs and rope for the purposes that their creators intended: living life to the fullest.

After a good time at the outcropping, we pulled our Camelbacks over our shoulders and continued along the dusty trail, finding plenty of artifacts along the way. There was a rumor of a sliderock, but the trail didn’t follow the creek exactly, and we meandered along the red canyon walls crossing the water only occasionally. Several miles of the beautiful landscape passed and I took notes in my head of places to explore further on the next trip out there before we came to the last creek crossing. We stopped for lunch and a dip in the clear water to cool our sweaty bodies before resuming the hike. Seven miles in, we were supposed to follow the trail up towards the rim of the canyon, but the trail conveniently disappeared. We hunted for it among the cacti and until we finally followed a wash to where the trail reemerged from the scrub. It was a long, strenuous hike up to the rim, but I found a whole arrowhead in the scree, and the view from the top was spectacular. From the top, it was another three miles along a dirt road to the next trail, which wound its way back to the car as the sun sank lower behind the mountains to the west. I almost stepped on my first tarantula as the September harvest moon starting rising out of the eastern rim. We lost the trail once more in the last half mile, and walked the remaining bit of the hike with the moon lighting our way back through the tall cottonwoods. All in all, it was an excellent, scenic hike, and I can't wait to come back to explore it some more.

We ended the weekend at a local pizza joint in Camp Verde before making our way back to the Valley. When I got back home and plopped down on my bed after a very full, enjoyable weekend, the moonlight streamed in through my window. I can't help but think that the same moon is shining down on the Atlantic somewhere, waiting for new adventures.

Wild, Wild West

2008-09-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

It was another exciting week in the world of this graduate student. We started the week off with the most fun colloquium I have ever attended, due to an underground game of "seminar bingo," compliments of the best comic ever. Teaching was also a lot of fun, especially when one undergraduate who I had previously thought was smart turned the diagram of a microscope on her quiz into a pepper-sneezing monster. I could not help but laugh out loud when I looked at it. But, for the most part, I have a really good group of kids, and I thoroughly enjoy teaching. And my mentor finally returned from his tenure-induced disappearance to have a meeting with me and justify that the work I am doing is actually what I should be doing in order to advance my research and graduate career. It was a rather refreshing way to end the week.

There are always multiple fun things going on for every given weekend, and it's always a struggle for me to determine how to maximize the ~50 hours of fun. I started it out by joining a few friends for a climb at Climax, one of the new climbing gyms in Tempe. Although the gym lacks the competitive big ropes that Haydon and I always end the climb with, it does boast brand new holds and walls (they're so sticky, you almost don't need chalk) and a real air conditioner (as opposed to the swamp cooler at PRG). The climbing and post-climb Dos Gringos was a great way to start off the weekend before I had to decide between hanging out with mountain bikers in Sedona or ultimate players in Prescott. So, like any good compromiser, I did both. Saturday morning started early with Jack and Hannah on South Mountain. We had a nice, easy ride on Desert Classic out to Telegraph Pass. Ok, at least I did. Hannah started hating Jack and I sometime in between the time he wouldn't let her stop at the water tank and when Jack ran over a rattlesnake. But, we made it the 9 miles out in 1:15, and started up the Pass just as Hannah ran out of water. Oops. The long climb was hot and involved lots of bike carrying, but it wasn't as bad as I remembered. I don't know if it is because of the experience I've gained or the fact that maybe, just maybe, the weather is cooling off a bit, but either way, I'll take it. Jack and I gained the top and watched Hannah painfully make her way up for a bit before Jack felt the gentlemanly need to go help out our damsel in distress. After a brief rest, we all spun up the blacktop past the TV towers until we got to National Trail. I really do love this trail, even if I can't clear half of the stuff on it, and I was stoked to be on it. Jack was stoked as well. Hannah... well, Hannah was just mad at the world by this point and in dire need of water, confidence, and maybe some pixie dust to help her fly more gracefully. The trail was exactly as I remembered it, and I was having a blast improving my skills over rocks and down tricky sections, trying to increase my control and handling of the bike. I got a bit tired towards the end, but not as much as Hannah, who had one spectacular endo over a pretty big drop, and the two of us took it easy the rest of the way down the mountain until we finally caught up to Jack at the trailhead. After two more fast, easy miles on the fire road, we were back to the truck where we gulped down some liquids and headed for home.

At home, we watched some college football and relaxed for a bit before I showered and got dressed up to go to Prescott. Yes, you read that right, dressed up to go to Prescott. As in, us cowpokes hadn't been to town all month and we had run out of the basic necessities and needed to take our monthly bath, tidy up a bit, and hitch up the wagon. I (Bonnie Lou Ann) met up with Dixie, Vernon Caldwell III, Hay-zeus, and Wyatt (aka, Fife, Case, Dixon, and Clint) and we took I-17 to Bumblebee where we left the paved road and wound our way up the mountains to the town of Cleator, which consists of a few old wooden buildings in the middle of nowhere. But, one building housed a bar that served cold drinks. We met up with Skyler and a few of his other friends (who didn't play along with our western theme) for a beer before continuing on to Crown King for a burger and a brew out of Mason jars in the oldest saloon in Arizona. We really looked like locals in our boots, cowboy shirts, and big belt buckles. From there, it was on to the 40 miles of dust and dirt to Prescott. We had a blast getting into our character for the evening and listening to all sorts of country music as we bounced along the primitive road (that Jack and some other friends and I are planning to bike before it starts to get snowy up there). None too soon, we finally found our way back to the paved road of Senator Highway and finally dropped down into downtown Prescott. We rassled up some grub and moonshine from the general store and checked into the brothel to watch some college football on the picture tube before shining up our belt buckles and moseyin' into town. We spent an amazing night pub crawling down the infamous Whiskey Row. We started the night off with a shot of Southern Comfort at Matt's Saloon, tipped our hats to the band, and proceeded to trip the lights fantastic on the dance floor. We had really looked like locals up until that point, but I'm afraid that I didn't spend enough time at JD's Dance Ranch as a teenager and Angel's two-step instruction months ago didn't stick. But we had a lot of fun none-the-less and didn't run into too many people. We hit up every single bar on Montezuma Street all the way down to The Bird Cage before returning to close down the evening at Matt's to dance off our hangovers. When the band played their last song and the lights came back on, we wandered back to the hotel and I crashed hard.

We woke up to a great continental breakfast, packed up the dusty truck, and made our way back to Phoenix, opting to return on the paved roads. We got back to the Valley around noon, so after hanging out with Jack and Guane for a bit and a short nap, I spent the rest of the evening getting covered in paint and epoxy and spending some quality time with the American Fire. She's really starting to look better, like she wants to go out for another row or something... she really is a beauty and it felt good to be working on her again, I love that boat so much. I ended the weekend with some of Guane's amazing meatloaf and called it a day.

Labor Free Weekend

2008-09-05T23:28:00.001-07:00

The first week of school actually went fairly well. The colloquium wasn't too boring, I managed to get a bit of free food, I didn't run over any undergrads on either the bike or Biodesign van, and... I found out that I really do love teaching. It's sort of like coaching with the exception that if they screw up I'm not supposed to make them run. If I can just remember that, I think that the semester will go by just fine.

And, the start of the school year means a plethora of school-sanctioned drinking activities, and all of us grad students were happy to oblige. From the Biodesign Fellows meet-and-greet to the weekly Thursday Four Peaks (where several of us got caught in the monsoon/tornado thing that whipped through Tempe and had an incredible escape to Josh's house in the storm), and finally to Friday's School of Life Sciences Happy Hour at Macayo's. I started the weekend with my fellow grad students for free food, cheap drinks, and mingling with our professors until their bedtimes, at which time we discovered the Jack Daniel's promotion. After a few Jack-aritas, I cooled off in the Depot waterfall and we then proceeded to Mill Ave. for some billiards, dancing, and more crazy antics until our bike gang ended the night at Ben's pool.

My initial plan had been to head to San Diego on Saturday morning, but when I tried to battle the sleep monster at 6 a.m., it won, and kept me under its control until much later in the morning. But, I was not about to waste one of my precious three days of vacation, so I joined Phil and some of the rugby guys for some extra dirty (due to the nice monsoon rains) sand volleyball for most of the afternoon before brushing off the mud and rejoining the SoLS grads for some watermelon carving fun. I've said it loads of times before, but I'll say it again: I really do love the grad school environment. It's filled with intelligent, adventurous, like-minded, and just fun-loving people. I find it kind of embarrassing that it's taken me two years to really start hanging out with all of them on a somewhat regular basis (apart from functions that involve free food), but I am excited about the adventures that I know I'll have with them in the future. We spent an awesome evening carving, eating, bowling, wearing, throwing, and drinking dozens of watermelons among other activities such as hula-hoop soccer, wall-ball, and singing to the neighbors. All in all, it was a very fun, crazy night and I headed home with a smile on my face.

Though I didn't get any more sleep than Friday night, I was determined to make it out to San Diego before high tide, so I tackled the sleep monster into submission, packed up the Jeep, and headed west. I hadn't gone on a solo expedition in a long time, so I was stoked to the max, and I didn't even mind the driving. The Shins, Rogue Wave, U2, Billy Joel, and The Killers kept me company until I finally crested the mountains and descended to the sea. I rolled down the windows to a perfect 75 degrees, and cruised into downtown on top of the world. The first stop was to Coronado to pick up a rash guard at Emerald City since I had forgotten to bring one, and then I headed up to Cabrillo Point to scout out the waves up the coast. It looked pretty flat, and the tide pools had already closed for the day (it was almost high tide), but I walked around and enjoyed the smell of the ocean and watched the sailboats come into the bay until the park closed at 5. By that time, I didn't care if the waves were small or not, I wanted to be out on the ocean. So, I headed down the coast of Point Loma to Sunset Cliffs and broke out the boogie board. The waves were only 3 feet tall and pretty mushy, but as I paddled out to the line-up, there was a transformation in me. I hadn't been to the ocean since January, and the taste of saltwater and the sound of crashing waves brought me right back home and I fell in love all over again. As I got through the soup of the broken waves and lined up to the north of the half-dozen longboarders, I just laid across the board and looked out towards the sun melting through the clouds on the western horizon. As far as I am concerned, there is no better thing than being part of the ocean, cradled in the cool, gentle swells. It is simply where I belong. I felt more relaxed just sitting there on the line-up than I have since I was last on top of the Atlantic swells. I just sat there on the board for several minutes basking in the incredible beauty of the Pacific before I even though about catching one of the waves that were swelling around me. Even though they weren't very big, the lines were long, covering the entire sandbar, and so after studying the sets for a little bit, I turned around and caught a few. And by a few, I mean exactly three the entire time I was out there. And two hardly counted, as they didn't even have enough power to get me into shore. But, I still couldn't have been happier, and was quite content to just hang out there on the line-up, which is pretty much what the rest of the guys were doing anyways, whether they wanted to or not. After a few hours, I decided to get out of the water and just watch the sun set over the western horizon as I had done so many times before. It wasn't a spectacular sunset by any means, as the clouds hid most of the rays, but it was perfect for me and allowed me to just watch the ocean. It's really amazing how much that great blue expanse of water and life means to me, and just how much I miss it.

After the sun went down, I made my way up the coast past Mission Bay. The camping on the bay seemed pretty full, so I didn't even check it out, and instead headed to Pacific Beach for some Chipotle and people watching. Nourished once more, I continued north. My intentions were to just keep going, but I could hear the waves crashing on the cove from the car, so I pulled over to investigate. You would think that based on my past experiences, that crashing waves would be a negative sound, but I still do love them, and couldn't pull myself away. I sat down on the sandstone above the cove and just listened and watched the ocean. The surf may have been flat to the south, but it was going off there at the cove, and it was truly beautiful.

Eventually, though, I needed sleep, so I continued my way up the coast. It's illegal to just park your car overnight at the beach - much to the chagrin of the surfing community - so I was hoping that with the chance of rain that there might be a free campsite open at one of the two beach campgrounds. No such luck at either Cardiff or Carlsbad. In the end, I joined the beach bum crowd, found a neighborhood adjacent to the beach that allowed parking on the street, pulled up behind a VW Westfalia, spread my sleeping bag out in the back, and curled up with Fish to the sound of waves crashing on the distant shore.

Before I knew it, the dark night had turned to a gray misty, southern California morning. I woke groggily, but as soon as I made the short drive down to the Tamarack Surf Beach, my face lit up again. It was only 6 a.m., but there were already a few dozen vehicles in the parking lot, and a few spots down from me, sure enough, there was the VW bus with a few boards hanging out the back. Since the surf shops wouldn't open for a few more hours, and I wanted to catch the perfect breaks that lined the beach, I hauled the body board out of the Jeep and headed barefoot down to the waves. Tamarack really is a great surf beach, and there was plenty of room for all of us, even body boarders who generally aren't welcome in a surf line-up. My tiredness wore off the second that I hit the cold Pacific water, and I had to smile. This was life. No sooner than I had paddled out of the breakers, I caught my first wave of the morning. If I could wake up every morning like that, I would be a very happy kid. The waves weren't huge by any means, 5 feet max, but they had some energy to them and definitely kept me entertained. For about two hours, I played in the swells, catching at least one wave out of every set, which came in pretty regular intervals. When I had tired myself out pretty good, I rode one more into the sand, rinsed off, and just sat and watched the waves and other surfers.

Eventually my hunger overcame my fascination with the wave riders, so I made my way to the final stop on my north county adventure: Oceanside, my birthplace and home for the first few years of my life. I don't know if it's nostalgia or that the waves really are better there, but that's where I decided that I'd spend the day. The gray day hadn't really helped to dry me off any, so like a local, I squished my way in my soggy flip-flops and damp boardshorts over to Johnny Manana's for a breakfast burrito. I love local places, and Johnny Manana's is the real deal. From my red plastic chair in the colorful little shop, I chatted with a few of the early morning surfers and listened to a group of old men as they talked about weather and baseball over coffee and beer, as they probably do every morning. After I was completely nourished by the potpourri of local flavor, I went over to the pier to see what the waves were doing. The south side of the pier was looking really good, with a bunch of shortboarders having a blast, and even the north side sandbar looked to offer some decent swells. With a steady wind coming straight out of the west, it promised to be a decent day.

As soon as Asylum opened up, I rented a 7' softtop (noone rents real boards) and headed out to see just what the waves were doing. I paddled out in between sets and lined up a few hundred meters south of the pier. The waves were pretty much perfect for what I wanted to do, but for all intents and purposes, I hadn't been on a board in quite a long time, and I spent the first hour pretty much displaying to the world how much of a grom I was. Catching the waves wasn't my problem, actually riding them was a whole different story. After half a dozen nose plants, one or two good rides, and too much time spent fighting the breakers, I gave in to the fact that I should probably practice a bit, so I joined the rest of the softtops in the soup and rode the mushy waves until I was exhausted but finally getting the hang of it.

After I was absolutely exhausted, I took a bit of rest on the beach before spending the rest of the afternoon on the waves of the sandbar on the north side of the pier. By 3 in the afternoon, I was waterlogged and tired, but the stoke of a good ride justifies the next one, and I was completely addicted. I told myself "just one more good wave," about 10 times before I finally rode one into the sand and hauled myself back up the beach and called it a day. After rinsing off and returning the board, I headed back down the PCH to drive past my potential future employers at the Torrey Pines Science Park and get one last look at the ocean at the Glider Port. I knew it would probably be awhile before I came back to the beach, so I spent an hour on the edge of the cliffs watching the hang gliders float over the beach and enjoying the sound and smells of the ocean before I hopped back in the Jeep and made the long drive back to Phoenix.

Life is short, but sweet for certain.

2008-08-25T14:29:00.001-07:00

August 21st was the last day of freedom for the full-time residents of ASU. Throughout the week, the freshmen showed up and the campus started buzzing with new life, including cars, bikes, longboards, and clueless kids who compete for us grad students' space on the roads, sidewalks, labs, and sandwich shops. As I get older, the novelty of free food has worn off, and now that I am no longer coaching, the arrival of the new students just isn't as exciting as it used to be. I now understand why the grads at the Weizmann Institute loved their campus so much: with an undergraduate population of zero, it's summer break all year long there. Alas, not so much here. So as one last goodbye to the summer, some of us in the lab took one last trip to Sack's for a little bit of nutrition before we went into hibernation for the first few weeks of the fall semester. And then I crawled into my cave and settled in for a long winter's nap.

Unfortunately, it turns out that I need to do a bit more yoga in order for the cabinet to be more fun than dodging undergrads, so I decided to run away instead. After a nice evening with Martin and friends for his going away dinner, Hannah and I packed up the Jeep and headed up to Flagstaff. It was late when we started, and much later by the time we actually arrived at the site for the race that was to take place the next morning. There were a few RVs parked near the road, but we continued on the forest road to where we had seen some tents last year, and completely by chance found a few of the Missing Link guys camped out there. I was dog tired by that time, and we crashed soon after we got the tent set up.

After a surprisingly great night of sleep (cool weather will do that), we got up and started tinkering with the bikes in anticipation of the Absolute Bikes Old Fashioned Mountain Bike Race. The day got off to a bad start for the boys of ML, and after an unsuccessful bleed and refill of Brad's rear disk brake, he was out of the race before it even began and was relegated to the job of photographer. At 9 a.m., the rest of the ML boys and Scooby lined up for the start of the expert men's race, with Hannah and I following shortly in the women's sport race. We had raced the same course last year, with three of us in the class and Hannah coming #2 and me #3 after I flatted. This year there were still three in our class, but I had a new secret weapon: "five pound" (according to Hannah) thorn resistant tubes in my tires, and I felt very confident in my equipment. I also felt pretty good about how my training had improved since last year, and eagerly waited on the starting line to see just how much we had improved.

The race started well, and my lungs had become accustomed to the altitude as I spun up the beginning of the forest road. It didn't seem nearly as long as last year, and although I was well behind the leader in my class when I breached the top of it, I felt good as I took advantage of the descent. Unfortunately, Guy Bell was limping the wrong way when I zoomed past him, and our second ML racer was out of the race. The start of the singletrack was exactly how I remembered it, though. It started with a sharp curve and then a rocky incline as we all made our way up through the pines and meadows. I passed a few of the girls who had beat me to the trails and a few of the expert men passed me, but the women's leader was nowhere in sight. Soon enough, I came to the rock gardens that I walked my bike through the year before. I was happy to realize that I was much better at navigating them and picking a line through tricky stretches, but with the amount of bike traffic going through the area, I still found it hard to get into a good rhythm and was happy when I arrived at the pipeline forest service road for two steep ups and downs before returning to the singletrack and the best part of the race. The last few miles is entirely composed of fast, curving, descending hard packed singletrack. Aka, pure heaven. I consider this type of riding my forte (mostly because it is so much fun), so I was flying along having the time of my life until I found myself back at the beginning of the loop. Another woman and I were battling back and forth when we got back to the fire road, so when I found some new adrenaline after passing Brad, I passed her for good. I got some new adrenaline after pulling ahead of her, and before I knew it, I had reached the top, where I met up with Bill. He was obviously having some bike issues, because as I came up to him, he was in the process of kicking it. There wasn't anything I could do, though, so I started cruising down to the singletrack. I was a bit more tired this go around, so I didn't clear the rocks as well and had to walk some sections. Fortunately, I had the downhill section to end the race with, and it was just as fun on the second loop. After 2 hours and 33 minutes, I rolled across the finish line, the first for ML and almost an hour faster than last year. I was followed shortly by Scooby, who did well in the geared expert 30 miler, and then Bill, who ended up only completing 2 laps, and then Hannah at 2:52, and finally Jason who finished the 30 miles in the single-speed category just before the time cut-off.

After the main races, the kids race kept us quite entertained with ages 5-15 competing in an 1/8th mile loop. It was the cutest thing to see pint-sized kids in spandex and helmets bigger than themselves pedaling as hard as they could. One girl on a pedal-less training bike even finished a lap and shot her little fists into the air at the finish line. Too cute. I have an uncanny feeling that my future kids will be somewhat similar.

It started pouring and hailing soon after the finish of the kids races, so we raced back to the car and loaded up to head back into town for some grub and awards. After a quick bite at Altitudes and some free pizza at the Pay 'n' Take, they handed out awards and Hannah and I officially switched spots from last year, with me taking home the silver sprocket and Hannah taking the bronze. The girl that won should have been in the expert category, and I think I'm going to enter into it next year for the sheer fact that I like longer races and there is more competition, even if I'm not quite an "expert" yet.

We headed home after awards so I could get in a quick shower before heading out to west Phoenix to the Cricket Music Pavilion with Megan and another ulty player, Brian, for the Dave Matthews Band concert. It promised to be an emotional concert, as one of the founding members of the band, LeRoi Moore, passed away just a few days before the concert. Unfortunately for the crowd, just getting into the venue was emotional, as the Will Call machines were down, and it took 45 minutes for us just to get our tickets. It's not often that you see a crowd of angry hippies, but we managed to keep our cool as we got into the pavilion midway through the opening song. We spread a blanket at the top of the lawn and basked in the incredible music and atmosphere of the concert. The sax player from Bella Fleck filled in for the fallen band member, and as expected, it was a very emotional concert, made all the more incredible by the lightning storm that was playing off to the east and a sprinkle of rain that fell during the middle of the show. The incredible musical talent of the band has always held me captive, and so many of the songs were the soundtrack to my days at Purdue and will always hold a special place in my heart. Even though it was only my 3rd Dave concert, each one is magnificently unique, and this one was no exception. I had never heard Two Step as I heard it that night, and its lyrics really hit home for all of us in the crowd as I am positive it did for those on stage as well. By the last instrumentation, everyone in the venue was dancing. It was a beautiful thing, and I drove home through the night with a smile on my face.

It had been a long week, and though there were many grad student activities and mountain biking opportunities on Sunday, I slept solid until 10 a.m. It was absolutely refreshing. The rest of the day was spent relaxing in the pool and hanging out with Jack and some friends and gearing up for the start of the school year.

Citius, Altius, Fortius.

2008-08-19T09:58:00.000-07:00

"It means stronger, higher, faster, and its been the motto for the Olympics for the last 2,500 years. But it doesn't mean faster, higher, and stronger than those you compete against, just faster, higher, stronger." -Bill Bowerman, Without Limits

After my family left at the beginning of the week, I hit the ground running with things going on in the lab and preparing for the start of the school year, but I made sure to get some quality time in to watch the Olympics.

At the end of the long week, we decided to give Martin one last Arizona adventure before he returned to Florida to finish up his PhD. Our adventure of choice was Christopher Creek, and though I was just there a few weeks ago, I was excited about going back. I know I seem to have many "favorite places," but Christopher Creek is definitely high on that list. Hannah and I had the pleasure of introducing both Emily Hadyon and Martin to the canyon. There were several people at the start of the canyon when we got up there, and the water was a little low, but it certainly didn't diminish our fun. We slid, jumped, and log rolled our way down the canyon to the first of the larger falls, where the bit of downclimbing required for continuing further filtered out the boys scouts and others less adventurous than ourselves. Rather than downclimbing, though, I opted for the even better alternative for getting down: jumping of course. I've jumped off of a lot of cliffs in my day, but if I were to name my favorites, the 35' jump there near the falls is one of them. Wth my new lack of fear (enhanced by the fact that I'd jumped that one before), I easily climbed up to the ledge, waited for the cameras, and leaped off into nothingness. I love it. Haydon followed suite, and we had another great jump together. And then Martin got the courage to do it as well, and we all agreed that it was an awesome jump. Hannah refrained for this go around due to her still healing knee, but she made a great photographer.

We continued on down the canyon, with all of us jumping down near the double falls and then stopping for lunch along the cool rock formations and having a ton of fun that only adventurers like us can have. Then, we finally got to the biggest of the falls. The slings that we put in last time were still there, but we didn't bring ropes, so at that point, we had two choices: hike around or jump. Since Tyler had jumped last time, I had been itching to try it as well. When I stepped to the edge, I got really excited. The water levels were lower, and there was no way to depth check, but since we didn't even get close to finding a bottom last time and there were no boulders at all, I felt fairly sure that it was completely safe. With slightly more trepidation than the first jumps of the day, I pushed off of the granite past the few rocks sticking over the edge and flew into space. I really can't get enough of this jumping thing. It was an excellent jump, even with the Camelback, and when I resurfaced I was all smiles. My friends who looked down at me from above didn't think the same way about the jump as I did and they climbed around. I swam through to the second falls where we had rapped through the waterfall the last time and enjoyed the ambiance of the scenery on the top of the falls while the others climbed down to meet me. Then all of us took great flying leaps into the deep pool below. It was beautiful in so many ways.

Since we aren't simply satisfied with easily hiking down the canyon, after we were done with the big jumps, Martin found a really nice log that we decided to turn into a bridge. The bridge didn't go anywhere, but it was fun to attempt to balance on, and we continued to drag it downstream to a tricky part of downclimbing made more difficult by the fact that we blocked the route with a log. But, as I said, we certainly do keep life interesting. Near the end of the canyon, we hiked on the opposite side of the canyon than we had the last times, and played on the log that made a real bridge across the creek.... and then we jumped in one last time. At the very end of the canyon, we got in once last ounce of fun as we made a game of "who can haul themselves out of the creek on the algae covered slickrock." I'm pretty sure that Hannah won, but we eventually all made it. After one final swim section, we hit the trail that led us back to the highway. Although I could spend days in amazing canyons like Christopher Creek, we were, to quote Hannah from another trip, "almost out of water, and by water, I mean food." So, we jogged back to the car under the guise that it was good for our adventure race training, but really, it just meant that we got to food faster. Martin fired up his limo and we raced back to Payson to Tiny's restaurant for a lot of cheap, homecooked food and some amazing bread pudding for desert.

The rest of the weekend was spent mostly working on the American Fire, getting things done around the house, and escaping the late summer heat by watching the Olympics and Without Limits a few times (I really love the movie, and it captures everything that I love about sports and athletes).

The Kessans take over Arizona

2008-08-13T22:01:00.000-07:00

It's been over a year since any of my family has visited Arizona, and I had the great pleasure of hosting my Dad, Emily, and Angela for a few days.

They arrived in Phoenix around lunchtime and made their way over to ASU, where I showed them around my lab, took them to Sack's for lunch, and gave them a tour of campus and Biodesign using my awesome powers as a golfcart driver. I took off of work early, gave them directions to the house, and then raced them home (I beat them by about 10 minutes!). After showing them around the house, we headed to Scottsdale for the evening, where we enjoyed pizza, gelato, and a stroll around Old Town. They were exhausted from the time difference and travel, so Emi and I left Dad and Ang at their hotel and headed back to Tempe to get some rest for the many adventures that I had planned for their stay in Arizona.

Early the next morning, we packed up and headed to the Melrose Paradise Recreation Club for the 2nd Extreme Heat Adventure Race. I missed the first one for the Virostko Family Reunion, but ODP held strong with two teams entering and Angel and Laurie taking the top women's honors. Hannah and I were the only ones representing in this race, and we were determined to bring home the gold again. With a full paparazzi in the form of my family, we lined up with 35 other teams at 7 a.m. and started the sprint adventure race. After a quick mystery event of finding a golf ball with our number on it, we got our first map and headed out on the trekking leg. We ran about a mile out to the Phoenix Mountain Preserve and then found 5 orienteering points among the rocky hills before completing one more mystery event (throwing a hoop onto a cone) and running back to the TA. By 8:30, it was already boiling and we were almost out of water, so we were eager to jump into the pool for the next mystery event (collecting 15 pennies from the pool bottom). We were sitting mid-pack and were the third women's team to come through the TA, and as we hopped on our bikes for the last part of the race, we hoped that all of our training would pay off. Hannah and I made up ground quickly and had almost caught up to one of the women's teams by the first checkpoint at the edge of the preserve. We passed them at the second point and soon found ourselves on a very rocky, washed out Trail 100. This was completely to our advantage, as we were hoping that our biking skills would be better than the other women's teams, and we found the next two points easily, enjoying the challenging ride along the way. Our only navigational mistake was my fault, as we went around a mountain (including two grueling uphills) that we could have easily shortcutted, wasting about 10 minutes in the process (I think that hill is a curse for me, as I did this the opposite way last year). None-the-less, we hurried back through the suburban hills and finally got back to Shea, where we sprinted to the finish line. We were stoked to find out that we had come in 7th overall and were the first women's team across the line! We wasted no time getting cold drinks and snacks and hanging out with our fellow competitors in the pool while waiting for the rest of the teams to come in. Finally, the rest of the teams (including two other teams from VOTS) came in and we had awards, where ODP proudly accepted our gold dog tags. It's amazing to see how far the team has come in just one year, and I'm excited to see where we go in the future. Stay tuned for more races :).

Since it was almost noon by the time that everything was over, my family and I opted out of driving too far away and decided to instead head to Coon Bluff for a bit of relaxing and playing in the Salt River. They were all amazed to find such a large and fast flowing river in the middle of the desert, and Dad, Emi, and I had a blast swimming around while Ang lounged in the shade and was kept entertained by our crazy antics and the ground squirells. Emi and I took advantage of the fast current and floated downstream through the rapids and down towards the namesake bluff, where we spent some quality sister bonding time jumping off of the cliffs.

We had a very enjoyable afternoon, and then headed back to clean up in time for dinner at Rustler's Rooste in South Mountain. My dad used to go to the restaurant when he was visiting Phoenix as an executive for Digital, and Emi and Ang had never been to the place before, so we thought it fitting that we go. I love the place, though I had only been there once before when Dad was in town the last time. How can you not love a place that has a slide for the entrance and more homecooked western food than even I can eat? We had an excellent meal and got to watch the sun set over the Valley before resting up for another full day.

On Sunday, we woke early, had a nice breakfast at the hotel, and then headed north on I-17. Our final stop of the day was to be the Grand Canyon, but since neither Emily nor Angela had been up that way, we decided to stop a few other places beforehand. Our first side trip was through Sedona. I had only been to the land of red rock once before, and that was two years ago, so I was looking forward to it. The amount of people that flock to Sedona overwhelms me a bit, and I tend to look for less popular places, but you cannot deny the reason that people go there: it is absolutely gorgeous. As we dropped into the little valley, the tall red walls grew around us, surrounding us with monuments such as Bell Rock and Cathedral Rock. We all had our eyes glued to the scenery as we drove into town. We didn't stop downtown, but continued on to the one spot that I had been to before: Slide Rock State Park. We parked upstream of the actual slides and hiked along the road until we came to the naturally carved red rock waterpark. Even though it was still midmorning, throngs of people already filled the entire length of the park, and I remembered why my friends and I usually try to avoid popular places. Although the people may have spoiled the serenity of the beautiful natural spot, they couldn't spoil our fun, and Emi and I had a blast slipping and sliding down the smooth sandstone rapids and jumping off of the small cliffs that line the slickrock. Finally, we made it to the end of the slides and munched on a few of the late season blackberries and took the requisite leap from the taller cliffs underneath the bridge. Standing at the top of the cliffs with my sister, I had a very strange epiphany: I am losing my natural fear of heights. I've never been overly frightened of exposure or heights, but the normal bit of apprehension at standing on the edge of cliffs is now non-existant. I toed the edge of the cliff without the slightest hesitancy while others wouldn't even come close (Em did brilliantly though). It's probably not good for my survival rate, as fear can be a good thing when keeping me out of dangerous situations, but it is kind of cool. Nonetheless, Em and I both had good jumps and slid down the slides a few more times before we headed back up the trail and continued on to Flagstaff.

We went through a rainstorm as we drove up and out of the canyon and came out of it just as we got to the outskirts of Flag. We had a tasty lunch at The Black Bean and enjoyed the ambience of one of my favorite Arizona towns before continuing up to the Grand Canyon. After another two hours, we finally reached our destination and Emi and Angela caught their first glimpse of the mighty Grand near Mather Point. I've been to the Grand Canyon several times now, and each time, I am taken aback with its beauty and just overwhelming massiveness. The effect was felt by all of us. Even Angela, who is a bit scared of heights, did a great job as we walked along the Rim Trail. Emily and I wasted no time crawling out to the edge of the boulders that line the rim, and made Dad and Angela nervous as we walked easily out to a ledge that dropped off quite a ways. Again, my fear of heights was completely absent, even without water or a safe outlet if I were to fall. Crazy, but I loved it.

We explored all along the south rim near Mather, and then took a shuttle over to the rim lodges to watch the sun set over the western horizon. Dad and I had had such a great time hiking down to the river last winter, and Emily was itching to hike down below the rim as well. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time for a good hike, but I know that the two of us have some adventures in the bowels in the earth in our future.

The last tints of orange were completely vanished by the time we took the shuttle back to the car, so Emily and I took advantage of walking along the darkened canyon before we all jumped back in the car and headed back down to the Valley.

We were all still a bit tired the next morning, and Angela opted to explore Scottsdale while Dad, Emi, and I had a quick breakfast at the hotel and headed north again, this time on 87 towards Payson. The drive has become fairly familiar to me, but I saw the landscape with new eyes as Dad and Emi commented on the diversity that Arizona offers. After a few hours, we finally found ourselves on the dirt road that led to Fossil Creek. It's only six miles, and again, I have become used to it, but Dad wasn't and it seemed like much longer as we wound our way down the canyon to the creek below. When we reached the bottom and hiked down the trail to the water, they were absolutely amazed at the crystal clear blue-green travertine waters. My sister exclaimed that it was the coolest pool she had ever been to... and that was just at the first area we visited. We played all day up and down the creek in between the first pool and the big falls, swimming in the deep pools, jumping off of the rock shelfs, hiding behind the waterfalls, and letting the strong current massage our shoulders as we relaxed and enjoyed the beauty of the riparian area and each other's company. It was incredible to be able to share one of my favorite spots with my family, and we all had a great time. We ended the afternoon with a lunch of bread, cheese, and plums and jumping off of the big waterfall. As the breeze became cooler and thunderheads covered the sun, we started back on the trail, with the rumbling of an impending storm in the distance. We made it back to the car as the storm clouds passed innocently above us and we headed back up the road, with all of us admiring the commanding views of the red and green canyon with a rainbow streaking down through the center of it as we came to the top. Driving back to the Valley, we watched the cloudbursts pummel the landscapes below and were treated to one of the most magnificent rainbows I have ever seen (on land at least). We pulled off the highway (as did several other cars) to witness the incredible size and color of the double rainbow that bridged the entire valley near Gisela. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

After a dinner at Oregano's and one more night chillin' with my sister, their trip came to an end. On Tuesday morning, they packed up and we said our goodbyes after several days of adventure and exploration, a taste of what my life is like out here in this great, hot playground. I know I had an incredible time while they were here, and I'm pretty sure that they went home with some great memories, and some plans for new adventures for when they come out here again.

Exploring Arizona

2008-08-04T22:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life gets the best of me, and weekends don't seem to come soon enough. It was a bit like that for me over the past week, and by Friday afternoon, I was certainly ready for the weekend. I started it off with a bit of training/scouting with ODP. We took to the northern part of the Phoenix Mountain Preserve, the site of our next adventure race that was to take place the following weekend. For about two hours, Hannah, Angel, and I explored Trail 100 and every shortcut and alleyway that we could before it got too dark for us to see. Then we headed over to Haydon's for Tess's first doggy birthday party before I came home and crashed in anticipation of a weekend of exploration.

Kohl came over and we packed the Jeep with camping gear and an adventurous spirit, and took off to northern climes. We drove up to Flagstaff and just kept going. Our first stop on the weekend of adventure was the Lava River Cave, about 20 miles north of Flagstaff. We drove through a few miles of dirt roads past cool pine forests and open meadows filled with tall grass and wildflowers. When we arrived at the trailhead for the cave, we were both surprised at the number of vehicles parked there. Dozens of off-roaders packed the place as we packed our day bags and headed up the short trail to the cave. The Lava River Cave, or Lava Tube, was formed when the volcanoes of the San Francisco Peaks erupted, with the molten lava flowing underground through a long tunnel until it finally hardened and left a 3/4 mile long cave in the middle of the forest. The entrance to the cave is basically a big bouldery hole in the ground, and as soon as we approached it, the temperature dropped at least 10 degrees. We broke out some long sleeves and our headlamps and headed off into the unknown... Well, it wasn't really the unknown, as there were dozens of people in and around the entrance as we descended into the dark tunnel flecked with the bobbing of varying intensities of fluorescents and LEDs. The beginning of the cave was slick with condensation, making the scramble over the sharp volcanic boulders a bit of an adventure, but within a few hundred meters, the floor of the tunnel evened out to reveal a smoother floor of frozen lava. The further we hiked in, the beams of our headlamps flashing over every inch of the unique topography, the fewer our companions became. We soon came to a Y in the tube, and we chose the path less traveled (or at least the one that didn't have any headlights in it). We walked along on our own for a bit until we found ourselves completely alone in the cave, so we turned off our lights and marveled in the beauty of absolute darkness and total silence. The feeling was completely surreal, and we were frozen to the spot of ground on which we stood. The imagination plays interesting tricks on the mind, and I couldn't help but feel like I was standing on the edge of a cliff even though I knew that I was perfectly safe. It almost became too much, and after a few minutes we turned our lights back on to reveal our breath condensing once again in front of our faces and continued on. The ceiling rose and fell as we walked along until we came to a section where we had to crawl on our hands and knees with our packs scraping the roof. In the floor, you could see the flow of the lava and odd rocks forever immortalized in the frozen river and cracks that criss-crossed the floor formed from the cooling of the rock. Since our lights only illuminated a dozen feet ahead of us, we came upon the end of the tunnel very abruptly. There was no warning, just a narrowing of the cave until it dead-ended like a half-built railroad tunnel. We stopped for a quick break before turning around and heading out, taking the opposite side of the Y on the return trip and letting the darkness really seep into our beings. Although we had only been in the cave for less than two hours, the literal light at the end of the tunnel seemed strange and we crawled up out of the cave blinking and shedding our outer layers in the sudden heat. We soon adjusted and headed back to the Jeep and down the dirt roads. The flower-filled meadows beckoned us to frolic in them like little kids, so that's exactly what we did. The diversity and beauty of Arizona always amazes me, and it felt so good and so free to be running through the tall grass with a sweet pine breeze on the air. Afterwards we returned to Flagstaff for an early dinner at the Brewery before heading south on Lake Mary Road, where we resumed our explorations. Our search for the perfect camping spot sent us up the road towards Marshall Lake. Neither of us had been up there before, and the views from the top were incredible. We decided almost immediately that we would camp up there, but since we had a few hours of daylight left, we went back down to check out the southern part of Upper Lake Mary. The sunflowers and thistle growing among the driftwood made a spectacular foreground to the sun setting over the water and we sat down on a log and just watched the water for quite awhile, mesmerized by the lapping of the waves as if we were back on the ocean. With a little bit of daylight left, we gathered up some wood for a fire and returned to Marshall Lake. We found a secluded spot on the edge of the marshy lake and set up the tent and started a fire just as the last rays of sunlight slipped behind the San Franciscos. Our driftwood held out for longer than we thought it would, and our eyes soon grew heavy staring into the flames. I woke up to sounds of shrill water birds and got out of the tent to a bright, beautiful high altitude morning. After Kohl got up, we explored the shoreline and watched the outdoor version of Sunday morning cartoons as two guys attempted to float kayaks into the shallow reed-choked muck. Although the lake had its own beauty in the form of flora and waterfowl, it wasn't the first place that I would choose to kayak, and we got quite the show before we packed up camp to continue our exploration of the great state. With no agenda and a full tank of gas, we got to the intersection of Lake Mary Road and turned south. Just south of Lake Mary, we turned off to see what Ashurst Lake had to offer. The few miles along the high prairie gravel road were fairly interesting. Although the land is publicly owned, it is leased out to cattle farmers and as a result, cows were dotted all along the route. At one point, a big momma cow with even bigger longhorns charged across the road towards the Jeep and we both braced for impact before she decided that we weren't a threat to her calf and continued along her way. At the end of the road, we reached Ashurst Lake, a fair sized shallow lake with lots of rocks (and some potential jumping cliffs we think on the other side) surrounding it. There was lots of camping all over, but with the flat prairie surrounding the lake, it was kind of out in the open and not the most interesting place in the world. So, we turned around and decided to check out some of the trails. The Arizona Trail is a 790 mile trail that traverses the entire length of the state from Utah to Mexico, and took off from the Horse Lake trailhead (no, there is no lake, as we sadly found out) through the sparse pine forest towards Mormon Mountain. We went several miles and started to formulate new adventures for the American Fire team. Tentatively, we're going to try the trail in its entirety in the future. We figure it'll take a little bit less than 51 days and the budget won't be a fraction of an ocean row. We would have gone further down the trail, but we didn't want to spoil our future plans, so we took off again to find something new. A few more miles down the road, we came to the *almost* dry lake bed of Mormon Lake. It amounted to a large-scale version of Marshall Lake with marshy wetlands surrounding a good sized chunk of water in the middle. We drove around the entire lake until we came to a little village just in time for lunch, so we stopped at the Mormon Lake Lodge. The lodge was part museum, part restaurant, and they served a great lunch and had some incredible history of the area (everything from memorabilia of cattle ranchers and wild west feuds to stuffed mountain lions) hanging up on the walls. After lunch, we headed back around the lake, stopping at an overlook where bald eagles were supposed to be nesting. We didn't spot any of the birds, but a man who had set up a telescope set up let us watch a herd of several hundred elk grazing in the marshy area below. Our journey continued south through a high country thunderstorm on Lake Mary Road. Although I've only lived in Arizona for two years, I feel like I have explored quite a bit of it. Driving past dozens and dozens of brown signs pointing towards interesting parts of the national forests that line the road, I realized that it would take a lifetime to explore all of the amazing things that this state has to offer.

It was getting later in the day, so we opted not to explore any of the sites that claimed to be 10 miles or more from the highway, but after we met up with Highway 260 and finally through to 87, we pulled off to see what the Tonto Natural Bridge was all about. One of the great things about Arizona is how many amazing natural places you see absolutely free, and the $3 per person fee for the Natural Bridge had kept me away for awhile, but it was something that both of us wanted to see, so we paid the fee and went into the park. Even before we got to the namesake bridge, we got our money's worth by eating at least $6 worth of plums and blackberries from the grounds. After we got our fill, we walked over to the top of the bridge. Similar to the arches up in Utah, the unique geology of the land in combination with the forces of erosion had created a massive tunnel through the rock, creating a bridge over a creek below. We hiked down the trail to admire the view, play in the creek (unfortunately, the rangers wouldn't let us swim or cliff jump), and walk under the bridge. It was a good time, but we had gotten there near closing time, so we headed back up the trail, ate a few green apples that grew near the parking lot, and headed for home.

We returned to the 100 degree heat of Phoenix, but it had been a great weekend full of new adventures so we didn't mind too much and we look forward to many more great adventures in the future.

Mingus Mtn. and Christopher Creek Take #2

2008-07-28T18:48:00.001-07:00

Yes, I know I've been slacking on the blog postings... life has been a bit hectic in the lab to say the least. Mostly for something a little bit like this and a really pain in the arse protein that refuses to be quantified. Maybe more on that later, I don't like thinking about it. To keep my mind off of it, evenings are filled with climbing, mountain biking, and ultimate frisbee. On the days when I don't have anything going on in the evenings, I'm afraid that blogging hasn't come up on the top of the list.

But, the weekends are still filled with adventures. On Friday (7/25/08), I finished up in the lab early and headed out to join a few of my fellow grad students at Mingus Mountain for a weekend of relaxing. It was 106 degrees out at 6 p.m. when I headed out of the Valley, and as I gradually drove higher in elevation, the temperature gradually came down. By the time I reached the top of the first set of mountains, it was 86, and soon after a high country monsoon blew across the highway, dropping the digits below 70. It was beautiful. A few hours later, I hopped off of the 17 and headed west on 279 towards Cottonwood and Jerome. It was the first time I had driven through the old mining town of Jerome, and its old, rainsoaked streets bathed in a fading twilight reminded me of my tramping days in the mountain town of Eniskerry in Ireland. I continued to climb up past the town as the sun fully set until the temperature read 55 degrees and I pulled off towards the campground. I wound a few more miles on a dirt road to the top of Mingus Mountain until I found my friends, huddled among the dripping pine trees around a glowing campfire. I set up my tent and broke out some adult juice boxes while the rest of our troupe showed up. We spent the night grilling, drinking, telling stories and just generally being the crazy grad students that we are.

We woke up the next morning to a bright, sunny day. After a leisurely breakfast of whatever we had sitting around (everything from Clif Bars, fiery hot potato chips, strawberries, and hot chocolate), we put on hiking shoes and headed out to explore. We first headed up to several of the vistas that make Mingus the beautiful place that it is. At the very top of the mountain, we were joined by a few hardcore downhill mountain bikers (I was jealous) and half a dozen hang glider pilots that were putting together their wings. We played on the glider ramp's edge for awhile until we realized that the conditions weren't going to be right for them to fly for a few hours, so we continued our explorations. We headed across the mountain to the fire tower, which, unfortunately for us (but good for the forest, I guess), was manned by a ranger and we weren't allowed to go up there. So we (ok, I) climbed trees instead to get a better view. We romped around for a bit before deciding that we didn't want to miss the gliders launching, so we hurried back across the mountain. We were about 300 meters away when we saw a guy preparing to launch, so we sprinted up to the launch site. It turns out that they have to wait until conditions are completely perfect, so he didn't launch for another 10 minutes. When he did, though, it was really magical. He ran down the length of the ramp and was airborne in less than a second, gracefully lifting himself into the air. While we waited for a second guy to launch, another pilot offered to let Jeremy and me try out one of the gliders. Although it was only 80 pounds, it was fairly awkward, and you'd definitely need some training before just taking off into the sky. We watched two others fly into the blue shortly after and we admired their flights for a long time, watching them gracefully catch thermals and rise high above us.

We spent the rest of the day playing frisbee, soccer, and eating and hanging out back in camp. Since it is impossible for me to sit still for more than 30 minutes when there are adventures to be had, I headed out for what I thought would be a nice, easy mountain bike ride. I started out on the gravel road that soon ended in a mud pit that was posing as a dirt road. It was a blast, and before long, I had mud caked in all crevices of the bike and every inch of my body. I rode the road as far as it went to the edge of the mountain and some radio towers and then turned around to try and tackle one of the mountain bike trails that Missing Link had also gone down earlier that day. It was less muddy, but filled with annoying skull sized rocks that made the trail painful even with full suspension. I didn't even make it a mile down the trail before I decided that I had had enough. I spun back to the road and blasted through the mud again before arriving back at camp, covered from head to toe in muck to the surprise of my clean campmates. Fittingly, Guy and Brad from ML pulled up behind me in a truck just after I came in, so I gave the Dirt Monkey a big muddy hug while they told me about their great ride down the mountain. I was a little bit jealous, but I was having fun of my own.

We spent the evening cooking over the fire, drinking, and reliving our crazy undergraduate days with a game of caps that lasted well into the morning. I don't remember heading to the tent, but I do remember waking up too early. I packed up and said goodbye to the few souls that had crawled out of their own tents at the early hour, and was on the road headed east by 7:30.

For two hours, it was just me, Michael Tolcher, the desert and the Jeep. It was a great morning to roll down the windows and watch the world roll past. I got to Christopher Creek around 9:30 with Bill, Melissa, Jason, Tyler, and his wife, Anshula arriving shortly afterwards. We started down the trail retelling adventures and just being the crazy gang of Team Escape. We hit the cold water of The Box and didn't look back, with the original team members jumping off cliffs, sliding down the slides, and just having a blast as we started to make our way down canyon. Shortly into the trip, we found a log floating in the stream and had an epic battle trying to stand on it while pushing our fellow team members off of it. Before we knew it, we came to the first of the bigger waterfalls and rather than the beastly scramble around it (as per ODP's trip last time), we opted to carefully downclimb the slick granite. Once Tyler helped all of us down, we both looked to the high cliffs above and then looked to each other. Of course it was possible... After a quick depth check, we scrambled back up and Tyler beat me to the punch, topping out on the 40' or so high shelf above the water while I was still crossing back to the other side of the creek. He made a great jump and landed safely below. I followed suit and I'll admit that my legs were shaking when I got to the top and peered below. But, there wasn't any backing out, and I lept as well. It was an incredible jump, and had a wicked rush... even better than the cliff at Tonto Creek. So good, that we both decided to do it again, and for the second jump, we brought relative newbie jumpers Melissa and Bill up for the ride. Both did a splendid job, and all four of us were high-fiving at the conclusion of some awesome jumps. We continued downstream for more slides, jumps, climbs, and lunch at a nice rock formation, where I found a liberty head dime from 1943.

After lunch, we continued on to the first rap of the day, where Jason and Bill put in new slings (the old one was secured by a very worn piton) and Bill, Anshula, Jason and I rapped down the 50' of the falls. Although a bit jealous that I had already rapped down, I depth checked for Tyler and found no bottom to the pool. He had a great jump from the top before Melissa joined us as well and we packed the rope for the next rap. The second rappel was from a log directly over a 25' waterfall. Although I could have jumped it, the rappel looked even more fun than jumping, and it certainly did not disappoint. There was a great little cave behind the falls that we hung out in for a bit before continuing on.

The rest of the trip was filled with more jumping, sliding, and the hilarious antics of Team Escape and before we knew it, we came to the side spring that marked the end of the canyon. The hike back out to the top wasn't bad and we got to the cars in great time. We ended the incredible weekend with some Mexican food in Payson and called it a day. It was an incredible weekend, but ended far too soon, and by 9 p.m., I was already back in the 100 degree humid monsoon heat, looking forward to the next adventure.

Four Peaks Motherlode

2008-07-21T16:22:00.001-07:00

It has always been said that nature is a mother. It has been said before that the ocean is a mother as well. For the most part, they are nurturing and harbor life, but they are also strict and stern when it comes to keeping balance in natural laws... like the law of gravity for instance. Well, it turns out that mountains are mothers as well. Five of us got first hand experience when we climbed Four Peaks over the weekend.

Since the theme of the weekend was climbing and Four Peaks, I decided to get a little dose of it on Friday. After work, I headed to the climbing gym with Tyler and Melissa before having a Team Escape happy hour at the Four Peaks Brewery. It's amazing how much we shared in such a short period of time while in Zion, and it was great to get together again and discuss future adventures.

I headed home before too late and got a good night's sleep. Jack knocked on my door at 6:30 a.m. asking if I wanted to join him for a Desert Classic-Telegraph Pass-National ride. As much as I wanted to go, I also wanted to sleep in a little bit for the first time in a long time. For once in my life, I was actually glad that I didn't go, as when Jack limped back from his abbreviated ride on DC, he was spent with the combination of heat and humidity, and had nothing good to say about his ride. I spent the morning and early afternoon getting stuff done around the house and a little bit in the lab. Then, at 3 p.m., I loaded up my pack into Tom's car and Hannah, Tom, Martin, and I headed north to join Angel out to the Four Peaks Wilderness. After a brief stint at Target - where I picked up some AMAZING juice boxes for adults: sangria in 250 ml boxes, we transferred our stuff into Angel's brand new Xterra and drove north on 87. We arrived at the trailhead parking lot a few hours before dark. We had the entire mountain to ourselves, so we set up camp in one of the corners of the dirt lot and set to playing a bit of frisbee and exploring. We scrambled on the boulders above the camp with our boxes of wine and watched the sun go down over the Valley far away. It was a very peaceful being the only ones on the mountain, and I couldn't have been happier. After it got dark, we shared the odds and ends of a dinner (including everything from canned ravioli to bread and hummus to potato chips) around a very bright lantern. Full and excited about the next day, we headed off to bed.

Although we had brought several tents, we opted only to set up a four-person tent to simplify packing up early in the morning. It turned out to be a bad decision, as a four-person tent fits about the same number as a four-person liferaft: although it holds that many people in an emergency situation, it certainly isn't comfortable. Angel sprawled out in the Xterra while the rest of us sardines slept fitfully, counting down the hours until the sun came up. By 5 a.m., a bright orange band broke through the gray twilight and lit up Lake Roosevelt to the east. We packed up camp, packed our bags, and by 5:50, we started up the trail. We appreciated the tricks that the morning light and rolling fog played on our surroundings as we made our way up to the saddle of the mountain. The feeling was a bit eery and exciting at the same time. We reached the saddle in 50 minutes, and after admiring the view for a bit, we found our way to the Amethyst Trail. The fog was steadily rolling in as the ground below us warmed up, obscuring our view of the peaks above us. I was pleasantly surprised at the condition of the trail. I had expected to bushwack from the start, but the trail was relatively easy to follow along the western ridge of the mountains on the edge of the treeline. As we were making our way around Peak 2, I spotted a few small purple crystals among the gravel. Soon, we were finding amethysts everywhere. Like big kids on an Easter egg hunt, we had our eyes glued to the ground, trying to find a better one than the one before. Before we knew it, we came upon an old rusty gate that separated us from the mine and the next stage of our hike. We climbed over and around the razor wire and into a small gully that had been washed out in a recent monsoon. Crystals were everywhere, and we all scrambled around finding chunks of the amethysts among the other rocks. Both Hannah and I found substantial pieces before we continued up past a small mining shack and into the cleft in between Peaks #3 and #4. The scenery became eerier the higher we climbed. I felt like a character in a cross between Chronicles of Narnia and Camelot, and I half expected to see a dragon to come roaring out of a cave at any time. The fog was so thick that we could not see ahead of us, and as we climbed, the fog swallowed up where we had just travelled. Still, we scrambled up; over boulders, through thick scrub oak, carefully on top of loose scree (Hannah barely missed a large loose rock that Angel had sent tumbling) and into mossy springs. It was slow going, but eventually we all climbed up onto a ridgeline, where the fog rolled out for a few seconds to reveal a far away peak. The fog closed in as quickly as it had opened, leaving us in a small island of visibility that left much up to the imagination. Tom, Hannah, and Martin were positive that the peak we saw had to be Peak #4, but my navigational instints told me that it had to be Peak #3 to our north. Based on the way we had come up the mountain and the current ridge that we rested on, I figured that #4 HAD to be off to our right, to our south. For several minutes, I was berated and told that I was completely wrong, crazy, and on drugs. But I knew that I was right, and broke out the map to confirm at least the route that we had taken to get up. To me, I didn't see how it could be any other way. I was alone in my fight, but I would not back down, and I started up towards where I knew the peak should be as Martin broke out his compass. Low and behold, north pointed exactly where I said that Peak #3 should be. Had I broken down, we would have never made it to Peak #4. Following my navigation, we made it up two more ridges to a stone pile at the top of the peak that held a rocket box that contained the Peak #4 register, confirming at last our place in the white world. The fog continually rolled in and out, but it was still difficult to determine the best route up to #3. After we signed our names in the register and took a few pictures, we scrambled down from the peak to tackle the next one. Coming down from #4 was a combination of light scrambling and bushwacking through the only peak with pines. When we reached the saddle between the peaks, we could see a bit of a route up towards the summit ridgeline. Tom and I started up what we hoped would be our best bet and were rewarded with some fairly steep scrambling. We definitely used our rock climbing skills on the steep pitches, catching our breath and scanning always upwards. Although it was steep, the exposure wasn't too terribly bad... until I looked down. About halfway up, I experienced a little bit of vertigo as the fog lifted enough to reveal just how far we had come up. It was a more than a little bit spooky, especially not knowing what was ahead of us. But, there was nothing to do but continue on. After several more scrambling walls, we reached a knifelike ridge that would lead us to the summit. Had the fog not covered everything, it might have been a bit scarier, but we couldn't see more than 20 feet below us and had lots of good hand grips and ledges to stand on. Finally, we made it to the very top, and pulled the register box out of a rock pile full of lady bugs. The fog opened up to reveal the broad plain of Lake Roosevelt below to our west, and for a short time, gave us a chance to size up our next adversary. The trick to route finding between Peaks #2 and #3 is that there is no route. All of the past trip reports that we had read led us to believe that we should go around the east side of the mountains, but other than that, good luck. Peering into the foggy valley to our north, we understood why. Munching on apples and candy bars to get a little bit of energy up, we could not see a good way to get down. Like a river runner staring at a wall of whitewater for the first time, I knew that we were in for a treat, like it or not.

We spent a bit of time at the peak resting and gearing up for what we knew would be the defining part of the climb. Then we all cinched up our packs and took off towards the north. Our efforts were almost instantly thwarted as the northern edge of the mountain ended abruptly in a steep cliff. East it was. We made our way down a cleft in between two steeper parts of the mountain. Not long into the face, we came to a very steep downclimb. Tom and Hannah started down without hesitation, but I faultered on the edge. I held back and let Angel climb down, and heard Tom yell out that there was another steep drop below the initial downclimb. For some reason, I just had a really bad feeling about the route, so Martin and I opted to climb up and around the steep section. It was a little bit out of the way, but we managed to scout a really fun way down, using scrub oak branches as impromtu ropes as we slid easily down the smooth sloping granite. We met up with the Tom quickly and watched Hannah and Angel come the rest of the way down the difficult section before continuing on. We proceeded downclimbing and scrambling down the cleft for some time, yelling out whomever was leading at the time, "Is it doable?," when they stopped at a particularily sketchy section on more than a dozen occasions. We each took turns mapping out routes, and I had a great time scouting ahead. At one point, while waiting on the others, I came to our steepest and longest dead end yet. I stood on a boulder, hanging onto some scrub branches, peering over the edge of the 50' cliff, hoping with all of my heart that there was an exit somewhere. Finally, looking back up the mountain, I saw what I hoped was a route to the south and pointed Hannah through the thick brush towards it. Less than a minute later, Hannah shouted back that we had hit another difficult section. I came up on her, on the opposite side of a very exposed ledge, peering down anothe 10' drop. I wasn't even feeling confident enough to traverse the ledge, so I opted to go up and around again. It was the long way, but it turned out to be a whole lot easier, and I hopped down to the bottom of the cliff while Tom attempted a wicked downclimb. In the end, the entire group followed me up and around and we resumed our scrambling. After about two hours, we finally reached the last of the steep cliffs and were able to traverse the rocks and brush over to the east face of Peak #2. We continued to skirt the lower part of the mountain until we could look up without seeing walls above us. I tried and failed to make it up a few scrambling pitches before we made it around to a bit of a valley in between two steeper faces and started making our way up. Half of the most challenging part of the day was over, but we still had a long ways to go. It was amazing how our idea of "hard," "steep," and "dangerous" had changed over the course of the day. We scrambled over difficult boulders as if they were nothing and hauled ourselves up exposed faces that we wouldn't have even thought about tackling in the morning. At that point, we just wanted to gain the summit, but the mountain certainly did not make it easy for us. The sun had come out in all of its desert glory, and we squinted through the sweat dripping in our faces, always with an eagle eye scouting for the summit. I stopped at a little spring coming out of the mountain and feasted on the delicious, cold water, and gave some to Martin, who had run out. Hours in, we finally topped out on a little bit of ridge that revealed two peaks at the top with a false summit to the east of them. Tom started to scale the false ridgeline while the rest of us consulted the map and tried to figure out exactly which way was the best. Finally we decided to just head up between the two taller peaks. Martin and I scouted ahead and tried to show the rest of the group the best route. The best route became blocked at one point by a rattlesnake, which Hannah found as she grabbed onto a nearby tree. Finally we reached the ridgeline... only to find that the true summit was still a long ways off. But, I was rewarded with at least knowing where I was. When Ted and I had attempted to climb over to #3 during our first time on Four Peaks, we had made it to that knifelike ridgeline before we were forced to turn around. This was a testimony to our literal "steep" learning curve of the day, as we had just hiked up what I had previously thought was impossible. As we continued to climb, I kept coming to what I thought was close to the summit only to realize that the mountain had many tricks up her sleeve in the form of impassable brush, crumbling rock, and false routes. There was no choice but to press on, but it was incredibly frustrating, and I thought that we would never reach the summit. I sloughed off my scouting responsibility and just set my sights on finishing the mountain, yelling back to my teammates every once in awhile to keep them on track.

Finally, five hours after departing Peak #3, I pulled myself up the last boulder and found myself on the true summit. Exhausted and relieved, I dropped my pack and took a moment to enjoy the accomplishment. Hannah arrived shortly afterwards, and we high-fived and waited for the rest of the group to summit as well. We all took a bit of time to rehydrate and reenergize before we set off to finish the Motherlode. I resumed my scouting duties for the tired pack, and after a few exposed pitches that we hardly noticed, we made it to the bottom of #2 and traversed around and up to the scrubby chute that led to the top of #1. It was such a feeling to be up there at the highest point in Maricopa County with four of my good friends, having reached a milestone that very few hikers even attempt. We took lots of pictures now that the fog and clouds had completely burned off. Our journey was not over yet, though, and we slowly began making our way down to the scree chute. My legs were completely worn out, and my knees resisted each step of the way. I finally monkeyed my way down to the saddle, using my arms as much as I could to take the load off of my tired lower body. Our weary group sat on the logs for a bit to muster one last bit of strength before pressing on to the car. We were all sort of in our own little worlds, and the group spread out in a short amount of time. I found myself alone with the mountain, the sun seeping through the young oak and pine trees. Bone-tired as I was, I still could not help but admire the beauty that surrounded me and the incredible feat that we had just accomplished. Eventually, though, my mind started to wander and settled fast on the Monster energy drink that was waiting for me back at camp.

The last 20 minutes of the hike seemed to take forever until finally I came out of the forest and at last spotted the car, where Angel and Martin were already resting. Hannah and Tom came shortly after and we all enjoyed liquid and calories and clean clothes before starting the long drive back to Phoenix. As Angel drove the Xterra down the long dirt road in the fading twilight, we all relived the incredible adventures of the day and the car buzzed with an incredible feeling of our completed goal.
Although I remained sore for the next few days (the Tuesday night bike race and Wednesday ultimate league games were pretty tough), the adventure was definitely worth it. It was one of the toughest hikes I have ever done, and also one of the most rewarding. Although I said that I probably wouldn't do the hike again after we finished, time has a way of healing the scratches and soreness, and you'll probably find me up there again sometime.

Virostko Family Reunion

2008-07-17T09:56:00.000-07:00

I know I've said it on numerous occasions, but I absolutely love my family. Yes, we're a quirky bunch, but I bring part of that craziness to the group, and we're all loved for it.

So, when I stepped on the plane back to Indiana, I was stoked at the weekend ahead. Now, you might be thinking, "Well, she's going to her family reunion, no adventures for her this weekend..." Yeah, you don't know my family. I knew what lay ahead of me, and I couldn't wait. My mom's side of the family, the Virostko clan - including all my relatives from my grandpa's siblings and several generations of their families, only has a reunion every three years, and I had missed the last one while training in Florida in '05. So, I was excited to see many of my extended family whom I hadn't seen in years, and also enjoy some new adventures in Turkey Run State Park.

I arrived in Indy shortly before 6 p.m. and my sister, her boyfriend Justin, and I began the drive out to Rock Run. I had never been there before, but is basically a 900 acre farm owned by my second cousin (I think...) Bill. And it is amazing! Nestled in the heart of Parke County's covered bridge country lay incredible limestone walls, a sandy creek, dozens of Virostkos, and a TON of good homecooked food. I visited for awhile, with the most common introduction being, "So, you're the rower...," dug into some food (and snowcones!), and then my cousins and I began exploring. We climbed the limestone faces, explored the mossy banks of the creek, and were even guided (as it got dark, unfortunately) to some absolutely incredible waterfalls on the property. The place had a very sacred, secret feeling to it, and there were even some Indian carvings on the rocks. Very cool stuff.

After dark, we made the long trek (long only because we got lost due to the highway being closed) to the Inn at Turkey Run. I have loved Turkey Run since I was little, and just being at the Inn brought back so many good memories. I instantly feel like a kid when I am there, and it was great to relive old memories and make new ones. We met up with our cousins in the big living room/lobby, took advantage of the free coffee and tea, and played cards until the wee hours of the morning. We got up early the next morning for the main part of the reunion, with any plans for a morning hike doused by a hard, steady rain. We had a great morning, with many of my relatives giving little speeches about the family. Mom brought a big cardboard cut-out of my grandpa -as this was the first reunion we had without him - and told some stories about him, and both Emi and I got up and talked about our own respective adventures in nursing school, PhD, and of course, the Atlantic. It was great to see everyone and learn about what is going on with the Virostko family. "Flea" Virostko is still surfing the big waves out in California with the Maverick's crew, and though he's only a distant relative, I still think its cool that he's part of our family. We had an incredible lunch, took lots of pictures, and then us "kids" were free to go.

So, in the tradition of Turkey Run and my awesome family, we changed and headed out to the infamous Trail #3. Em, Justin, Scott, Devin, Mitchell, John, and I tramped along the ridgeline, eating raspberries along the way, down the mossy stairs, and arrived at the banks of a very flooded Sugar Creek. I had never seen the little river so high, and all of our eyes got big at the sight of it. My cousins and I have very similar mind sets, and I'm pretty sure that we were all thinking the same thing: how fun it would be to play in the raging water. Alas, we had some hiking to do, so we traversed the suspension bridge and made our way to the Devil's Icebox and other limestone structures until we found ourselves in the canyon and making our way up the ladders and climbing up the waterfalls. Trail #3 has always been a favorite of mine, and no matter how many adventures I go on in the future, it will always have a very special place in my heart. And no matter how old all of my family gets (Mitchell is 16 already!), we'll always act like little kids out there (with better climbing skills). We had a blast trekking through the damp, green forest and down into the mossy walls of Falls Canyon, where we stopped at the Punchbowl (a pool carved in the limestone), climbed waterfalls, and just generally had a great time in each other's company in the beautiful surroundings. Before we knew it, we waded through the mouth of the stream and found ourselves back at Sugar Creek. We all stood there at the water's edge, watching massive logs get swept downriver as we stared longingly at its fast current. Mitchell and I stood waist deep in the backwater wondering if there were any rangers nearby, and how quickly we could get back to the lodge if we hopped on a log and rode it downstream. For better or worse, we didn't take advantage of the situation, and we started back across the bridge, where the prospect of jumping off of it seemed like another sweet adventure. But, the thought of getting arrested at a family reunion kept us from taking the leap, and we headed back up the other side. Before returning to the lodge, though, we decided to check out the river below Sunset Point. Debris was swirling around an eddy behind the rock ledge, but Mitch and I decided to at least get a better look at the river, so we swam out in the deep brown stew to where our jumping rock should have been. It was deep underwater, but we decided that if we got the nerve to later tackle the current, that it was totally doable. We went back to the lodge, showered, and spent a few hours in the pool before joining the rest of the family for a barbecue out at one of the shelterhouses. After a wonderful meal of hot dogs, hamburgers, more homecooked goodies, and watermelon, the thunderstorms returned and my mom and I had a nice walk back to the Inn in the rain. In Arizona, I forget how much I miss walking in the rain, and it was special.

All of us cousins spent the remainder of the evening playing Rock Band. Scott, Mitch, and Devin were all pretty good at the game, which only made the rest of us look that much worse. My favorite was Jack's drunken singing skills. It was classic.

On Sunday morning, several of us took a small hike on the flooded Trail #6 and visited some more before most of the family headed out. It was hard to say goodbye so soon, but it had been a great reunion. After everyone had headed home, Emi and I exchanged birthday presents (Happy 22nd Lil Sis!!) and spent some time catching up. Since my flight back to Phoenix wasn't until the evening, Emily, Justin, and I hiked back out to the suspension bridge and climbed up on a bluff overlooking the creek and just relaxed for a bit, taking advantage of the mulberry trees that were filled with fruit along the way. The water was still flowing fast and deep below us, and it was very tempting to just jump off the cliff into the water below, but somehow we resisted the urge and just enjoyed the serenity of the afternoon.

Soon enough though, it was time to head back. We drove back to Indy and I caught my flight back to the Valley of the Sun. All in all, it was an incredible weekend with my family in one of my favorite places. I can't wait to go back again in a few years!!

Freedom

2008-07-08T22:43:00.000-07:00

Independence Day means a great deal to me. I am very proud of my country and the values upon which it was built. Ours is a great nation with innumerable freedoms, and I am very grateful for those who founded it and for those who continue to protect it, allowing all of us Americans the independence and freedom to mold our lives in pretty much any way that we choose.

I've been taught to be independent since I was a young child, and I appreciate my parents for allowing me to discover all that the world had to offer. The freedom that America provides and my independent upbringing have shaped the person I am today, and have influenced many of my past adventures. I value my freedom on many different levels: from the privileges outlined in the Bill of Rights, to the ability to carve out a successful life with a bit of hard work, to the vast expanses of public land that traverse the beautiful country from sea to shining sea.

To celebrate the birthday of the United States of America, I saw it fitting that I enjoy the freedom and awe-inspiring country that I so appreciate. When I was given the invitation to join Bill and a few others up in Zion National Park, I knew that I was in for a weekend full of canyoneering and new adventures. What none of us on the trip knew was that we would return from the trip with a new respect for nature, stories and memories that will last us a lifetime, and bonds of friendship formed that will be able to withstand any storm that life brings.

I met Bill at his house just north of the Phoenix Mountain Preserve on Thursday evening, and Bennett, Tyler, Melissa, John, Anna, and Carrie arrived shortly after. We filled Bill's truck with harnesses, helmets, ropes, packs, and other gear in anticipation of a full weekend in the canyons and headed north on I-17. I had just finished with a busy, albeit short, week and once I got a chance to slow down while sitting in the car, I began to feel the full effects of the sleep deprivation. I faded in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat, trying to keep Bill company as he drove the 7 hours up to Hurricane, Utah. Fortunately, he and John shared lots of stories on the way up, and we made it safely to our motel around 2 a.m. I brushed my teeth, babbled a bit incoherently about graduate school trying to get to know my new adventure mates (it turns out that both Tyler and Melissa are also grad students at ASU), and then crashed.

We slept hard and long, and did not end up waking until the sun was well over the horizon and beating down through the motel window. For the first time, I was able to take in our amazing surroundings: rolling desert nestled in towering red rock mesas that stretched to the horizons. It was love at first sight in my affair with Utah. I could not help but smile at the adventures that I knew were waiting within those red walls. After a slow start and accidently leaving Melissa at the McDonalds, our group began to come together. On our drive from Hurricane to Zion, I kept my eyes glued to the scenery and my adrenal glands started gearing themselves up for what lay ahead. Once inside the park, we procured permits for Pine Creek Canyon and Keyhole Canyon, and drove up into the heart of Zion, with Bill blasting Lords of Acid as we approached the tunnel checkpoint, and all of us in the truck laughing at the... let's just say interesting... lyrics and wondering what the rangers would do when they heard the music. Fortunately for all involved, the song ended and the rangers were well away from the checkpoint when we came through. Anna and Carrie would not be joining us for the actual canyoneering, so they helped us shuttle vehicles around so that we could get started. While Bill was parking his truck at the end of the route, Bennett, John, and I started down, as to prevent us from getting too congested in the canyon. We crossed the road and headed down into Pine Creek Canyon. The walls narrowed quite quickly, the layered sandstone beckoning us deeper into its bosom. We came to our first rappel shortly and met two other groups who were also headed down canyon. They graciously let us use their ropes, and we were down the 20' sloping slickrock feet in no time. A nice easy warm-up. We continued down canyon for a bit more, downclimbing a few easy drops until we came to our first awesome rap of the weekend. It was about 50 feet or so that dropped down into a sand pit engulfed in some amazing sandstone carvings. A small owl sat on a ledge, indifferently watching our progress with large black eyes that revealed that he'd seen thousands of people do it before. As John and I stood at the bottom watching Bennett come down, we smiled at each other and the incredible surroundings. We knew from that point on that it was going to be an incredible weekend. We continued on in this fashion for a few more miles and a half dozen rappels through the wide, but varied, slot canyon until it opened up to reveal a majestic view of the canyons below and we came to our longest rappel of the day. For practice, we decided to rig a single rope and waited for Bill, Tyler, and Melissa to join us as we weren't sure how many ropes they had brought for the first canyon. The rappel was well over 100 feet, and was overhanging, making for a fast, frictionless decent on one rope. My hands were burning, and I'll admit, my legs were shaking a little bit, by the time I got to the bottom. I looked up and watched the remainder of the group come down with admiration. We were really canyoneering in Zion. Stoked did not even begin to describe it. The rest of the canyon was a wide boulder field which we enjoyed scrambling and rock hopping through. Like little kids, we bounded along, each of us finding a new, fun, route to get to the bottom. As the canyon became deeper, so did the pools of water, and we rejoiced in jumping from the boulders above into every one. From the fearless John to the first-time jumper, Bill, we all got several refreshing dunks in the clear, cold water. Finally we came out to the end of our first canyon, and while climbing the path to the road, I found a right-hand glove on the trail. After the blisters that I incurred on my first long rap, I was very thankful for this seemingly insignificant piece of equipment.

We caught a ride in the back of a pick-up to Bill's truck and headed up to the trailhead for Keyhole Canyon. The hike up to the canyon was almost as amazing as the canyon itself. Layers and layers of red, yellow, brown, and pink sandstone shone in the late afternoon sun as we climbed up to some hoodoos that marked the trail to the canyon. As soon as we headed down, the canyon instantly turned into a narrow slot. The rappels weren't huge, but the canyon was beautiful, with the sun just trickling in through the narrow passage above us. The only bad part of the canyon was the water. Normally, you would never hear me say that anything pertaining to water being a bad thing, but this wasn't any normal water. The pools looked and smelled like unflushed toilets, and wading through them and pulling ropes out of them was not exactly our idea of a good time. But, the canyon was totally worth it, and towards the end, we made it to a long, deep narrow section where we half-smeared, half-swam our way to the other side, helping each other across as our team really started to bond. We knocked the canyon out in a few hours, and finally scrambled out the other side in the fading evening sun. It had been a full, incredible day in the canyons, and the best part was that we still had two more to go. That evening we enjoyed a nice meal at one of the lodges outside of the park, watched the full array of stars that covered the night-time sky, relaxed a bit in the hot tub at our hotel, and then got a good nights sleep.

We woke up early in the morning, had a good breakfast there at the hotel, repacked our wet ropes and harnesses, and headed back to Zion to tackle Behunin Canyon. At the Visitor Center, we unloaded the truck and hopped on one of the shuttles that took us upcanyon, past the Court of the Patriarchs (which we could hardly see due to our position on the bus) and the Zion Lodge and dropped us off at The Grotto, where we would start our 4-mile hike up to the start of Behunin. It was cloudy and the forecast was for 30% chance rain when we headed out, so we agreed that if it did still look like a storm by the time that we reached the canyon, then we would turn around and not risk getting caught in a flash flood. We crossed the Virgin River and began the long ascent towards Angel's Landing. The trail was very well maintained (read: it was concrete the whole way to the top), and provided magnificent views of the river and surrounding red rock. It was a steep hike, but we were reluctant to take breaks without taking our packs off, and taking our packs off was too much trouble to do very often, so we slogged onwards, past the trail that turned off to ascend Angel's Landing, and finally reached our first high point atop a white rock mesa. The views from up there were majestic, and John, Tyler, and I played and explored for a bit while we waited for the rest of the group to catch up. It did start sprinkling though, and all we could do was hope that the clouds dissipated in the next two miles, otherwise all of our hard work going up would be for nothing. When the entire group caught up, we rested for a little bit and enjoyed the views some more before hiking down and around the mesa into another wide canyon. It was another half mile again up the canyon before John's GPS said that we had finally reached the start of Behunin. Over the course of the 4 mile trek, we had ascended more than 2,000 feet and we rested briefly under a large pine before traversing a long slickrock section and descending into the canyon that was guarded on one side by massive red cliffs towering above us. The first part of the canyon was downclimbing and bushwacking through some more amazing rock formations, but after a bit, the scrub opened up to reveal a 400 foot drop that would be tackled in a series of 4 rappels. Standing on the edge of my first big drop was both nerve-wracking and very exciting. We split again into two groups of three, and Bill, Melissa, and Tyler headed down before us, while another group of six lined up behind us. The first and second raps were fairly easy down the slickrock, and we decided to share ropes with the group that was coming down behind us. We had a bit of a freak accident when Bennett's pocketknife slid out of an unzippered pouch in his pack and bounced down the 100 foot cliff, opening on the way and grazing the side of Tyler's shorts. Safety in our group was paramount, and from then on, we were extremely careful with everything we did, lest a simple misstep become a fatal accident. The third rappel was absolutely awesome - a 100 foot drop into a sandy ledge, followed by a fourth that finally landed us at the bottom of the first part of the canyon, stoked at what we had just done. A bit further downcanyon, we went down one more short rap before the high canyon walls closed in on us. It was a beautiful feeling, trekking through the sand with cliffs stretching above you for hundreds of feet and ferns growing in the cracks.

We leapfrogged with the group behind us for the next few rappels, as they bypassed a few of the rappels and we opted to get our money's worth, rapping into pools of water and into some more carved rock formations (almost dropped into a deep hole cut by the water). Before we knew it, we turned a corner and were in the last of the rappels, looking out of the canyon into the expansive view of the main Zion Canyon. From there, it was one long rappel, followed by the biggest drop of the weekend: a 160 foot rap - the majority of which was free hanging. It was such an incredible feeling to be standing at the top of the cliff and looking out over the entire valley, and then dropping off the edge of the world into nothingness. I will admit that my arms were tired by the time I reached the bottom of the last rap, but despite the long descent, I felt on top of the world. We chatted with the group in front of us for a bit, recapping the highlights of the amazing trip so far, before boulder hopping through the stream down to the small waterfall at the Emerald Pools below. We didn't find Bill and the rest of the group there, so we continued on to the lodge. We saw plenty of deer at the lodge, but not the rest of our group, so after we exhausted our search, we plopped down on the shuttle to the Grotto. Still no sign of the others, we had no choice but to return to the Visitor's Center where we finally found them waiting at the truck.

By that time, it was well past dark and all of were tired, hungry, and beginning to get a little crabby, so we stopped off for some fast food, and brought it back to the hotel where we ate in the hot tub. Happy, nourished, and relaxed again, we climbed into bed with dreams of red rock floating through our heads.

On Sunday, we were all still a bit tired from the previous two days of adventure, but we were still excited as to what the day would bring in Spry Canyon. We drove up again past the tunnel to an area a few hundred meters above the start of the Pine Creek trail. The sun was out in full force as we hiked along for some time in the sandy wash of the dried creekbed. After half a mile, we turned left and made a sharp ascent up some more slickrock. For the next mile or so, we played "find the cairn," as we lost the route several times, searching around like lost ants before we eventually made it to the top of a small pass in the juncture of several canyons. Once again, the view was outstanding and almost magical. As we were the only ones in the canyon and there was no sign of human life as far as we could see, I felt as if we were pioneers looking out among the canyons for the first time. I can't even begin to explain how happy I was, just sitting there and soaking it all up. Once we had all found our way to the top, we headed down into Spry. Tyler was the first to find a way down into the actual canyon, downclimbing some of the slopes at the very head of the canyon, but since I was already a few hundred meters ahead, I simply bushwacked down the scrub and was rewarded with a confetti of dead leaves showering me as I wound in and under the brush. Our path finding quest continued for some time more, with each of us finding our own way deeper into the canyon before all six of us found the solid, sandy bottom of the wash. The trail became more pronounced at this point, as from there on, there was only one way to go: straight through the dry wash. Soon enough, we came to our first rappel of the day, a >100 foot rappel that from a distance looked gnarly, but in reality was a very fun sloping decent on the ever present slickrock. Tyler also found a sweet little sand pit that he dubbed a "vortex," for its unique reverberations when you pounded the sand in the circular pit. At the bottom, Bennett and I went ahead of the rest of the group, getting a head start to set the ropes on the next rappels. Even after three days in the canyons, I was still awed by the beauty of my surroundings, and we spent an enjoyable hike to the next two raps. The first of the two was an easy 15 foot rappel into another unique sand pit, where I climbed up a rock formation to snack on the biggest apple I've ever eaten and waited for the group to catch up. From there, we dropped down a 10' rap that had an awkward start over the roots of an old stump, in which both Bill and I got caught in. It was actually pretty humorous to be suspended upside down, just a few feet above the ground, and it was good practice to get out of that situation in a controlled, fairly safe environment (as opposed to getting caught on one of the long raps). We went along as a group for a little bit, enjoying a few more rappels before the sky started to turn against us. As Bennett and I were pulling the ropes from a medium sized rappel, several menacing-looking clouds started rolling in. A little bit wary of the potential storm, and eager to find some higher ground, the rest of the group headed down the next rap. Just as we got to the rappel, lightning fell from the sky and thunder cracked soon after. I threw a rope down to the rest of the group so they could set the next rappel as Bennett and I made our way across a tricky approach and down a great rappel, which would have been absolutely amazing if it weren’t for the approaching storm. By the time we pulled the ropes from that rap, Bill had already rigged a single rope over a chockstone sling without looking at our directions. When we arrived down at the rappel, Bill was frantically calling to us that there was not another bolt on the second section, and that he was effectively stuck on a small ledge without a rope long enough to get him down. The thunder made everything ominous, and a few sprinkles of rain increased the sense of urgency as Bennett and Bill yelled back and forth at each other in order to correct the situation. We rigged a double rope from a sling higher up on another side of the rappel, and Bill was able to get down to relative safety. Where we were stationed more than a dozen feet above the watercourse, we were safe from a potential flash flood, and we decided to play it safe and wait out the storm while Bill found some higher ground below us. We waited for about 10 minutes until the storm passed. Although the thunder and lightning had made it feel dangerous, only a few drops of rain ended up falling, and as the sun came out and we realized that we were going to be fine, one by one we all dropped over the edge and joined Bill. It took us a little while to get all of us down and set up the next rappel, and by the time that Bill headed down, the skies were clouding up again. John and Tyler went down next, leaving Bennett, Melissa, and me at the top as large drops of rain started falling. Knowing that we didn’t want to get split up in case it really opened up, we hurried down to join the others, being careful on the wet sandstone as we descended. The first of the series of rappels dropped into a narrow slot, traversed a little ledge, and then descended again further into a waist deep pool of water. Once in that part of the canyon, there was no emergency exit, and by the time I waded across the narrow pool of water, the rest of the group was already down the next rappel. Ensuring that the last two would be ok, I rapped down the next 30 feet into a large sand pit and quickly climbed up to a ledge on higher ground as the thunder and lightning commenced once more. As soon as Bennett and Melissa got down, John was there to pull the ropes and we got everyone up to the ledge just as the skies completely opened up. Wind, rain, and hail pelted the canyon while we huddled together underneath a small overhang and watched the monsoon ravage the sand and stone around us. Even as violent as the storm was, it was over soon after it began, and 10 minutes after we had pulled the ropes, the wind and rain subsided and we crawled out of our little shelter. A small waterfall cascaded over a nearby canyon wall and we watched with awe and looked up to the top of the canyon. A strange noise that didn’t quite sound like wind rumbled high above us, though the trees at the top of the canyon weren’t moving. We looked at each other quizzically as the noise grew steadily louder. Before we could even put two and two together, a torrent of foaming water filled with debris rushed out of the small slot where we had just rappelled from and dropped into the sand pit where we had landed 10 minutes earlier. Ten minutes separated our safety from an imminent, violent death being pummeled with the force of the water, logs, and rocks that tumbled over the edge of the cliff. We shuddered as we looked up to the rappels above us. Any number of factors could have delayed us, and we were all ecstatic just to be standing there together. For the first 10 minutes, we hugged and took pictures and thanked God for sparing us as the flow multiplied and grew to be several feet above our bolts at the top and turned the sand pit below into a foaming, churning cauldron. For over an hour, we watched the force of nature do its work, and we were overwhelmingly awed by the sheer amount of water that was making its way down. The skies were blue, and the sun shone across the freshly showered landscape, and eventually the torrent of water diminished to a small muddy waterfall, so Bill decided it was safe to continue on. He led the way, and scouted out potential new trails to return to the truck. One by one, the rest of us followed him down the 60 foot cliff and landed in the stream below. The adjacent waterfall, though still muddy with silt, looked too good to pass up, so at Tyler’s initiation, we all jumped in the freezing water. Our adrenaline was still flowing fast, and all we could do was smile at our situation. The scene was beautiful even without the recent cheating of death, and with the adrenaline still coursing through our veins, the world took on a whole new light. We took the opportunity to rinse the ropes and then began our boulder hopping descent. The stream was flowing just enough to make some incredible waterfalls, and we took great joy splashing through each one and we bounded along with our newfound energy. The canyon stretched out below us, bathed in the most amazing light, and we couldn’t have been happier. But it got even better… Soon we came to our last rappel of the day, a normally dry, 85' rappel over the last cliff before reaching Pine Creek. Now, as we set up the rope to descent, we rapped directly in the water: a 85’ free hanging descent in a waterfall. Words cannot even begin to explain the joy that each of us felt as we were hanging there in the middle of space in the middle of a canyon with people that were now our brothers and sisters. When we all reached the bottom, we hugged again, thankful not only for being alive, but for the experiences that we were having together. We barely felt the packs on our backs as we hiked down the very last stretch to Pine Creek and back to Bill’s truck, where we were joined by Anna and Carrie. We sloughed out of our wet harnesses and clothes, cracked opened a few celebratory beers, and drank to the canyon, to Mother Nature, to each other, and to the foundation of Team Escape.

The energy on the ride home was still electric, with stories of the weekend and other past adventures filling every mile of the road. By the time we arrived back in The Valley in the wee hours of Monday morning, we knew that Team Escape was bonded for life and we all look forward to many more adventures together in the future.

Quarter Century

2008-07-01T07:44:00.001-07:00

Today is the 25th anniversary of my being. A quarter of a century. A potential quarter of my life. Twenty-five years. Crazy.

July has always been one of my favorite months. Growing up, my friend Mel and I shared a job working out in the fields of Pruitt Flowers, a common love of Jimmy Buffet, and birthdays that were two days apart. I learned a lot on those hot, muddy July days out in the flower fields, and in them, Mel introduced me not only to Buffet's music, but also to his hilarious, but strangely profound writing. In his book, A Pirate Looks at Fifty, the beginning goes like this:

"In four hundred words or less, this is what happened from early adolescence until now: I broke out of the grip of Catholicism and made it through adolescence without killing myself in a car. I flunked out of college. I learned to play the guitar, lived on the beach, lived in the French Quarter, finally got laid, and didn't go to Viet Nam. I got back into school, started a band, got a job on Bourbon Street, graduated from college, flunked my draft physical, broke up my band, and went out on the road solo. I signed a record deal, got married, moved to Nashville, had my guitars stolen, bought a Mercedes, worked at Billboard Magazine, put out my first album, went broke, wrecked the Mercedes, got divorced, and moved to Key West. I sang and worked on a fishing boat, went totally crazy, did a lot of dope, met the right girl, made another record, had a hit, bought a boat, and sailed away to the Caribbean. I started another band, worked the road, had my second and last hit, bought a house in Aspen, started spending summers in New England, got married, broke my leg three times in one year, had a baby girl, made more records, bought a bigger boat, and sailed away to St. Barts. I got separated from the right girl, sold the boat, sold the house in Aspen, moved back to Key West, worked the road, and made more records. I rented an apartment in Paris, went to Brazil for Carnival, learned to fly, went into therapy, quit doing dope, bought my first seaplane, flew all over the Caribbean, almost got a second divorce, moved to Malibu for more therapy, and got back with the right girl. I worked the road, moved back to Nashville, took off in an F-14 from an aircraft carrier, bought a summer home on Long Island, had another baby girl. I found the perfect seaplane and moved back to Florida. Cameron Marley joined me in the house of women. I built a home on Long Island, crashed the perfect seaplane, lived through it thanks to Navy training, tried to slow down a little, woke up one morning and I was looking at fifty, trying to figure what comes next."

So in the spirit of Mel (happy birthday old man!) and Jimmy Buffet, here is my version:

I was born in a Naval Hospital in Oceanside, CA and spent my first few years filling my diaper with sand from the shores of the San Luis Rey and learned to swim in the Pacific waves. My sister was born when I was three and I promptly bounced her off the trampoline into an orange tree. At 6, we moved to Indianapolis where I flunked my first homework assignment and learned to ride a bike. I spent the next two years exploring the labyrinth of unfinished roofs and muddy basements of our fledgling subdivision. At 9, we moved to southern Indiana, spent a long year sharing a bed with my sister at my Gran's house, and then moved to the farm, where I started exploring everything from our cabin a hundred meters away to abandoned houses miles away. I started playing softball and basketball, learned to play the drums, and joined the science fair team. I won the conference cross country meet, became an Intel Science Talent Search finalist, played with President Bush's dog, and headed to France and Spain. I spent the rest of the summer in Israel, worked at the Weizmann Institute, climbed Masada at sunrise, swam in the Red Sea and Dead Sea, and fell in love with an amazing British bloke. I attended Purdue, started rowing, spent a summer in Dublin, climbed half the peaks in the Wicklow Mountains, broke up with the British bloke, and fell in love with the idea of rowing across oceans. I found someone crazy as myself, bought a boat, graduated from Purdue, and spent a summer dodging hurricanes in Florida. I attempted to row across the Atlantic, got caught in a tropical storm, was rescued by pirates, spent 11 days learning to sail and exploring tropical islands before being plucked out of the Caribbean, and landed on the set of The Today Show. I spent the next few months wondering what I was supposed to do after the biggest failure of my life, so I headed out to Arizona, started my PhD, learned to play rugby and ultimate frisbee, and explored desert oases by foot and bike. I spent 51 days rowing across the Atlantic, broke a world record by 17 days, returned to Arizona, reflected for a bit, and while looking for the next adventure; I realized that I had made it to 25.

It's been an amazing, interesting, and adventurous life so far, and I want to thank each and every person in my life that has made it special. Without you, I would have no one to share my adventures with, and my life wouldn't mean half as much. So, here's to the past 25 years... and to the many adventures to come in the next 25.

On top of the world... or at least Arizona.

2008-06-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

As I've said before, research and the PhD in general is an up and down kind of existence. After two years in the business, I've come to the realization that you don't necessarily have to be smart to get a PhD, but you have to be persistent and very dedicated. After going months without unambiguous results, a weaker scientist might go crazy, but finally on Friday I had not one, but TWO positive results that I am 100% certain about. Running from the dark room after developing a positive Western blot and doing a little dance across the lab is a totally acceptable form of celebration, and that's exactly what I did on Friday. Twice. And then, because I knew that asking for three positive results in one day was a bit much, I got the heck outta the lab.

Just to be safe, I got out of the Valley. I packed the Jeep with my bike and camping gear, and on Saturday morning, Hannah, Martin (one of Hannah's coworkers), and I headed up to Flagstaff for some high elevation adventures. The Valley of the Sun sits at just over 1,000 feet above sea level. Downtown Flagstaff sits at about 7,000. But we weren't interested in downtown Flagstaff, so we kept on going... up. We drove up and around the base of the mountains, being careful not to hit bikers that were laboring up the steep incline for the Summit Center Classic. Seven miles and 2,000 meters of elevation later, we arrived at the parking lot of the Arizona Snowbowl and the trailhead of the Mt. Humphreys Trail. In three hours, we had gained 8,000 feet by car, and we still had another 3,600 to climb: by foot. The scenery and weather could not have been more beautiful, and we started through the Snowbowl meadow a little after 9 a.m. Wild irises and several other wildflowers (I'm still learning their names) dotted the landscape of the out-of-season bunny slopes, with the lonely chair lifts hanging idly in the light breeze. We crossed the meadow into a cool pine and quaking aspen forest, and started to climb. It was a gentle climb at first, but we could definitely feel the difference in the altitude as our hearts and lungs tried to adjust to the change in oxygen and pressure as we switchbacked up through the forest. Wildflowers abounded: from Solomon's seal to primroses to bracken-like ferns. As we continued to gain elevation, the flora continually changed until there were no longer aspen trees, and only the tall pines loomed above us. An hour and a half into the climb, we could see out over the ski slopes and into the actual "bowl" of Snowbowl. I haven't snowboarded there yet, but it certainly looks like an incredible place. We continued climbing until we were on the saddle of the mountain, where we could see the first of the three false summits. A few patches of snow remained, even with the temperatures in the 70s. The further we climbed, the fewer and smaller the trees became until we finally reached the last of the gnarled, windswept survivors on the border of Arizona's tundra. Mt. Humphreys is an extinct volcano, and the lava rocks in conjunction with the remaining snow and moss-like plants that live on the upper third of the mountain look more at home in the Arctic than in the Grand Canyon state. Even though we could feel our heartbeats in our heads, we kept on going past the next two false summits (which we hardly noticed, as we had been warned of them beforehand) and finally onto the real summit: 12,637 feet above sea level. From the top, we could see for miles in all directions, and could barely make out the Grand Canyon to our north. With clouds rolling in, it created a really cool atmosphere at the top. I was surprised at how many people were up there: it was almost like a Flagstaff Camelback instead of the highest point in Arizona. We had passed and been passed by dozens of people (some of whom were running up the mountain), and there were over 20 on top when we arrived. Temperatures were in the low 50s, but the weather held for us and it wasn't even very windy at the top. As we started to head down, I really began to feel the altitude. My head pounded with every heartbeat and my eyes watered a little bit, but the three of us kept going, enjoying the expansive views in front of us. Hannah and her knee did brilliantly, and we descended at a pretty good pace. When we were back down below 11,000 feet, I had to stop and squat behind a tree... and when I got up, I had what I can only describe as the worst head rush I have ever felt. I felt like my entire brain was going to explode and I felt dizzy and a bit sick. I couldn't think straight, and Hannah helped the situation by teaching us her newfound knowledge of pulmonary and cerebral edema. Fortunately, Martin had taken to photographing a caterpillar, so I sat down again and got some sugar, water, and Tylenol into my system and felt a little better. I can't even imagine what its like to climb Everest if that little bit of altitude did that to me. No worries, I won't be climbing that one anytime soon. The rest of the hike down was good though, and we arrived back at the cars tired but satisfied with a good climb.

We headed back to town, and with the additional 2,000 feet elevation drop, my head felt great again. We had some burritos downtown, and then Martin and Hannah returned to Phoenix. I chilled in town for a bit, waiting for Pierre and Evelyn to finish up their biking for the day. I perused the many local adventure and bike shops, and spent some time reading about the local wildflowers until I realized how bad I smelled, so I bought a book and headed out to one of the local parks and read until the early evening. Pierre and Evelyn got into town around 7 p.m., and we chilled at a local coffee shop for a bit before driving down to Lake Mary. I had never been to that part of Arizona (12 miles south of Flag), and even though it was dark out, the moon shone down on the long lake silhouetted by dark pines and made a beautiful scene. Since there were no showers at the campground, we went for a late night swim in the cold, but very refreshing water. Millions of stars lit up the night sky, and I haven't felt so much at peace since nights on the ocean. After we dried off a bit, we headed to camp, snacked on trail mix and freeze-dry, and crashed into the tent. In the morning, we packed up camp, headed back into town for breakfast, and then drove up to Mt. Elden for some killer mountain biking. The route we chose was the Mt. Elden loop, an 18.5 mile series of trails that wound around the mountain. It was supposed to be aerobically challenging (all the more because of the elevation) at the beginning and fast and fun at the end. It certainly did not disappoint. The first few miles of singletrack were hardpacked dirt and gently inclined. We were breathing hard, but it wasn't anything too bad. Then, we took a wrong turn on one of the trails and started switchbacking straight up the mountain. We figured that the first part of the ride was supposed to be tough, so we just went with it, and besides, the scenery made up for the hard work we were putting in. Pines and boulders were scattered about mountain meadows filled with hundreds of different wildflowers, and the crisp cool air filled our overworked lungs. For two miles we continued upwards until we came to a shoulder on the mountain. We looked at our map and realized that we were going the wrong way, but rather than continuing along the shoulder, we decided to get back on track, which meant that we had to back down. Within 30 seconds, we had forgotten all the toil that it had taken to reach the top, and we just let gravity do its thing. It was the best downhill I've done yet. What it lacked in technicality, it made up for with its fast descent, small jumps, curving track, and incredible scenery. I didn't pedal for two miles, and it was beautiful. We enjoyed more of the rolling singletrack once we had gotten back on the correct trail, and the joyride lasted for several miles afterwards. As we went along, the trail got more technical with a few rock gardens and gnarly descents injected into the trail just for adrenaline junkies like us. The entire forest was absolutely gorgeous, the temperature was perfect, and with the exception of a downhill biker coming down a sidetrail every once in awhile, we had the place largely to ourselves. Every few miles or so, we would wait for each other to catch up and we'd just stand there grinning at each other like hyenas. We were in heaven. The perfection couldn't last though, and after 12 miles, we came upon another 800 meters of a long, sandy uphill, so we stopped in the shade at the top for a bite of lunch and a chance to rest our happy muscles. We continued on for another 5 miles of mixed trail: a few sandy washes, a few more rolling hills, a few more climbs, and plenty of descending rock gardens that made for some great training and a lot of fun for me. By the time we reached the Pipeline trail, though, we were whooped, and the GPS said that we still had 3 miles to go to reach the car: in a straight line, which meant that we had 5 more by trail. We cranked up the doubletrack that ran along the gas pipeline and finally came to Elden Lookout Road. From there, it was either 2.2 miles on a trail called Rocky Ridge, or about 2.5 miles on the dirt road. Being the competitive people that we are, and Pierre being the Frenchman who doesn't quite understand the combination of "rocky" and "ridge," Evelyn and I raced Pierre back taking the road while he took the trail. We beat him by 8 minutes, and enjoyed watching him do push-ups when he returned. All in all, it was a great 22 mile ride.

After we baby-wiped the dust and grime off of ourselves, we went back to town for another burrito. Our original plan had been to head back to Lake Mary for some more swimming and kayaking, but after we were full of calories and cola, we lacked the motivation to do anything more. So, we hung out in Flagstaff for a bit longer, putting off the inevitable drive back down to the Valley for as long as we could. Finally, in the evening, we drove back down to the Valley that was literally and figuratively on fire. It was over 100 before I even got below 4000 feet, and off to the west of I-17, Crown King was burning. Huge plumes of smoke blocked out the sun beyond the mountains, and I had to turn on my lights through the haze. When I finally reached the Valley, smoke was still rising from the fires that had been burning all week down near the Gila River. Always looking on the bright side, I enjoyed the brilliant sunset that the smoke filled horizon created, and called it a day.

"There will be bumps."

2008-06-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

We got back from the conference on Sunday in just enough time to turn around and head back down. By 8 a.m. on Monday morning, we were already on the road back to Tucson. It was a full incredibly motivating day, though. Although the conference covers a broad range of topics in both plant and animal biology, there were some very interesting, pertinent lectures that really held my attention and got me thinking about the next steps in my own research. I won't bore you with transient expression systems and plant based pharmaceuticals, but let me just say that it was awesome to a nerd like myself. It's also an incredible place to network. During the student networking lunch, our main speaker was an industry research scientist who went through his entire career path, noting the "bumps" that occurred along the way and how he coped with the occupational hazards that the sometimes sadistic life of a researcher can entail. I'm pretty sure that his favorite words were: "there will be bumps." We weren't sure if his talk was meant to comfort us during the rough times or inspire us to get the heck out of research, but he made certain that we all knew that there would be bumps in our lives.

The rest of the day went well, but Matoba didn't present until later in the evening, and by the time we got back to Tempe, it was 11 p.m. It wouldn't have been so bad except that Pierre and I had an adventure planned for the next day: biking from Tempe to Tucson.

After going over our course and getting a few hours of sleep, Pierre and I returned to campus at 5 a.m. to start our epic ride. We were stoked and our adrenaline overcame our tiredness as we rolled out of town. We did great for the first 10 miles or so, starting our adventure in the cool morning air. Then about 15 miles into it, my back tire went flat and I learned how to change a road tire. The only problem was that I only had one spare and 85 miles to go... We laughed when we thought of the speaker: we had hit our first bump of the day. But we kept going and about two miles later we got to some minor construction where the bike lane was closed. So we hopped up on the sidewalk (we barely noticed the cones at the beginning) and continued on our 20 mph pace when we suddenly came up on another rider who slammed on his brakes directly in front of Pierre. I was several feet behind when I saw Pierre go flying, skidding along the concrete like a pro baseball player into home plate... if baseball players wore spandex and clipless shoes and slid into home with a road bike. Another bump for us today. I have no clue what the workers were doing to "fix" the sidewalk, but it looked like they had either turned the thing to ice or had smothered it in butter. Either way, it was SUPER slick. Fortunately for me, I managed to stop before I joined him. A little shaken and with a huge white smear down his right side, Pierre got up and we continued on. Our day had already hit a few bumps, so we were hoping that karma would be kind, but a few miles later, Pierre's back tire busted... and I mean busted. Not only was the tube shot, his actual tire was ripped. Ridiculous. Lots of bumps. But there wasn't anything we could do but fix the tire, so that's what we did. And as I did, I set my Camelback down on its tube, and all of my water in the bladder leaked out (fortunately, I had two more bottles). At this point, it was almost funny. He put his only spare tube in and attempted to patch the actual tire while I called Angel to try to find a store to buy some spare tubes and a new tire, as I knew that we weren't going to make the additional 80 miles without them. At first, we raced to catch up with another road cyclist to see if he knew of anything, but he turned out to be a German biker who hardly spoke English, much less knew of any stores in the area. So, a police officer (who gave us directions early in our ride and then later watched us get our 2nd flat) pointed us in the direction of a Lowe's hardware store (which of course didn't have anything that we needed), before Angel called back with directions to a Target. So, we then headed 5 miles back up north to a little shopping area with a Big 5 Sports that opened at 10 a.m., a Target that opened at 8, and a Basha's that was already open. So, we each got a liter of orange juice and sat outside of Target like homeless people for 30 mins before it opened. At 8, Pierre went inside and bump... bump... bump... they didn't have anything for road bikes. Ug. It was already hot, and we were really disappointed about the not so epic start to our epic ride. At that point, we had three options: a)., Evelyn could come and give us spare tubes and we could continue on hoping that Pierre's tire would hold out, b)., I could continue on alone, or c)., Evelyn could come rescue us and we would ride in the van with the rest of the lab. We figured that, as much as we hated it, we had to choose c. So, Ev came and got us, and dropped me off at home so I could at least get a shower, and I realized that I left my house keys in my bag at the lab. With my roommates gone, I laughed, sucked it up to the bumps of the day, broke into my room, showered, and headed to the lab to my confused labmates. It was a long drive down in our weary state, and Pierre and I couldn't even stay awake at the lectures (which with the exception of labmate Latha's presentation, were quite boring). We did, however, have an all-lab, all-out poster fight after all of our poster sessions were over, which added some spice to an otherwise bland conference day. Even though we were exhausted, we did get back to Tempe in time to change clothes (again), and head out to the Tuesday Papago race. I seriously thought I was going to puke or die or just fall over, but I finished and by the end I felt great. I did, however, cut the post-race fiesta short and went home and crashed hard.

On Wednesday, Pierre and I were the only ones to attend the conference, and even though we were still exhausted from the previous day's endeavors, we loved the presentations of new research in biofuels, and we even scouted out some routes on the way home and sneaked around the Biosphere II for a bit before returning to Tempe.

After such an eventful week, I decided to have an easy relaxing weekend. We played some sand volleyball on Friday night and went tubing on the Salt River on Saturday, and on Sunday I hardly did anything at all. And, believe it or not, it felt great!!! I was able to get a lot of stuff done around the house and spent the remainder of the day reading and relaxing by the pool. No worries though, I've got some exciting stuff planned for the next few weekends, so stay tuned!

I am alive... just busy!

2008-06-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

So, yeah. It's been a very busy couple of weeks, and I know I've been slacking on the blogging... so I'm going to catch up in one big go. Here it is. :)

Two weeks ago, summer really arrived in Phoenix. Biking to work any time after 8 a.m. is torture, and no matter what time I bike home, I am dripping in sweat by the time I get to the house. Even our Tuesday evening mountain bike races have an added element to them. But, it's good training for what will be the norm until October. So, when Jack, Hannah, and I headed out to the McDowell Mountain Preserve at 8 a.m. for a ride around the competitive tracks, we knew that we were going to be in for some serious heat. We first rode the 9 mile Long Loop, which was great training for all of us: Hannah gained her confidence back on the mountain bike, Jack and I played around with climbing up and hopping rocks, and we all got an incredible workout on the steep hills. And since none of us had ever been on sport loop, we headed over to the 4 mile track. It is probably my favorite loop now in the Valley: it's just four miles smooth hardpacked singletrack filled with twists, turns, drops, and rolling hills. Despite the heat, it was a great time, and we even tooled around on the technical loop for a little bit before heading back to air conditioning and fruit smoothies. Jack and I spent the majority of the afternoon playing volleyball in the pool. At around 3 p.m., I realized that I was exhausted after a full day in the sun, but instead of taking a nap, I headed out to Benedict Park for an ultimate frisbee hat tournament. My team had a slow start and we lost our first game, but we came back and crushed the next two teams. By finals, I was completely knackered, but still managed to play a bit against the stacked and undefeated champions before going home and crashing.

On Sunday, I was still exhausted, but weekends are too precious to just spend indoors, so I dragged my butt out of bed, filled my Camelback with water, lunch, and a good book and drove out to Saguaro Lake. The oppressive dry heat was laughing at my feeble attempts to hike out to the cove, but somehow I slowly managed to walk the three miles before I plopped down on a secluded little sandy beach on the crowded lake. I spent the remainder of the day swimming, reading, and just generally relaxing.

The next week was another busy one in the lab. All of us in the Mor lab scurried around all week trying to get last minute results before making posters and presentations for a conference down in Tucson. This was severely inhibited by a seemingly harmless incident down in our growth chamber. When we noticed that the temperature in the normally hot, humid chamber where we grow our tobacco was cold, we called a facility maintenance guy to come fix it. On Monday night, he came out and fixed it... while breaking a mercury thermometer in the process. He casually mentioned it to Pierre and went along his merry way. So, on Tuesday when we were going in and out of the chamber, we didn't think anything about it until Pierre mentioned the thermometer to our lab manager. And then all hell broke loose. We weren't going to do anything about it except call Environmental Health and Safely to sweep up the mercury, but they made all of us who had entered the chamber go over to the Health Center to get mercury poisoning tests. We filled out paperwork and waited for the doctors over there until we were told that they didn't have the correct tubes to collect our blood. So, they sent us over to Tempe St. Lukes Hospital. There, we filled out more paperwork, waited some more, got our vitals taken, were asked a lot of questions, and then told that we should be fine, and to just go home. While they were typing out our paperwork, an ASU police officer came over and asked us more questions. He sent over 6 of his police cars and a Tempe Fire truck to our building, and evacuated the floor, blowing the entire thing completely out of proportion. It was a broken thermometer for goodness sakes! So, 4 hours after we had gone to the Health Center, we were finally released to go home. The next morning, we were told that we had to go BACK to the Health Center because they now had the correct collection tubes. So, we filled out more paperwork, had our vitals taken AGAIN, and then had our blood and urine taken. It was not my idea of a good time, and by the time we were done, we had wasted almost a full work day so that they could tell me that I probably had more mercury exposure in my post-Papago race fish tacos than in the actual mercury spill.

On Thursday, I got out of the craziness of the lab and headed down to (the Mexican border) Sierra Vista for a library presentation to a group of summer reading program kiddos. It was a great group of about 60 kids ranging from kindergarten to middle school, and even though it was our first real (ie. paid) presentation since the race, we manged to do really well - without even going over the slides together before the presentation.

During the rest of the week, I continued to fill out worker's comp papers (as I said, it was a crazy mess), printed out my poster, and got ready for our conference. I finally got a chance to breathe on Friday evening, and had a very relaxing time barbecuing, swimming, and making good use of a borrowed SOLS projector for a movie night in Kohl's backyard.

On Saturday, ODP finally got back together again. It's been a long time since the three of us went exploring together, so we decided to go somewhere new. We drove north on Hwy 87 that is our summer artery. In addition to being the road that leads to Tonto Creek and Fossil Creek, it also heads to Payson, where we turned onto Hwy 260 to Christopher Creek. The town of Christopher Creek is a little rustic resort area with lots of campgrounds and cabins, but its namesake creek is the real reason for going up there. We parked along the highway just past mile marker 271 and hiked down the trail past the tall pines and manzanita scrub to the creek itself. Not far from where the trail met the creek, we came to what is known as The Box, where the creek plunges over a small waterfall and into the start of a wonderful canyon. For the next two miles and four hours, we were awed by the incredible oasis in which we found ourselves. The creek blended all of the good parts of our favorite Arizona spots: it had the waterfalls of Fossil Creek, the canyons and smooth granite of Salome Creek, the water flow and rapids of Tonto Creek, and the unique, unexplainable beauty of Havasu Falls. We couldn't stop smiling as we rounded each corner to find a new waterfall, a slide, a wall to climb, or just a new breathtaking view. I know I say it with each new place that we find, but I think that the Box Canyon of Christopher Creek is my new favorite place. After climbing the canyon walls up and around a slippery fall, we spent lunch playing at one of the most beautiful falls, swimming in the massive pool below it, and basking on the sun warmed rocks at the end of it. Every fall was more impressive than the next, and after several hours, we came upon a 50' beast. It was too bad that we didn't have ropes (or the confidence in our independent rapping skills), as it would have been an awesome rappel, so we climbed around the sides of the canyons to avoid it before returning to some incredible rock formations and slots in the canyon. By the end of the day, we were tired, but very, very happy. We managed to find the creek and trail that took us back to 260 and walked along the highway for a short bit back to our car. We ended the day at a little restaurant in Payson (4 course homemade dinner for $12) and checked out the adjacent bike shop. The owner had only been in Payson for 9 months, but had a sweet little hiking/biking/adventure shop set up and has some fun ideas for trails and races in the area. I'm sure you'll hear more about him and the Payson biking scene in the future.

On Sunday, the three of us headed back out for some ODP heat survival training on our bikes in the Phoenix Mountain Preserve. We hit Trail 100 at Dreamy Draw at 9 a.m. We were all tired from the day before, and the dry heat in combination with the steep trails felt like it was sucking the remaining life our of our bodies. I was feeling pretty crabby and lazy at the beginning, but fortunately, the training is good for us, and after awhile our bodies became more accustomed to the heat and I started having fun bombing down some gnarly rocky trails. It was a bit too fun though, and I didn't want to turn around even though I knew I had to be showered, dressed up, and ready for our drive down to Tucson for our conference at 11:30 a.m. By 10:00, we tried to get off the trails to cut across Cave Creek back to the parking lot, and ended up traversing up and down the suburban labyrinth instead. By 10:15 I was nowhere near the Jeep, and I started getting a bit nervous. I left Hannah and Angel behind and started sprinting towards Northern, the only road I knew in the area. I finally figured it out and got back to Dreamy Draw at 10:30. I sped back down the 51 and back to Tempe with just enough time to shower and change. I made it to campus with my hair still wet and just barely presentable for the conference, but I did make it.

Two hours later, we arrived at the Hilton El Conquistador Resort, nestled in the mountains, for the Annual World Congress of the Society for In Vitro Biology. It was a very motivational and inspiring day, listening to some amazing scientists present their research and standing by my own poster and explaining my research to others. By the end of the day, though, I was definitely whooped, and we drove back late that night, only to get up early and do it again the next day...

...And back to the AZ heat.

2008-06-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

Although I greatly enjoyed my trip back to the land of green humidity, I returned to the Valley's dry heat. We've been fairly lucky this year with only a few days above 100, but I returned to full out summer. I spent the week days in the air-conditioned lab screening my (hopefully) Gag expressing stable line plants. I was like a new mother the way I coddled the 152 baby explants. It's taken me over two months of work to develop these genetically engineered cuties, and I couldn't be more proud. I am such a nerd when it comes to these things... but it is a very exciting time in my project. I spent the evenings and Saturday morning moving out of our old house and into Jack's place, and by the time that I swept the floor one last time, I was definitely ready to relax.

It's just too bad that by noon on Saturday, it was hovering around 100. Nevertheless, Kohl and I have a reputation for being crazy to keep, so we headed out for a Greenbelt ride anyways. We had a great ride along the bike path up past Scottsdale, stopping now and then in the shade to cool off. After riding several miles up past the golf courses and parks, we took the canal path back to Old Town for a lunch at Salty Senoritas where we enjoyed a great meal and the return of the misters on the porch. We rode back through Canal Park and back into Tempe in the late afternoon.

That evening, I headed to Dan's house for the annual Missing Links bike swap. If you needed anything at all for your bike, it was there, and someone was trying to get rid of it. It was a great social event with barbecue and lots of stories. My favorite part of the night was when a big group of us were standing around swapping stories, and we all went around the circle showing off our scars that we obtained while riding in Papago. It turns out that I'm not the only one (other than Hannah, of course) who has had a bad wipeout in the park. It was a great event, and by the end of the night I had gotten a cheap 24HOP jersey, a pair of socks, a bike computer, and a smokin' deal on..... A ROAD BIKE!!! Yes, me, the die hard mountain biker, bought a Trek 2500 with full Dur-ace components (brakes, derailleurs, shifters and cranks). It's a beauty and a wonderful addition to the family of bikes that Jack and I have in the garage (we have 3 each, plus his 4 motorcycles). So, bring on the streets and triathlons and long morning rides. I can't wait!

On Sunday, Angel, Christie, and her friend Amber and I returned to Tonto Creek for some more in-depth adventuring. Hannah took a big group out there for Memorial Day weekend, but with more than a dozen people and several dogs, they didn't get to explore the canyon as much as they would have liked, and so Angel and I were excited to see what else the beautiful place had to offer. We hiked to the creek and didn't even stop at the Narrows, continuing on further upstream to where we spent some time jumping off of smaller cliffs and swimming around. From the vantage point of our jumping ledges, the larger cliff that Hannah and I scouted the first time loomed upstream. Since Haydon had jumped it when they were there last weekend, I needed to validate my coolness and jump as well. The first time that I stood on top of the cliff, it was windy and cold, and the water looked like it was miles below us. When I climbed up there again, it didn't look any less far, but at least it was warmer. I stared at the water for more time than was necessary, and it almost cost me the jump. I have to admit that my legs were shaking as my mind began nominating me for the Darwin Award. But, I had to do it. Finally, I leaped off of the rock wall into nothingness. I think I reached terminal velocity sometime between the initial leap and my water shoes smacking into the deep pool. It was the best rush I had experienced in a long time. Truly awesome. Even though my nose was bleeding from the impact, the jump was fairly harmless and sooo much fun. I wanted to go back up again, but since we still had a lot of exploring to do, we continued on upstream. We boulder hopped our way up for awhile until Christie and Amber decided to hang out on the warm rocks, and Angel and I continued up further. Just a few hundred meters up from where the other two stopped, we came to a massive deep pool that had an equally massive slick granite boulder sitting smack dab in the middle of it. It was too much to resist, so Angel an I slid around for a few minutes in an attempt to scale the slippery beast before pulling ourselves up to the top. The slide down was awesome! Every face of the rock was slidable, and for the next hour, we hauled ourselves up and slid down like little sea otters having the time of our lives. When we realized that the other two weren't going to be joining us, we continued our explorations by climbing the cliffs, jumping back down again, and then heading more upstream. We finally came to a waterfall as the canyon walls closed in. The water was flowing fast, but I managed to swim under and behind the falls and finally managed to climb the slippery walls adjacent to the fall until I was above it. Looking up from the falls, I realized that the best was yet to come. Angel stayed behind, but I just had to keep exploring, so I went another 3/4 of a mile beyond the waterfall. Around every corner and above every rapid was a new area that awed me. Similar to Salome Creek, smooth pink granite abounded with smaller waterfalls and many additional slide rocks. I could have continued on forever, but I eventually turned around to join the group again. The return trip to the waterfall was great fun, and I just let the water carry me down the slick rock. By the time I got back to Angel, I was worn out but very satisfied with the day's explorations. I jumped back down the cliff and we rejoined the others for a bit of lunch and the hike/swim back. The creek would be absolutely perfect if it wasn't for the stream/string worms. These little black suckers attach themselves to every single rock by use of a small silklike thread in the fast flowing current, and when you try to slide down the rocks, they come with you... all over you. By the end of the day, we were all covered in the creepy little worms, but it was worth it. We hardly had to walk at all as we just let the current do all of the work. Finally, after a few more cliff jumps, we made it back to the Narrows. Several drunk guys were jumping off of ledges bigger than the one I had jumped before, and we wanted to get out of there before we had to witness someone really hurt themselves, so we collected a bit of their trash that was lying around and headed back to the trailhead and then Phoenix. I spent the evening chilling (literally, after Cold Stone ice cream and the sunset, it was actually quite cool in Phoenix) with some friends at Suda's pool and then called it a weekend.

Back Home Again in Indiana

2008-05-28T21:48:00.001-07:00

Although I now spend my time exploring all that the Arizona desert has to offer, I owe my adventurous spirit to the woods and rivers of southern Indiana. I was happy to spend the holiday weekend back in the hills of my youth for a few days with my family and the natural world that gave me the inspiration to continue my explorations for the rest of my life.

I got in on Friday night, and by Saturday morning, my dad, sister, and I were on our way to the Clark County State Forest for a hike on the Knobstone Trail. Emi and I have wanted to hike the entirety of this famous trail for a long time now. The Knobstone Trail runs from Delaney Park in Washington County just north of Salem and ends 60 miles to the south near Deam’s Lake. It's the longest continuous trail in the state (plans are in the works to extend it another 80 miles), and many people use it as a training run for the Appalachian Trail. The trail snakes along through the Karst topography that makes the southern part of the otherwise flat corn-growing state so beautiful. The Knobstone trail exhibits all that I love about southern Indiana - tall trees, lush forests, rolling hills, and gurgling streams - and my sister and I were eager to see if it held up to our expectations. I have to admit though, our desire to hike the whole thing is tempered by the experience of two guys that we picked up a few years ago at the Henryville Forest fire tower. After two days of hiking they were jaded by “all the trees that just look the same," and we wanted to check out if it was true or not. Starting out on the border of Washington and Scott Counties, we hiked up to the top of the ridgeline from the creek bottom, with our hearts pumping and my lungs trying to adjust to the humidity in the air. The trail was all that we had hoped it would be, providing awe-inspiring vistas that looked out over the surrounding forested hills all the way down to Louisville. Wildflowers and GREEN blanketed the entire scene, and I was in heaven. We hiked for 11 miles along the ridges, through valleys, across clear streams, and deep into the southern Indiana forests, enjoying the lush diversity of flora and fauna along the trail. To my surprise, the woods were FULL of blueberry bushes, which until Dad bought the new farm in Crawford County, I would have never believed, as I spent a decade in the woods just north of there and had never seen them. But sure enough, half the bushes were filled with little green berries that promise to be tasty in about a month. By the last few miles, we were started to get (just a little bit, I really do love the woods) tired and jaded with the trees, and finally came out to the small clearing where we had parked the other truck. All in all, it was a great day, and I would happily hike the entire trail, and hope to do so in the future.

The next morning, we packed up the red canoe and a cooler, and headed to Milltown for our annual canoe trip. When I was very little, my favorite book was Three Days on a River in a Red Canoe, and I would spend many hours dreaming of my own trips down rivers. Shortly after we moved to the farm, we bought our own red canoe and my dad and I packed it for a 3 day, 60 mile canoe trip down the Blue River, starting at the bridge on our farm and ending near Corydon. If I had to give one defining moment in my young life that led me to my adventurous lifestyle, I would have to say that it was that first trip downriver. Although the first day started out sunny and in the shallow waters of the upriver Blue, it ended in a lightening storm a few hours before our intended campsite. I paddled my little heart out through the torrential downpour, pounding thunder, and log jams until we finally curved around a little bend in the river at Fredricksburg where I scarfed down the best soggy cookies ever and helped set up camp on the sharp boulders underneath the bridge. Never had I been more appreciative of warm food and a dry clothes. When we set out the next day, we had to abandon our dry camp and paddle back out into the rain, instantly soaking our bodies once again. But, the rain had raised the water levels considerably, and the skies cleared to reveal some incredible rapids that we flew through all the way to Milltown. By the last day, we had gotten really good at scouting the rapids, and I was absolutely hooked on the thrill of speed and adventure. I left the river that Memorial Day with a smile on my face, and with the exception of one or two years in college, I've been doing it every year since. Although we only took a day trip this year, it was still just as fun, especially considering that over the last few years I have graduated from the simple paddling in the front of the canoe to steering in the back - which is a total rush to feel the control you have as you maneuver through rapids. I held the rudder position the majority of this year's trip, with Emi sitting up front and Dad relaxing on the cooler in the middle of the boat - much to the amusement of some other paddlers on the river. We loved it. The river has changed considerably in the 12 years that I've been running it, and they now have commercial canoe trips on the lower part of Blue River, but we still were able to enjoy the peace and tranquility of the river after we passed the majority of the novices. We saw deer, turtles, ducks, snakes, and all sorts of wildlife along the banks, sipped from the springs that flow out of the hills, and just drank in the beauty of it all. Much to the confusion of my family, I tried to take pictures while steering, and at one point, had the canoe pointed into the rocks just as we were about to enter a set of rapids... oops. After lunch, Dad took the back seat and I sat up front while Emi took pictures in the middle. We ended the day dropping over the edge of the ruins of an old dam near Corydon (my favorite one, the river drops several feet in the course of about 20 meters, and it feels soooo good to run it), and finally portaged south of Harrison-Crawford State Forest after a fun full day on the water.

On Memorial Day, I spent the day watching the rain from the front porch, eating good home-cooked food, and playing with the half dozen baby ducks that my dad brought home from my grandpa's. They're the cutest things, and by the end of the weekend, I had them following me around the yard like a momma duck. Alas, I eventually had to leave the land of rain and green, and we headed to the airport in the evening. And since Louisville is the home of Yum! Brand Foods, my sister and I couldn't leave the airport without hanging out with Colonel Sanders of KFC fame. After some Asian tourists got done taking pictures with the statue, we sat down on the bench next to him, much to Angela's embarrassment and our delight. I love my family! Overall, it was a great to see my family, hang out in the southern Indiana wilderness, and spend a relaxing holiday weekend at home.

"It's waterproof"

2008-05-19T23:03:00.000-07:00

After a busy week of ultimate frisbee, climbing, (not purposefully) injuring Hannah while mountain biking at Papago Park, and a full week in the lab trying to get my plants to express gp41, I was certainly ready for the weekend. On Saturday, after a quick trip to REI for my first garage sale (they're crazy!), Kohl and I headed out to the Verde Valley for some relaxing in the Hot Springs and Fossil Creek. Kohl had never been up in the area, so the drive up there was an adventure in and of itself. We were going to try to see what fun Sycamore Creek could offer, but our scouting reports from the highway above didn’t offer much promise for water, and we decided to keep going and tough out the 20 or so miles of rough road to the hot springs. When we got there, the usual crowd of rednecks abounded (much to our humor) as we hiked across the Verde to the springs. Always looking for an adventure, we decided to hike up the ridgeline instead of crossing the river, and ended up walking along the edge of a cliff before sliding down the scree that finally shot us out to the base of the springs where a (ubiquitous) naked drunk guy welcomed us to the area. But, he soon left and we had the place to ourselves for a bit while I showed Kohl all around the little oasis and we alternated between relaxing in the pools, cliff jumping, swimming through the rapids of the Verde, and splashing in the hot water that falls over the edge of the banks. It was great laughing like old times and just being our crazy selves. Of course, I was documenting the whole thing taking loads of pictures. As we were sitting by the pool with the camera, I mentioned to Kohl that it was ok if it got wet, as it was waterproof. For some reason, I tell her this every time we're near water with the camera. "Really, it's waterproof...? I didn't figure that out when we used it every day on the Atlantic." I don't know whether I forgot about rowing the Atlantic, using the camera out there, or the fact that Kohl was never further than four feet away from me during the entire trip, but I have stated the obvious to her on so many occasions that it's become a running joke.

After we had our fill of the hot springs, we made our way back downriver, taking a few minutes to ponder exploring the old ruins of the power plant before driving back to Fossil. At the trailhead, Kohl and I thoroughly explored the creek's many pools, swimming and just basking in the beauty of it all. I absolutely love the area, and it was great being able to share the joy of it. We spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring and swimming and jumping in the blue green waters. We didn’t even make it up to the bigger of the small falls, but I got to see pools that I had never swam in before and it was well worth it. Once we had exhausted ourselves in the pools, we played like little kids in the small puddles that line the creek and watched the tadpoles and other small creatures swimming around. We couldn’t resist bringing some home to attempt a little aqueous biosphere (I’m afraid it didn’t last too long). After a long day, we came home and had an excellent meal of potato soup and I prepared for the next great adventure.

On Sunday, a group of 12 intrepid Phoenicians drove out to the Salome Wilderness in Tonto National Forest out near Roosevelt Lake for a little canyoneering trip in Salome Creek. Armed with ropes, harnesses, belay devices and a whole lot of excitement, we hiked out a few miles from the trailhead to the creek. It was all desert before the creek, and unless you knew what was waiting ahead, you would have never thought that an oasis was tucked in below Dutchwoman Butte. The trip would have been perfect, but one careless mistake cost me one of my favorite and most versatile piece of outdoor equipment. With my camera tucked snugly in the pocket of my boardshorts, I excitedly half jumped/half fell into the creek and started walking along the creek for a few feet before the bottom turned to algae. Not wanting to get caught up in the muck, I started swimming. A few feet later, I remembered about my camera, checked my pocket, and realized that the indispensable piece of equipment was no longer there. It may have been waterproof, but it certainly didn't float. After 10 minutes of fruitless fishing through the muck, we had to continue on without it. I was heartbroken and quite peeved at myself. That camera had lasted me dozens of trips, taken thousands of pictures, and survived several falls to the bottom of other creeks, drops off of rocks, and an ocean. I was devastated at the loss. Alas, Salome Creek was as good of a distraction as any, and it was gorgeous - plus I try to always carry an extra camera and photographer, usually in the form of Hannah. After snaking our way through several boulder fields and small waterfalls, the creek entered a narrow canyon surrounded by pink granite walls. We swam, jumped, and slid our way through the deep clear pools, waterfalls, and slick waterslides. It was better than a water park, and much more awe inspiring. It was certainly an adult playground, and for hours we splashed through the canyon, our laughter echoing off of the ever growing walls. After a few miles of incredible fun, we arrived at a large pool surrounded by perfect jumping cliffs and ending in a 30' waterfall. While Bill set up the ropes for the rappel, Haydon and I launched ourselves off of the walls and plunged into the cold pool. Finally, we started one by one down the rope into another large pool below. Once we were all safely to the bottom, we swam out to the end of the canyon with huge smiles on our faces. In a bit of reverse karma from losing my camera, Hannah almost became a casualty of a splashing war between Pierre and I. Fortunately for all of us, the massive rock that I threw (narrowly) missed her head. The hike back out wasn't too bad, as our waterlogged bodies fought off the evening sun with great efficiency. We ended the weekend with a meal in Tonto Basin and drove home happy with another great adventure in the books.

Lovely Month of May

2008-05-11T23:00:00.000-07:00

May is one of my favorite months, mostly for the change that it brings. I thrive on change and new experiences, so with the advent of summer months, I'm a happy kid. During the last week, the campus filled with stressed students taking exams, then filled with throngs of parents and families in town for graduation, and then... emptied. As a graduate student, I really do appreciate the summer months - even with the Valley heat. There is truly something relaxing about biking to work without having to worry about dodging cars careening through red lights, hippy kids on longboards, or clueless girls on cell phones who haven't quite mastered the idea of moving two wheeled objects. It's also nice to be able to go to Sack's once again without having to stand in line. The full time residents of the university have the place to ourselves once again, and life is good. Without regularly scheduled lab meetings, seminars, or colloquiums, we are also given the complete freedom to work more efficiently. It doesn't mean that we necessarily do, as the academic atmosphere is much more relaxed during the break, but the freedom and the lazy days of summer do make for a very enjoyable few months.

I started my first day of "summer" on Saturday with Jack, exploring the desert that surrounds the area known as Pima Dynamite in Scottsdale. Jack used to ride the sandy singletrack quite often to train for dirtbike races, but many of the trails are now closed to motorized traffic,* so he can no longer ride his favorite 70 mile loop. It's too bad, as the trails are incredible, though tough for those of us whose two-stroke engines don't require a gas-oil mix. It took me at least half an hour to warm up on the surprisingly difficult trail. Although the trails didn't appear technical, the sand coupled with boulders and a little bit of elevation made the first part of our first loop tiring. It was definitely worth it though, because after we rounded a small mountain, the trail was all down. Jack and I had a blast zooming around boulders and down and around a hard packed rollercoaster surrounded by red blooming ocotillo and yellow palo verde. As I was following Jack and enjoying a particularly winding downhill section, a baby fox that wasn't much bigger than two fists darted across the trail and stopped scared in its tracks right in the middle of my line. I tried to brake, and let out a scream as I felt a bump under my back tire. Jack doubled back, assuming by my fearful scream that I had gotten bitten by a snake, while I hopped off my bike and watched the little guy limp off into the bushes. Although we both tried to scrounge him back out of the brush to make sure that he was ok, all we managed to do was startle a rabbit, so we had no choice but to hop back on our saddles and continue along our way. I felt really bad for the baby, considering that I spent much of my childhood watching my mom (Happy Mother's Day, I love ya!) move turtles off the road and having never hit anything bigger than a toad with a car, much less a bike. The rest of our first lap went without mishap though, and we had so much fun that we took a second one around some different singletrack. After more than two hours, Jack's tubeless back tire had started to deflate, so we took one of the fire service roads along the powerlines back to the truck in the company of dozens of dirtbikers, quad riders, and mountain bikers happily sharing the beauty of the trails.

Saturday afternoon was spent at my advisor's house for one of his incredible parties. He provided his house, pool, and a grill FULL of marinated beef and chicken while the rest of my lab provided a keg of Newcastle, dozens of side dishes, live music (provided by Ryan and his band), and lots of party spirit. We spent hours eating, playing with the lab's many kids, swimming, and sharing stories of the past year. Towards the end of the evening, Dr. Mor broke out the champagne to toast our graduates (we had five this year, including a master's and four undergraduates). And then, after much anticipation, he revealed to us that... he HAD indeed acquired tenure at ASU. All of us erupted in a huge, relieved applause. I was so happy for him and the rest of our lab, as ASU has some pretty bad politics revolving around tenure, and had he not been granted tenure, all of our futures at the university would be in jeopardy. Our celebrations went long into the evening until I pulled Dr. Mor's youngest shivering son out of the pool and headed back home. Hannah, Ryan, the keg, and I spent the rest of the evening chilling at the house.

On Sunday, I had planned to get some work done around the house and American Fire, but I am a water baby through and through, so all it took for me to abandon my work was a phone call from Suda promising a free day at the Sunsplash Waterpark. It was Honeywell's employee appreciation day, and Brandon, Phil, Suda and I had a great day being kids - racing down waterslides, relaxing in the lazy river, screaming on a free fall tube ride, getting shot around a really cool water cauldron, eating popsicles, and just generally having an incredible watersoaked day.

After a fun, exhausting day, I went home to change, grabbed my climbing harness, and headed back out - this time to Camelback mountain to join Pierre, Evelyn, Hannah, and Erika for a bit of climbing and rapping on one of the many boulders in Echo Canyon. Pierre taught us how to tie brakes, attach ropes, lower ourselves down, climb up, and belay on the real rock. For hours we enjoyed scrambling all over the boulder and drinking tea until we had to break out headlamps and head back down to the parking lot.

Overall, it was a great weekend with lots of diverse fun. Wanting to squeeze one last adventure out of the weekend, and taking advantage of the fact that neither of my roommates were home, I decided to do a little bit of experimenting with my Indian cooking. I won't go into great detail about the disaster that ensued, but I will just say that I learned many lessons from my ordeal: a). you are supposed to roast sooji before you boil it, otherwise it turns into a mushy paste that looks (and tastes?) like glue, b). I haven't quite figured out which Indian spices go with what, ie. mustard seed goes with everything, garam masala doesn't, c). gluey paste mixed with spices and chicken still doesn't taste good, and finally, d). a hefty dose of ketchup will save just about any meal. Satisfied with a jam packed weekend, I went to bed with a gurgling stomach and a happy heart, excited about the first week of summer ahead of me.

* As it turns out, Saturday was the last day for ANY motorized traffic on ANY of the Pima Dynamite trails, due to the lobbying of the Sierra Club. It's really a shame, as the motor guys out there are respectable riders and are the ones who made and maintained the trails in the first place, so they don't deserve a $1200 fine for using public land.

Dad Vails

2008-05-07T22:02:00.000-07:00

This will be the first time in seven years that I won't be spending the second weekend of May in Philadelphia as a rower, speaker, or coach at the Dad Vail National Championship Regatta. Vails has been one of my favorite events since I was a freshman at Purdue, and I cherish a million memories from the infamous race on the Schuylkill River. Along Boathouse Row, home to the Schuyhkill Navy, you can feel the presence of the thousands of rowers that have graced their hallowed walls and docks over the last 150 years. As you walk past, you can't help but feel overwhelmed with an incredible sense of pride and tradition that accompanies the sport. The Dad Vail represents the culmination of an entire year of blood, sweat, and tears: from long - if not idyllic - fall days building our endurance base, to cold winter mornings trudging through the snow to the musty basement of Lambert Fieldhouse to pound out hours on the ergs, to the toughest week of the season spent on Lake Hartwell in Clemson hammering out piece after piece in preparation for the races ahead of us, to the entire joy that is the spring season with its share of tough battles, poignant victories, lessons learned, and bonds forged with the strength and commitment that it takes to propel an 8 oared shell across the water. As you unload, rig, and walk the boats down to the docks that line the Schuyhkill, you realize that you are representing not only your crew and university, but also the very spirit of the sport, as every action you take is one that countless oarsmen have taken many times before between the river's shores. Warming up on the far side of Peter's Island, basking in the sweet smell of the locust blooms during the last few minutes before the race, lining up alongside some of the best club teams in the nation, putting all of your focus on the rower in front of you as the official raises his flag, channeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins into those first few strokes, rowing into oblivion as your legs and lungs cry out for oxygen, and finally slumping over your oar after seven minutes and 280 strokes of anaerobic hell. Lather, rinse, and repeat a few more times until finals on Saturday, and you have the Dad Vail Regatta. For those of us who have had the honor to row in the regatta, these battles are a microcosm of our lives, and they mean the world to us. From my innocent days as a novice, smiling on the winner's dock with my coach and eight teammates after an unbelievable, undefeated season. To my first year on varsity, Kohl and I posing with our silver medals from two different boats for a grainy picture that would later end up on the front of The Exponent for our first American Fire article. To a disappointing loss during the semifinals of my junior year that resulted in the most disheartening 2nd place finish in the petite finals. To a tumultuous senior year with a new coach and my teammates of four years being split between two different boats for the last race of our collegiate careers - ending it as we began, together with gold medals on the winner's dock, surrounded by the best friends a Boiler could ask for. When the 14 of us seniors locked hands and jumped off the launching dock into the muddy waters for the last time as members of Purdue Crew, we were all taking a bit of each other with us to the next stages in our lives. For me, that next stage of my life nearly ended it, and by the time I arrived on the banks of the Schuyhkill a year later, I was a much more mature person, delivering not a portside Power 10 through the Strawberry Mansion Bridge, but an inspiring speech to the graduating class, as Olympic team coach Mike Teti had done for me and my own class the year before. For the first time, I sat in the alumni tent with my former teammates and finally got to enjoy a beer while watching the races. Though we had looked forward to that day since our freshmen years, we felt out of place, and would have gladly traded traded places with those in unis for one more shot at the glory of collegiate rowing.

The circle was finally completed last year, with me in khakis and an embroidered polo, pushing my novice kids off of the dock after months of learning and growing on all levels. In them, I could see pieces of myself five years prior - young and wide eyed, scared but proud and prepared to leave everything on the water, knowing that their teammates were doing the same. Although the closest they came to the winner's dock was rowing back up towards St. Joe's boathouse, I still couldn't have been more proud of them. Together, as a team, we had overcome hundreds of obstacles to get there, and our little crew from the desert proved what it took to be a Dad Vail rower: hard work, faith, teamwork, dedication, and perseverance. The next day, we sat in the bleachers and watched as Purdue set a precedent by winning both the men's and women's varsity 8's races - a first in the history of the Dad Vail. As they hoisted the team points trophy over their heads as my own teammates and I had done in years past, I was overwhelmed with an amazing sense of admiration for my Purdue team, my ASU team, the sport of rowing, and the spirit that encompasses the whole of the Dad Vail Regatta.

Dad Vails is an incredible place, full of pride, pain, guts, and glory. Although I will personally miss the regatta this year, I wish the best to every coach and athlete that will be participating, and especially... Boiler Up!

May Days

2008-05-05T22:51:00.000-07:00

When you were a little kid, you never thought of your teachers as real people with real lives... they were just your teachers and that was it. When the end of the school year came around and you celebrated the sweet summer ahead, you figured that your teachers just crawled back into their caves and waited around for the next three months dreaming up place value worksheets and scheming up other evil ways to torture you when you returned in August. You would have never conceived that they were celebrating much harder than you were at the advent of summer. Well, it's completely true. Now that I'm a grad student and (a little bit) closer to the top of the academic food chain (see here), I get to reap the full benefit of the prof's celebrations in the form of free drinks at the School of Life Sciences End of the Year Happy Hour. I hadn't planned on drinking at all, and was content with my massive plate of Mexican happy hour fare, but since it's bad etiquette to refuse a tequila shot from professors, I had to oblige. Let me just say, it is awesome to sit around with your friends and watch normally conservative, intellectual professors take shots. Priceless. When free alcohol abounds, so do the stories that you'd never hear during seminars, and I couldn't resist the combination of the two. Between Macayo's and Mamacita's, we had plenty of both in a wonderful Cinco de Mayo night of debauchary.

Although Coronas are an excellent tool for having a great night out, they don't do much for installing new brakes. After I biked home from the bars, I dug out the brand new brake pads from my bag and put them on around midnight in anticipation of a ride around South Mountain in the morning. Needless to say, they did not pass the 6 a.m. quality control inspection. I groggily repositioned and tightened them before heading out to meet Jack and his buddy Josh for a Mormon/National Trail loop. One of my old coaches in high school always recommended that if we practiced with people that were better than ourselves, then we had no choice but to become better ourselves. Well, it was true for the shortest JV forward on Eastern's basketball team, and it's still true today. Jack is a better biker than me, and Josh is an absolutely stellar mountain biker who practically lives on South Mountain. By 7:30, I was completely regretting my decision to drink the night before, as even the fire road to the trailhead was laughing at my attempts to keep up with the guys. Things didn't get much better once we got to Mormon. Jack and I both struggled up the infamous, aptly named hill, "The Widowmaker," while Josh raced ahead and waited for us every few hundred meters, giving us great advice for tackling different switchback sections. I appreciated the advice, but my head was pounding and all I wanted to do was go back down and take a nap. Although the majority of the way out was up, both Jack and I learned a great deal about how to tackle some of the rough sections, and by the turn around point on National, we were definitely ready to head back down. The return trip was incredible, and both of us stayed on the bike the majority of the time, with the exception of the waterfall, which I didn't even get to see Josh bomb down because he was so much faster than us. Even though we were much slower than Josh, both Jack and I felt that we had improved a great deal since our first National run, gaining both control and confidence in our skills. The trail really is addictive, and I can't wait to get back out there again.

After the ride, I headed up to Scottsdale and met up with Angel and Christie. After a short detour to REI, we headed to Fossil Creek. The area had been so beautiful last weekend that we just couldn't resist going back up there. It was midafternoon by the time we arrived, so we hoisted our heavy packs and made our way to the first of the big falls without stopping. It had been a year since I had been to the oasis, but it hadn't changed much and was as incredible as it was the first time I saw it. Loads of water cascaded over the travertine cliffs, and we played in the deep blue-green pools to our heart's content. After playing around for awhile in the waterfall, we continued on upstream until we found a good spot to camp. Our choice was a good one: a small sandbar with plenty of hammock trees just upriver of a smaller fall with several swimming pools, and adjacent from some gurgling rapids. I set up my hammock and gathered firewood while Christie and Angel put up their tent and hammock. In no time, we were feeling at home. Although we didn't have enough time to hike up to the Flume Falls, we continued exploring upriver for the next few hours, swimming through the rapids, hopping the boulders, and admiring the amazing geology that adorned the cliffs. We've been to the Fossil Creek area several times now, and I had never noticed the quartz/gypsum structures in the rock before. The formations appeared as though lightning had struck and melted the quartz, leaving smooth pockets of layered glass-looking rock. It was the coolest looking thing, and for the rest of the trip, I would keep my eyes peeled for unique pockets of the natural glass. After a little more hiking around, we headed back towards camp, making sure to play in the pools, rapids, and waterfalls below our camp before the evening became too cold to swim. When we could no longer stand shivering behind the falls, we changed into dry clothes and started a fire in preparation for dinner. It was the first real camp fire we've had while backpacking (usually its too dry to have one), and it was a very warm, welcome change. For dinner, we had bread and cheese as appetisers and then baked vegetables in tin foil in the fire for the main course. Coupled with a package of Mountain House noods 'n' chicks and topped off with a few liters of pinot noir, it was an excellent meal. After several servings of wine and a few hours listening to gurgling spring and tree frogs while watching the stars through the trees, I curled up in my hammock and was rocked to sleep. Curled up in the cocoon of my hammock and sleeping bag, I couldn't hear or see anything, and I didn't end up emerging from my bed until the sun had filtered through the trees of the valley. The three of us ate oatmeal and had spiced cider for breakfast, once again enjoying the fire and the peacefulness of the area before breaking camp. Once we had packed up and hidden our packs in a small thicket, we did what I never thought I would willingly and knowingly do again: we hiked up the hill across the creek to the Flume Road. The first time we attempted this, we failed magnificently, and were rewarded with cactus in places that we'd rather not mention. The climb was still long, steep, and prickly, but the fact that we knew there was a road up there did make things easier. We did eventually get up there, and then hiked along for another 3 or 4 miles to the Flume Falls. The power plant and associated flume on the springs had just been decommissioned a few years ago, so the riparian areas surrounding Fossil Creek are still adjusting to the differences. Last year when we went to the falls, the dam itself was dry enough to walk across. This year, water poured over the berm, and we had to cross downstream of the falls. The place was as gorgeous as I remembered though. I swam through the deep pools, up the strong rapids, under the hole in the rock, and out into the still pool across from the falls before diving off of the rocks and swinging from the rope swing. Once we had played ourselves out, we headed back along the Flume Road, and then hiked/slid back to where we hid our bags and continued on downstream. From there, we stopped back at the bigger falls for some more fun. Again, we played behind the falls, jumping into the amazing current and getting tossed around in the undertow before it spit us out a few meters later. Like a happy little sea otter, I floated on my back and simply smiled at the simplicity and beauty of it all while I wore myself out swimming around the falls. Later in the afternoon, we hiked down to a smaller falls with plenty of fun areas around it and spent the last part of the day jumping off of the falls, exploring the travertine formations above the falls, and just relaxing on the smooth warm rocks along the creek. Once we were completely worn out from our playing, we returned to the car and headed back south. We stopped at a great Mexican restaurant in Payson and gorged ourselves on chips and salsa, burritos, and margaritas before making our way back to the Valley. All in all, another amazing weekend.

50 Miles of Whiskey

2008-04-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

When I was younger back in southern Indiana, biking was a necessity if I wanted to get around anywhere. The closest neighbor kids were a quarter mile in either direction, and since we weren't allowed to take the four-wheeler on the road, biking was it. Long before my 16th birthday, I rode my beat up yellow bike and then brand new blue bike up and down the steep southern Indiana hills to Pekin (14 miles roundtrip) and Salem (12 miles roundtrip using the backroads), and I even took a 30+ mile ride to a coach's house while patches of ice still covered the roads just to see if I could (I'm pretty sure that she thought I was crazy at the time, and I don't think the feeling has changed in 12 years). My sister and neighbors and I had loads of fun on our bikes... splashing through the mud (manure...oops) pits behind my friend Ross's barn, zooming down the paved hills of Blue River Church Road, and cruising down the dirt tracks to explore abandoned houses on the Day Farm. I've loved biking in challenging conditions since I was a kid, and in that regard I haven't changed a whole lot since I was in middle school. It's only that as I have grown up, the challenges have grown up with me. This weekend's challenge was a huge step up for me in the form of Epic Ride's Whiskey Off Road 50 Proof Mountain Bike Race up in Prescott.

As soon as my lab meeting was over on Friday, I headed north on I-17 and didn't look back. I did look west towards the incredible sunset and smiled at the weekend ahead of me. I got up to Prescott around 7:30 and checked in before the pre-race meeting on the steps of the courthouse. I know I've said it before, but the mountain biking community is full of a whole bunch of really great people. I looked in vain for the rest of the Missing Link team, and in their absence, I struck up conversation with a few riders from Colorado and California. They were some really cool dudes, and we quickly passed the hour before the meeting with talk of trails and bikes and the race. Epic Rides puts on some pretty amazing events, and this one seemed like it was going to live up to my expectations. To be completely and unabashedly honest, I would probably do the races just to watch Todd, the race organizer. Normally I wouldn't pay too much attention to the pre-race meetings, but between Todd and the free shwag that was thrown at the crowd every 10 minutes or so, I was all ears while he detailed the course and how technical and tough it was going to be. I knew that it wasn't going to be a cake walk, but by the end of the meeting, I made sure that I got my share of E-caps and Hammer Gel (sorry GU, it was free...) for the challenge that lay ahead of me. I had heard horror stories attributed to the 50 mile beast from friends and past participants, and some of the team had even tried (unsuccessfully, of course) to get me to switch to the 25 mile course. Hearing Todd talk about rock gardens, gnarly drops, and grueling climbs made me wonder if I had made the right decision. After the meeting, I found my way to Al's house less than a mile from the race start and joined up with the rest of the Missing Links guys and watched ROAM, an inspiring mountain bike film that had me both excited and nervous about the next day. I chilled with the guys and nursed a water bottle until the movie was over, and then went to bed, unsure of what the next day would bring.

The morning broke to a chilly, but wonderfully sunny, Prescott day. By 8 a.m., the house was abuzz with bikes, helmets, pumps, electrolytes, energy gels, Camelbacks, adrenaline, eight excited Linkers, and one equally excited German shepard. By 8:30, Jason, Rhino, and I headed down the hill to the square for the start of the 50 mile race. The center of town was awash with the colors of sponsored covered jerseys and filled with some incredible bikes along with their equally impressive riders. The butterflies that had been hibernating in my stomach since the 24 HOP came out of their cocoons and flew around my chest once again. The three of us lined up behind the main pack, not eager to get trounced by Floyd Landis and the rest of the elites/pros at the start. At 9:01, the starting bell sounded, and the 150 or so of us headed west past the historic Whiskey Row with the shouts of our teammates and onlookers cheering us on. The course was pretty much uphill from the start as we made our way out of town towards Copper Basin Road. We spun the first five miles out on the road before turning off onto a dirt road that led to the singletrack. Jason, Rhino and I paced each other for these first few miles, each of us taking the lead on different sections before the track narrowed and we started switchbacking up a rocky section of trail. Since we had started at the back of the pack, we caught and started to pass several less technical riders at this point. Unfortunately for my single speed friends, Jason and Rhino soon fell into this group and after a few more twists up the hill, I could no longer hear them or see the red, blue and yellow of their jerseys. At this point, the singletrack became wicked fun. I rolled up and down hills, along ridges, down steep sections loaded with water bars, and finally up to the top of a hill where a few supporters had set up an "aid station" and offered Early Times whiskey to all of the riders. After that, the trail headed down again for a bit along a gorgeous ridge, and I was awed at the beauty that surrounded me. As I was headed down, I continued to pass more riders, and was feeling great about the race. I knew I couldn't have been more than ten miles in, but I was stoked at how well the ride was going. As I was coming around a bend, I came across a frustrated looking rider with his bike upside down on the narrow ledge between the hill, trail, and the steep drop-off below. He had just busted a tire and was attempting to patch up a sidewall tear... not a fun or even worthwhile endeavor, so I stopped and dug a tube out of my pack for him before continuing on, figuring that it had to be good trail karma and the rest of my ride would go well. I was rewarded a half mile later when I caught up with a biker from Eagle, CO whom I had been pacing back and forth with for some time. As I was coming down the hill, I saw him throwing rocks on the sandy trail and was completely confused until I got a little bit closer and heard the unmistakable rattle and saw the most massive snake I have ever seen in the wild curling and uncurling its coils at the edge of the trail. Finally the snake decided to go attack the rocks off trail, and the Eagle biker and I took off as fast as we could.

Shortly after the snake, we left the singletrack and returned to another dirt road that wound around the tall pine forests. The road started as a gentle incline and just kept going up for the next three miles or so. After what seemed like an eternity of rounding bends just to find another long upward straightaway, the forest finally opened up a little bit to the beautiful oasis of a white tent filled with smiling volunteers and racers stuffing their faces with food. It was a beautiful sight as I pounded up the last few meters and hopped off my bike on shaky legs. I gulped down three cups of HEED before I even had a chance to catch my breath, and then quickly moved on to goldfish crackers and bananas. Even through there was a whole array of Clif products and energy gels, the salty cheesy crackers really hit the spot and all of us kept grabbing handfuls of the little guys and gulping them down almost whole. Before long, my body had recovered a bit and I felt very satisfied at my progress so far. Jason pulled up to the checkpoint shortly after I refilled my Camelback, with Rhino about a minute after. I talked with them briefly before taking off to the left... down the dirt road to Skull Valley. I was flying down the steep road having the time of my life, my sweat dry and my legs and lungs enjoying the break. The only bad part about this part of the race was knowing that I would be traveling back on the exact same route. The looks on the faces of the pros in front of me, climbing back up from the depths of the valley, showed just how tough the course was going to be on the return trip. As I zoomed past, I exchanged motivational words for strained smiles. For nine glorious miles, I descended into the valley, with only the occasional flat spot or incline. The view going down was spectacular and with the sweet wind whistling through my helmet, I couldn't have been happier. I got down to Skull Valley in less than 40 minutes, and wasted no time in obtaining a special 50 miler's treat: an ice cream sandwich. The first few bites were heavenly, but I started talking to some of the volunteers and neglected to notice that it started melting very fast in the hot sun. The other half of my prized treat ended up in the dirt. Fortunately, there were plenty to go around, and I consumed my second one before the sun could do its work. After a little stretch, I hopped back on the bike, and headed back out on the road. I met Jason and Rhino less than a mile from the checkpoint, returned their calls of IEEEEE! and then prepared myself for the big challenge ahead of me. I could barely see the top of Sierra Prieta high above me, but I knew that if I just kept moving, I would eventually get there. I started the hills with a gleam in my eye and lungs full of oxygen at 4500 feet. As the hills became steeper and the sun became hotter, I started passing a few guys and gained some confidence that maybe it wasn't going to be so bad. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last too long. The first 3 miles or so weren't so bad, but after awhile, the never ending steepness started getting to me. Only a few more riders were left coming down, and I was alone in my challenge. My legs and heart pumping for all they were worth, I settled into a slow cadence in granny gear and kept my eye out for the next mile marker. Although there were a few downhills and flat spots, the majority was up, up, and more up. By mile 6 of the uphill, I was physically exhausted and my head was pounding with the lack of oxygen in my system. But, I still had three miles and about 600 feet of elevation before I got to the checkpoint. I popped some salt pills, sucked down some more HEED, and kept on spinning. The last mile and a half were the longest of my life. My legs were shot, shaky and threatening to cramp up. At one point, a rider came up behind me, walking his bike faster than I was biking, so I, too, hopped off and stretched out my tired legs in the grueling sun. As I did, I sucked on my Camelback and was rewarded not with gulps of cold HEED, but of the last warm dregs from the bottom of the bladder. For some reason, the lyrics of Kenny Roger's "The Gambler" popped into my head and became the cadence to my trekking. Between the hill, the heat, and the games my mind was playing trying to figure out who sang the song, the last mile was a tough one. I spent it on and off the bike, grateful that I had platform pedals and my old beat-up Salomons on, because it was definitely a hike. Once I reached the mecca that was the aid station, I was beat. I dropped Fish into the shade and headed straight for the... not Clif Bars, not even the bananas, but... the pickles. Yes, folks, pickles are my new favorite sports food. They're salty, crunchy, and full of liquid. Amazing. Along with several more handfuls of fishy crackers and a couple of brownies, I was one happy kid. By that time, the 25ers had started to come through the checkpoint, and I was getting itchy to get back on the way. Armed with two more liters of HEED and a whole lot of mental toughness, I looked up the mountain towards the Sierra Prieta overlook, another 3 miles and an additional 1000 feet... up. It wasn't getting any closer standing at the checkpoint, so I hoisted myself back into the saddle and resumed the spinning without any sight of Jason or Rhino. My pride wouldn't let me walk in front of the 25ers for the first mile or so, but after awhile the steepness and exhaustion started to kick in, so I played the on again off again game until the road burrowed itself back into the pine forests. Once protected from the sun, I began to feel better again, and I kicked it up as much as I could, telling myself that the overlook was just around the next bend. Around the 8th bend or so, I finally saw the telltale sign of the white aid station tent. Looking like a pro though I didn't feel it at all, I cruised on past the dozen riders camped out at the station and made my way back onto the beloved singletrack. By that time, I was so set on finishing, I just kept on going, knowing that if I stopped, my legs would cramp and I wouldn't be able to fight the urge to break out the camera and take pictures of the incredible scene that spread out before me. The singletrack was amazing though, its beauty quadrupled by the fact that it was DOWN. For the next ten miles, all I could focus on was getting back into town. I wore my brakes completely out, with metal rubbing on metal where the rubber had been completely stripped away from the extensive use during Skull Valley and the last few miles. As I rounded a sharp bend, a few volunteers shouted that I had one final hill and five miles left to go. After I passed them, I laughed out loud: I was six hours in and feeling great. With a new found sense of purpose, I pounded out the last long hill, intent on finishing in less than 6:30. Before I knew it, I was skidding down the last part of singletrack onto Thumb Butte Road. Back on pavement, I kicked it up into my highest gear and just cranked along like a roadie. The ride back into town lasted longer than I thought it would, and with each minute that passed closer to the 6:30 mark, I dug a little bit deeper. Finally, with the police waving me through red lights towards the square, I came to the last straightaway and rolled across the finish line at 6:28. Exhausted, but elated, I found a few of the Missing Links guys and picked up my finishing plaque. I couldn't have been happier. I did it... and not in a bad time either. We waited on Jason and Rhino, who rolled in 6:57, and then headed back to Al's for whatever calories we could scrounge up (donuts, milk, and a hamburger for me) and a shower to wash off 50 miles of dust and sweat. As tired as I was, I was on top of the world with the completion of the great challenge.

The awards ceremony was crowded, but fun with Todd, free shwag, and the whole community of mountain bikers. All five of the women who podiumed for the 50 mile race looked like pros, and I would have had to raced in 5 hours to get up there... I guess it's something to shoot for next year :). After awards we had dinner at the Brewing Company and then did an abbreviated version of a pub crawl with me downing pint after pint of water like a champ. We made it back to Al's some time later and spent the rest of the evening massaging our aching muscles and telling stories around the fire pit until I crashed, hard.

I woke up the next morning feeling completely rested without a sore muscle to be felt. I couldn't believe it. So instead of lounging around Prescott as I had planned, I headed north to join Angel and Christie for some fun in the Verde Valley. I met them in Camp Verde and Angel drove the Nissan down the 20 miles of dirt road to the Verde River. The hot springs sounded like an incredible way to relax after Saturday's race, so we crossed the river and headed up the trail to the pools. The first and only time that we had visited the hot springs was in July, when the weather was too hot to really enjoy the warm mineral waters. The area has been known to be a hangout for nudists, but since there weren't that many people there in July, we had been spared. That was not the case on Sunday. I had completely forgotten about the naked factor, and I think that all three of us were a little bit shocked when we climbed up the banks of the river to assess the scene. I had really been looking forward to slipping into the hot pools, but after we arrived, I was beginning to have second thoughts about hanging out with a bunch of old guys that were, simply put, just hanging out. I had no problem agreeing to camp out downriver for some lunch. The Verde was flowing fast, and it was still great to jump off the rocks, explore, and swim in the river. After lunch, we got up the courage to swim back upriver. It was a bit humorous/unnerving to climb up the banks with a old naked guy sitting next to where you were climbing, but it made the subsequent jump back off the ledge that much more worth it. After a few jumps near the cascades of mineral water, the lure of the pools overcame the nudity, and we joined the half dozen people already in the pool, bringing the clothed:naked ratio over .500. The water was heavenly and worth it. We spent some time in both pools, admiring the artwork on the walls and rocks and the relaxing water. After some time, we headed back downstream for some frisbee and chillin' in the cooler Verde before getting back in the pools. By that time, the pools had cleared out except for two people, and we got the enclosed pool all to our clothed selves for 5 shining minutes before a nude woman of substantial size joined us in the pool. I hadn't realized just how small the pool was until then. To her credit though, she was really nice and told us some of the history of the artwork on the walls.

After we were fully relaxed from the pools, we packed up and trekked back to the car, enjoying the beauty of the Verde valley in the late afternoon sun. It was so beautiful that we didn't want to leave, and the three of us seriously started considering options for camping that night... the prospect of returning to Phoenix was not an enjoyable thought. After some deliberation, we decided that it wouldn't be feasible considering all my camping gear was back with the Jeep in Camp Verde and that we had work to attend early in the morning, but like the children that we are, we refused to go back inside until we were sure that we had squeezed the last possible fun out of the day.

By the time we drove up and out of the Verde valley, the shadows were stretching long across the western edge of the Mogollon Rim. Despite the time, at the crossroads that would either take us left back to Camp Verde or right to Fossil Creek, we turned right. We parked near the trail to the creek and bushwacked down to the blue-green fast flowing waters below. Less than half a mile into our hike, we could not resist the temptation to play among the rapids that formed a perfect water slide. We eventually made it up to the first of the bigger falls, welcomed by the delicate smell of locust blooms. As the last remaining light filtered down over the canyon rim, I played in the strong current of the falls and jumped into the deep pools below, completely content. The sun held on for as long as it could, but the further it sank, the cooler the temperatures became, signaling that it was time to go. After stopping in at an incredible Italian restuarant in Strawberry for a warm and hearty dinner, we headed back towards Phoenix. Well past my school day bedtime, I arrived back home and crashed into bed, satisfied with the weekend's challenging ride and post-race relaxation.

Heaven and Hell

2008-04-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

Arizona is a place of wonder, incredible diversity, unsurpassed beauty, and thousands of miles full of every adventure imaginable. We've got the world at our fingertips. Want snow? Head up to Snowbowl or Sunrise. Want sand? Head out to the dunes. Want lush green forests with tall pines? Prescott is your place. Blue waterfalls? Havasu. Red rock? Sedona. We've got it all: mountains, valleys, deserts, rivers, waterfalls, and canyons abound in this incredible state to appease climbers, hikers, mountain bikers, paddlers, and all sorts of other adventure junkies. I truly do love this crazy state most of the time, and it's easy to love during the few months that the weather is absolutely perfect in the Valley. Unfortunately, the diversity of the state means that we also have to deal with some of the not so pleasant qualities of AZ, and this weekend I got a taste of both the good and the bad.

By Friday morning, I thought I had my weekend all figured out. I was going to spend Saturday up in the Estrellas climbing Quartz Peak and Sunday somewhere with water. It sounded like a good plan to me... except that I knew that Pierre and Evelyn and another of their friends were going up to the Grand Canyon to hike rim to rim to rim. Even though they were planning on doing it over two days, not all in one go, it still sounded like an incredible weekend. All would have been fine if Pierre hadn't invited me to go. Even though they only had camping permits for three, I could join them for the majority of the hike and just do the last leg by myself. Hm... Friday afternoon at 5 p.m. wasn't the best time to plan a rim-rim-rim, but it certainly had me thinking. I wrestled with the idea for a long time, but finally decided that maybe it was best to just stick with my original plan. My weekend would be fun enough, and the Grand Canyon wasn't going anywhere.

So, Saturday morning I woke up at 6, excited about the day ahead of me. I had just put a long week behind me, and I wasn't meeting anyone out at the Estrellas, so I figured that I could sleep in for a little bit. Mistake #1. I slept till 8, got up, had a good leisurely breakfast, loaded my bike in the Jeep, and didn't get out of Tempe until it was almost 10 o'clock. The temperature wasn't much over 70 though, so I wasn't worried. It was a long drive out to the Estrellas, and by the time I got out to the mountains, the temperatures had increased about 10 degrees. I had never been on the west side of the mountains, and the diversity of Arizona really showed at this point. I drove through posh, rich subdivisions and kept on driving until I was in the scene of a wild west movie. Coyotes, tumbleweeds, and dilapidated houses became the norm, and though I could see Quartz Peak clearly ahead of me, the final 9 miles that were supposed to take me to the mountain didn't look like a road, dirt or otherwise. I don't mind dirt roads, but the one that my scribbled notes directed me to didn't appear to really qualify as a road. The two sandy ruts down the middle of someone's field didn't look too inviting, and I decided that I didn't need to mess with the inhabitants, particularily ones that carried shotguns. I turned the car around and figured that I could at least salvage some of my plans by getting some mountain biking in at the Estrella Regional Park. Again, my notes on the back of a post-it note weren't the greatest, and I found the main entrance to the park before I found the competitive track, paying for the mistake with a $6 entrance fee. I figured that I'd take some turns around the trails in the park and then cut across the little bit of desert to the competitive track, hopefully looking at a 20 mile day. Unfortunately, by 11, the temperatures were hovering around 90 and as I rolled up to the trailhead, I was greeted with sand, rocks, and an entire landscape of DEAD. It was a little bit depressing after our green spring, but I headed out anyways, eager to give my new front tire a chance to prove its worth. The tire did great across sandy washes and up rocky inclines, but both Fish and I were completely bored. The trail was rocky, but not technical and the scenery was less than inspiring. It was then and there that I realized the importance of friends, goals, and beautiful surroundings. With any one of the three, I could have squeezed some fun out of the dry desert, but lacking them I also lacked motivation. I stopped under a mesquite tree for a bit of respite from the hot sun and let out a sigh in my boredom. Almost on cue but quite unexpectedly, Fish sighed back at me. When your bike sighs at you when you are several miles from anywhere and without a spare tube, you know that it's not your day. His back tire bore about 5 different thorns and I didn't have enough patches to repair it, so I resigned myself to walking back to the Jeep. I tried to find some sort of beauty in the desert, to find some reason to enjoy the hike back, but I really couldn't. I dubbed the area death valley on my long walk back. The only green along the trail consisted of a few creosote bushes. The ground in the washes was cracked in the dry heat, and the blooms on the hedgehog cacti had dried up before they could fully open. Even a saguaro along the trail had given up hope and lay crumpled on the desert floor. Everything that had been in full glory just a month ago had turned into shriveled, colorless, crunchy stalks that were gradually remorphing into the dust from which they had formed. Buzzards circled overhead, only confirming my feelings. I returned to the Jeep a few hours later wishing that I had followed my instincts on Friday and had gone to the Grand Canyon instead. I ended my day at REI stocking up on my semiannual ration of Slime tubes and also picked up a book that will probably become my bible this summer: Day Trips with a Splash, Swimming Holes of the Southwest. After a day in the heat of the valley, I spent the evening cleaning my bike, changing tubes, and drooling at the waterfalls and rapids that adorned the pages of the magnificent book.

If Saturday was my purgatory, then Sunday was heaven. With the new book as our guide, Hannah and I took a trip up Hwy 87 to Gisela, a small ranching community smack dab in the middle of nowhere. After winding around a dirt road for a little bit, we came to a ranch and a trail that pointed us towards a swimming hole on Tonto Creek. After about a mile on a dirt track and trail, we reached the creek: deep and full of clear, cold water. The initial swimming hole by the gauging station was beautiful in itself, but we hadn't even begun. A short distance upstream we reached the Tonto Narrows where the creek constricts into rapids and deep pools bordered by smooth granite cliffs and boulders. The place was incredible, and we shared the narrows with only one other group. Of course, we weren't satisfied with just sitting around on the rocks sunning ourselves all day, so we headed upstream to see what else we could find. Similar to my other favorites, Havasu and Fossil Creek, each bend in the stream provided a new surprise, be it a tall jumping cliff, a boulder field, rapids, deep green pools, or a perfect sandy beach to camp on. Both Hannah and I were in awe of our new find, and we happily bounded along for about a mile, bushwacking up some areas, standing on tall cliffs above the water, and wading through the creek in other places. We could have explored the entire canyon, but since we are definitely coming back to the area for some backpacking fun this summer when the temperatures in Phoenix drive us out of the Valley, we had to save some of it for later exploration. After remaining relatively calm most of the trip upstream, I could not contain myself as we turned around. Despite the cold, I plopped down in one of the many gushing rapids and enjoyed the best waterslide I've been in since Beaver Falls at Havasu. The water is probably the result of snowmelt further up the Rim and it was freezing, but I didn't mind too much once I got used to its refreshing temperatures, and I spent the entire hike back jumping off the rocks, sliding through the rapids, and testing the depth of pools for future diving reference. Rather than bushwacking up and over one particularily spiny section, we opted to swim, attempting to keep our bags above our heads. We had limited success, and let me just say it's a weird feeling to be diving to the bottom of a deep pool for your camera and not be worried about it (thanks Dad for the camera and Pentax for making such a tough machine!). By the time we got back to the Narrows, we couldn't stop smiling, and we met one other group that were enjoying the spot. They confirmed that not too many people visited the area, and those that did weren't apt to explore too deep into the canyon. Tonto Creek is definitely on my top ten list of favorite places in AZ, and I'd say it's probably vying for a podium spot.

An added bonus to the place is that even though we spent the majority of the day hiking and splashing and having a great time, we still got back to Tempe by 4. The fact that it's only an hour and twenty minutes away makes it even sweeter. Since I was full of adrenaline and Fish was looking for redemption, I headed out for a short, hard evening ride around Tempe. In a true Arizona classic, I rode into the sunset along Tempe Town Lake admiring the beauty of my surroundings and a large flock of swallows that were dipping and diving along the water's edge eating... gnats! Millions of the buggers. In one breath, I must have swallowed at least a dozen and lodged another half dozen in each eyeball with a few more up the nose just for good measure. I tried not to breathe as I attempted to pedal out of the swarm, the bugs pelting me like rain at 25 miles an hour. Eventually, though, I did ride up and out of the bugs and had an enjoyable remainder of the ride past Priest, down the south side of the lake past the Center for the Arts, and then back home as the sun's light completely faded and my weekend of heaven and hell came to an end.

London

2008-04-13T21:01:00.000-07:00

Last week was a long week for me... during the beginning of the week I managed to ruin EVERY single experiment that I performed in one way or another, culminating in the decapitation of two flats of N. benthamiana plants on the way back from the East Greenhouse and then soaking my jeans with the results of two weeks worth of work in the form of sticky sucrose gradients to the crotch. The rest of the week was spent playing catch-up, attending thesis defenses, and wondering if my own graduation will someday be a reality with weeks like this one.

By Friday evening, I was definitely ready to get away... far, far away. And so I did just that. Kohl and I got to Sky Harbor a little after 5:30 p.m., and were settled into British Airways Flight 0288 direct to Heathrow by 8 p.m. "London for the weekend" hasn't been in my vocabulary since the days that I was dating Asher, but it still has a great appeal to me, even without the Essex boy.

London has always been a favorite of mine. I owe a lot of who I am to the city and have many incredible memories there. From laughing and joking with my German and British friends at the many pubs, clubbing from Covent Garden all the way up to Ongar, eating shawarmas hot off the skewer at Sami's Deli, watching the stars up in Epping Forest on a cold, clear night, running up Notting Hill at the stroke of midnight to bring in the new year, pretending to be guides in the Tate Modern, and simply chillin' in the tall summer grass of Hyde Park, eating ice cream with a Flake, watching the clouds roll by and smiling at the simple pleasures of life. I owe my first love to the city, and pretty much owe the biggest dream of my life to a small bookshop on Oxford Street, where I picked up Debra Veal's ocean rowing book. It didn't take much more than the tiring week behind me and a little James Blunt on the in-flight radio to fondly remind me of how much I really loved the time that I spent in the city and how happy I was to be going there.

After 10 hours, two movies, a couple of meals, and several cups of tea, we touched down shortly after 2 in the afternoon GMT at Terminal 4 and hopped on the Picadilly Line of the Tube to Central London. It was Kohl's first time in England, and we both enjoyed watching the quaint little townhouses with full flowering green spring gardens roll by before the train went underground. We found our way to Jury's on Great Russell Street near Covent Garden, unloaded our backpacks, and then headed back out to take in all that we could in the short time that we had in Old Blighty. Even though I hadn't been to London in a few years, it all came back to me, and I could almost take the Tube to where I wanted to go without regard for the map. We made our first stop at Embankment along the Thames near the Golden Jubilee Bridges. From there we crossed the famous river and walked along the rain soaked streets past the London Eye (-sore, it kind of takes away from the beauty and history of the area, but that's just my opinion, and I haven't been up in it either). Then we crossed over the Westminster Bridge, admiring Parliment and Big Ben just as the skies opened up on us. We opted out of going to see Buckingham in the rain, and instead decided that a pub was a good way to get out of the rain. I knew of a good one down by the Tower Bridge, so we hopped back on the Tube to go find it. An advert positioned above us changed our minds though... there's just something about Jack the Ripper that is too inticing. Since we were headed for the Tower anyways, and the London Dungeon was just up the street from it, Kohl decided that we should go check it out. I was stoked, as it was something that I had always wanted to see, but never had time or money to explore before. The London Dungeon is part museum and part reenactment of some of London's darkest history, including the plague, torture, witch trials, Sweeney Todd, Jack the Ripper, and the London Fire among many other things. Although gruesome at times and a bit dull at times (it was the end of the day, and you could tell that some of the actors were tired), it was definitely worth the 20 quid we paid for the hour and a half tour through the Dungeon, especially with the last part where we were all "hung" from the gallows (basically a free fall drop ride like you'd have at an amusement park). The looks on our faces when they dropped us were hilarious. When we got back out to the streets, the sun was just beginning to set, so we walked along towards the Tower Bridge. Although there were several pubs along the way that would have sufficed, by that time we were both getting pretty hungry and we had a free meal waiting for us back at the hotel. We walked back across the Thames on one of my favorite London landmarks, the Tower Bridge, and by the London Tower, and all of "new London" including the Gherkin (Swiss Re Building) before going back underground and back to Jury's. Unfortunately, the restuarant of Jury's was about as far from British pub culture as we could have gotten. We were two of a half dozen people in the very posh little dining room. The waiters were almost too attentive, and had us a little creeped out to be honest, especially when Kohl's dinner turned out to be disgusting (if you ever go DO NOT get the Benedict Omelette with haddock) and she had to try and pretend that all was well. Fortunately, my lamb and potatoes was much better and I ended up sneaking pieces over to her when the waiters weren't looking. I don't think the resuarant has ever seen the likes of two tired, giggly American girls before. If it wasn't humorous for them, it still certainly was for us. By the end of dinner, it was 10 p.m. and though I was aching to get to the pubs, Kohl was beat, so I settled for some cider from Marks and Spencer and ended the night in the hotel room watching Premier League Rugby and movies until we both passed out.

The next morning, we got up and joined our ever attentive waiters for breakfast and The Worst Waffle Known to Mankind. Honestly, for such a posh place, you would think that they would learn to cook at least a little bit. I KNOW that British tastes are different than ours, but I was hungry, and I don't think that even the natives would have eaten the thing. If you'd like a good representation of the aforementioned waffle, take some PlayDough, smash it in a Belgian waffle maker, and then deep fry it in a mixture of lard and brown sugar. The tea and toast were delicious though, and I am grateful that the Brits have perfected those things, otherwise I would have been very hungry until lunch.

After breakfast, we walked down to St. Giles Hotel where our interviews, the main reason for being in London, were to be held. Chris met us in the lobby and directed us down to the conference center for some more tea and biscuits, hurray, food! All of the crew were incredible, from the director to the sound guy, and we had a lot of fun with them, just chatting and laughing while they continually moved lights and shadows around for the shooting. They interviewed us separately, about an hour each. I have to say that the interviews were probably the best ones that we have ever done. The questions that they asked us were thorough and the atmosphere was both professional and relaxed. The final product is due to be broadcast as part of a six part mini-series on primetime BBC, and I can't wait to see it.

Alas, weekends always seem to go by to fast, and our time in London was no exception. Before we knew it, we were back on our way to the airport, wistfully listening to the sound of the light spring rain on the daffodils and ivy as the train stopped for a few minutes in Northfields. The flight back was enjoyable, though our destination was not quite as exciting as the outbound journey, and we slept most of the way to back to Sky Harbor before being reunited with the dry heat of The Valley of the Sun. A few hours after we returned, I went out for a run and caught the tail end of the Tempe Ironman race. As I was trying to convince my body that it was 8 p.m. and not 4 a.m., a few thousand runners were trying to convince their bodies that 140 miles wasn't going to kill them. It's not often that people get to witness both the London Marathon and the Tempe Ironman in the same day, but it was quite inspiring to say the least, and made my 6 mile jaunt seem pretty insignificant, even though I had just returned from a few thousand mile journey myself. I ended the evening with some Twinnings and Cadbury's and considered the weekend to London a brilliant success.

In Defense of Graduate School

2008-04-06T21:14:00.001-07:00

It is the beginning of April here at ASU. The flowers are blooming, the temperatures are rising, the finals of the NCAA tournament are just finished, baseball is in full swing, and the semester is beginning to wind down. For most of us, that's a good thing, but above the crack of the bats and buzzing of the bees, if you listen closely (or happen to work in the life sciences buildings or Biodesign), you will hear the blood curdling screams of PhD candidates and masters students in the final death throes of writing and defending their theses and dissertations. It's an exciting time for those of us who are in the first few years of our respective programs, a frustrating time for those who should be graduating and aren't due to the fickle nature of research, and a very stressful time for those who are about to be leaving the safe yet sometimes sadistic world of graduate school.

Grad school is an interesting concept, especially for those of us in the sciences. Unlike our law and medicine friends, we get paid to go to school. The pay is completely inversely related to the amount of work that we do and the money that we bring to the University, but that's the price we pay for our freedom. We're caught in a beautiful limbo between the crazy days of our undergraduate youth and the rigid schedule of a "real job." We're proud to be grad students. In the hierarchy of the university setting, we are the soldiers in the trenches, getting our hands dirty to advance science. We take ideas from our PIs and use them to design experiments, and then execute the experiments, figure out why they didn't work, redesign them so they do work, write the papers, rewrite the papers after critique from the PIs, and ultimately make sure that research moves forward. We're not the PIs sitting in offices writing grant applications and attending conferences, we're not the publish or perish post-docs who work like slaves with no vacation, and we're not the undergrads washing dishes and filling tip boxes. But we're also not out in industry, joining the rat race of assembly line results and inflexible protocols. We're the backbone of the academic world and as such, we've got the freedom to explore, design, dream, create and discover. We are the ones who are actually in the lab, working to cure cancer, develop a vaccine against HIV, discover new species in the rainforests, design alternatives to petroleum, and ultimately provide solutions to many of today's problems.

Part of the beauty of grad school is that we don't work 9-5. Every day presents a new challenge, always something new to discover or work through, so our schedules are dependant on the project's timeline. Sometimes we work 12 hour days to complete a single analysis, and sometime we take a half a day off to go hiking while our cultures grow to the correct OD. We work how ever long it takes to get the job done, and then we play in much the same manner that we work. In addition to being researchers, we are climbers, mountain bikers, triathletes, kayakers, backpackers, ultimate players, artists, photographers, and entrepreneurs. In the unique environment of the graduate system, we are given the time to pursue our passions both in and outside of our chosen career. As a result, most of the grad students I know are also some of the most intelligent, interesting and well rounded people that I know.

I was always told that your undergraduate years were the best of your life, but if that's true, then graduate school comes a pretty close second. I'm at a great point in my graduate career - just a few months past my first committee meeting and just getting my program of study approved. I've been in the system long enough to learn the ropes but not yet long enough to get weighed down the monstrosity of the task that lies in front of me. I'm very happy where I am right now in my research, so it caught me off guard when I was offered a job a few weeks ago. A real job: one that pays more than free pizza from the Lab Stores vendor shows and cookies during seminars. It was weird, thinking about what is supposed to come next. So many of my friends right now are glued to their computers, organizing the last 4 or 5 years of their lives into 100 pages and summarizing it in a title of 50 or less characters. And then in the coming weeks, they'll defend, start breathing again, celebrate, and then....

Then what? It's been the main topic of conversation for the last few weeks in the Life Sciences Tower. Some of my friends are going into industry, others are staying safe in academia on the post-doc track to becoming professors, and then some are getting out of research altogether and are going to be focusing on their new children or just as helpless new companies. No matter what comes next, we will all leave with science progressed a bit further, a broad array of advanced skills ranging from statisical analysis to public speaking, and millions of memories of some of the best years of our lives so far.

Prescott

2008-04-06T19:57:00.001-07:00

Last weekend was spent in the wonderful town of Prescott. Jack and I headed out of the Valley around 8 a.m. and didn't stop until the smog was replaced with the fresh cold air of the high country. Prescott and the land surrounding it offers so much in the way of hiking, climbing, biking, and everything outdoors that I don't think that I could ever explore all of it, but I'm trying. We met Pierre and Evelyn at the Alto Pit Off Road Vehicle Area, which is the site of an upcoming MBAA race and home to some incredible trails fit for everything from mountain bikes to dirt bikes to quads. We started on a 5 mile loop that was supposed to be the main loop for the race, and had an incredible time. The trails were a bit loose with sand, but Fish was loving his new Continental Vertical tire, and we were flyin'. Unfortunately, he's getting spoiled now, and is demanding a new front tire as well. In hopes of protecting my right knee and keeping upright, I think I'm going to oblige. Though Pierre and Eveyln aren't seasoned mountain bikers, they are pretty hardcore triathletes and are in incredible shape. We went back and forth on the trails, depending on the technicality or steepness of the hills. I might have been better at the technical stuff, but they definitely made me realize that I have a long ways to go before I'm fit for triathalons. We also switched back and forth with Jack, who was using the ride as an introduction to clipless pedals. He had limited success at first as he spent many of the hills falling over when he couldn't unclip, but was relieved when Pierre noted that he had the clips at the hardest setting. Once he adjusts the clips he should be fine. We did two more loops after the first one and found some pretty sweet trails weaving throughout the area, including some pretty amazing steep drops in addition to the gritty inclines. After a good tough ride at altitude, which is great training for the Whiskey 50 Off Road race that I have coming up, we headed back to town for some post-ride grub at the Prescott Brewing Company. Pierre and Jack got along great, and we spent most of lunch talking about upcoming races and motorcycles. After lunch, Jack headed home and Pierre, Evelyn, and I found our way over to Copper Basin Road, which will be part of the course for the Whiskey Marathon in a few weeks. Pierre and Evelyn were thinking about running it, so we got the bikes out and decided to see what the course was like. I rode four miles with them, and all of them were straight up the ridgeline. If I had previously had any premonitions about running it, they were crushed in much the same manner as my lungs in the high altitude lack of oxygen. It was getting late in the day, and none of us were exactly sure how much higher the road was going to go, so I decided to turn around and try to find a camp before it got dark. The four miles up took around 30 minutes... and the return coast down the steep hills took 10. I didn't pedal during the majority of it either. Crazy fast.

After I got back to the Jeep I stowed the bike and drove up to Senator Highway to find some camping in the National Forest. I parked at the 307 Trailhead and headed up into what I thought was familiar territory. I followed the trail for a quarter mile or so, enjoying the tall pines that sheltered newly leafing shrubs and delicate wildflowers. Then it all came to an abrupt halt at a strip of pink tape that girdled a large tree; the words on the tape clearly indicating what I was about to enter: Timber Harvest Boundary. What I saw in front of me looked more indicative of something that Indiana Land Company might try to pull off than something that the U.S. Forest Service would allow, much less authorize. The so-called "thinning project" wasn't exactly clear cutting, but the largest of the pines had been harvested, leaving a litter of branches and stumps in their wake. Deep ruts scarred the landscape, reminding me of the gashes in my own knee and hurting just as bad. The trail was lost in the hillside that is sure to become an eroded mess in the summer rains that prevail in the high country. I was shocked at the destruction of my once pristine forest, and continued numbly up through the maze of fallen limbs, unsure of where to go. After a mile or so, I came upon a ridgeline that was too pocked with boulders and scrub oak to warrant a chainsaw, and I was once again aquainted with the forest that I knew and loved. As I stood on a small outcropping of granite, I watched two white tails scamper through the thicket. Happy that I was back in land where the deer (and maybe antelope) roamed and with the sun sinking ever closer to the western hills, I set down my pack and scouted out a good place to camp. I found what I was looking for at the top of the granite slab. A patch of dried grass lay underneath a large scrub oak, with a few small pines fallen into the tree to create a sort of shelter on the ridge. After picking out a few dead branches, it created the perfect place for a sleeping bag: protected from the wind and dew, but still allowing me a clear view of the valley below and the sky above. I laid down the footprint to my tent, pulled on a fleece, and broke out the JetBoil for a fine dinner of Mountain House Mac n Cheese. I read for a little bit after dinner, and then spent the last remaining twilight hours watching the stars come out and listening to the bugs and crickets and owls. It was the most relaxed night that I had experienced in a long time, and I fell asleep smiling. I woke the next morning before the sun arched its way over the eastern ridgeline, and watched the stars disappear one by one, thankful that I got a 35 degree sleeping bag even if I do live in Arizona. The temperature was well below 40, but I was snug and happy as I watched the first rays of morning light paint the tips of the snow capped mountains around me with a bright yellow tint. Life doesn't get much better or more simple than that. After a few hours of watching the sun fill the ridge and valleys below with its warm rays, I packed up camp and headed back to the Jeep. Not yet willing to go back to civilization, I went bouldering for a bit on the large granite rocks along the trail and then stopped by Goldwater Lake before I drove into town for some lunch. I ate on a park bench on the courthouse lawn, surrounded by dandilions and blooming crabapple trees. I lazed away the rest of the afternoon in this manner, reading and relaxing. Alas, I couldn't stay in the wonderful town forever, and as the sun started waning once more, I headed back to the Valley of the Sun for another week in the life.

Dragonboating

2008-04-04T10:14:00.000-07:00

Even though last weekend didn't involve any exploring or adventuring, it was still a ton of fun. Friday night was spent at Suda's for a girl's night of Cranium, wine, and catching up with good friends. We've all gotten so busy with everything that it's rare that we have those nights, which made it all the more special. Suda and I also discussed our desires to complete an Ironman, and we've formulated a plan to execute the dream. ODP and mountain biking come first, but I would really like compete at Taupo, and the more we talk about it, the more people are interested in the idea as well. I'll keep you posted.

Early Saturday morning, Hannah and I attended a mountain biking clinic held by the Phoenix chapter of the Luna Chix Racing Team and led by the world champion and former Olympian Alison Dunlap. The two hour skills and drills clinic was absolutely amazing. Dunlap's hundreds of alcolades are a tribute to her incredible biking ability, and she is an excellent teacher as well. We worked on our balance, cornering, and jumping skills. Some of the skills I had been doing on my own, not knowing that they were in fact what you are supposed to do. I had previously thought that I just looked dumb when I would position myself behind my seat or lean to the outside of a tight turn, but it turns out that I was doing it right all along. The most valuable lessons of the day for me were on jumping, and with a little bit of practice, I should be able to apply my new skills to the boulders of National Trail. I left the clinic with lots of new skills, a ton of free Luna product, and an anticipation to put the new skills to the test. Alas, I had prior engagements, and I couldn't follow the group over to South Mountain, but instead hurried over to Tempe Town Lake for the Dragonboat Festival.

(Because I'm lazy and don't want to rewrite it, the following is the article I wrote for ING's Corporate Newsletter about our debut race).

After weeks of preparation, the time for the ING Blaizin’ Lions to debut their new found skills finally arrived this weekend at the 2008 Arizona Dragonboat Festival. Our practices had gone well… extremely well for a crew that, with the exception of a few members, was completely new to the sport of dragonboating. Under the leadership of captain Angel Bishop, almost two dozen employees came out to represent the company in the traditional Chinese sport. During each of the three practices that were held on Tempe Town Lake prior to the race, we felt incredible power and cohesiveness in the boat. Mitzi Haughn of the competitive Gila Dragons team adopted us as her own and taught us everything we needed to know about the sport from how to hold the paddle to commands that we needed to know to get us down the race course. In the stern of the boat, Bill Dacier learned how to steer the unwieldy craft for our races which were to be held over the course of 500 meters. Several of the veteran competitive paddlers that helped to coach us were impressed with both our nearly flawless timing and the speed with which we moved the long, heavy vessel. By the end of our practice sessions, we were confident of our team and eager to prove ourselves at the festival.

Saturday morning dawned to a warm, prodigious day for the Blazin’ Lions. Proudly sporting the orange and blue of ING, we donned our life jackets, picked up paddles, and sat down in the belly of the boat, the gold and green head and tail of the dragon shining brightly in the Arizona sun. With Mitzi captaining our craft from the bow, Bill manning the rudder in the stern, and 20 eager paddlers ready to race, we were convinced that no one could beat us. We were going for the gold, and wouldn’t back down for anything. As we paddled down to the starting line, butterflies began to flit around in our stomachs. The excitement of racing was upon us, and we tried to remain calm as the officials lined us up with the starting buoys. Sitting in the middle lane between two other boats, we placed our paddles in the water in anticipation of the horn. After the blast sounded, we took off in a flood of adrenaline, water rushing past the gunwales as we pounded the paddles into the lake. We were doing great until the boat to our right began veering precariously into our lane. Just as we were about to pick up power to overtake the boat to our left, the boat to our right cut us off in our own lane as Bill tried his best to keep us out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, we had to stop about halfway through the race, correct our course, and limp across the finish line. It was not an auspicious start to what we thought was going to be an easy win, but we shook off the loss and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with plenty of good food and drink, the company of several ING supporters, entertainment from various performing groups on the festival stage, and plenty of close races in the other dragonboat divisions. After lunch, we gathered ourselves again, and with Mitzi’s positive encouragement, we prepared to redeem ourselves. As we paddled up to the start for the second race of the day, we were met with a competitor fiercer than the other corporate teams: the wind. We paddled as hard as we could, but the wind proved too much for our novice steersman, and once again, we were forced to stop and correct our heading in the middle of the race. Our resilient team was not to be beaten though, and with less than 250 meters to go, we dug our paddles deep and caught up with the other two boats, missing second place by mere tenths of a second. Still, we were not satisfied with our placing, and we left Tempe Town Lake feeling a bit dejected.

When we checked the standings for the corporate division on Sunday morning, ING was at the bottom of the list, dead last. It did not make for a very encouraging outlook going into the semifinals, but still we went into battle with lion hearts, figuring that after our first two races, we had nothing to lose and everything to gain. After a stressful time on the dock procuring life jackets and paddles at the last possible second before we pushed off, we rushed to the starting line, fearful that our last attempt at glory would begin without us. Already tired from our race to the start, we held our paddles high in Lane 4 and hoped for the best. With a determination to prove ourselves, we each focused on the paddler in front of us, completely committed to the other 21 people in the boat. We were nearly halfway through the race when we looked off to the right and noticed that the fiery head of our dragon was just feet in front of the other three boats in our semifinal. At this point, it was get first or go home, and none of us wanted to go home. With oxygen starved muscles and shaking limbs, we found the strength and reserve to dig just a little bit deeper as the finish line blurred in front of our faces. Once we caught our breath and looked up from our paddles, we realized that we had crossed the line first: we were going to the finals!!! It was almost too good to be true, and as we paddled back to shore, we had the biggest grins on our faces. Coming from worst to first was incredible, and the taste of redemption was sweet. Our day was not over, though, and we had one last race to go to determine what color medal we were going to be taking home. Just over an hour after our semifinals, we found ourselves lined up at the 2008 Arizona Dragonboat Festival Corporate Team Finals. With SRP and defending champions Mayo Clinic in the lanes to the right of us, we eased into Lane 3, prepared for whatever the race might bring and ready to leave everything on the water. We knew that we were facing some tough competition, so we started the race with 110% effort. The adrenaline coursing through our veins held off the pain, and nothing else mattered but getting to that finish line first. We led the other two boats from the start, pulling away within the first few strokes. We knew that Mayo was a team to be reckoned with, and we continued to pull harder, anticipating a surge of power to come from them at any time. Twenty paddles moved as one as we propelled our craft past the halfway point, the tail of our dragon pulling past the heads of our competition. Being out front gave us the mental energy to dig even deeper, and as soon as we crossed the finish line, there was no question as to who had won. Even though we were dead tired from the all out sprint, the excitement of winning overcame our exhaustion as we splashed the water and whooped with joy at our hard won victory.

When we arrived back on land, we celebrated and high fived and got congratulated from several of the competitive teams. It felt amazing, and we watched the remainder of the races with a new sense of respect for the sport. Being gracious victors - and a little impatient to get our hardware - the ING Blazin’ Lions assisted the volunteers when the races ended to clean up the area, organize the life jackets and paddles, and even helped to take out the course buoys while we waited for the awards ceremony to commence. During the closing ceremony, we proudly accepted our gold medals for the Corporate Division and displayed them around our necks, the blue and gold of the medal complementing the orange and blue of the ING logo quite nicely.
Overall, it was an incredible weekend for ING, full of teamwork, determination, and a lot of fun. We left the lake that day with some excellent gold accessories, smiles on our faces, a little bit of sunburn, and an anticipation to come back next year to defend our title.

(End article)

Also, in addition to the dragonboating festivities, Chad and I attended the Banff Mountain Film Festival at the Tempe Center for the Arts on Saturday night. I had never been in the new gorgeous center on the south side of the lake, but I have to say that I was quite impressed with it both on the outside and the inside. The festival itself was great as well with eight films on various adventures including extreme skiing, kayaking, ice climbing, and studying wolves in Canada. Although I was exhausted by the day's events, the films made my heart pound, and all Chad and I could talk about at the end was how lucky those people were to be living their dreams and making a living out of it. Incredible. It really makes me look forward to the adventures I have planned in the future, and I can't wait to get started on them. Until then, it's back to work until the weekend.