Testing...

Here's a cool pic from my mobile computer T-Mobile G1. I took it on Sunday afternoon on the Tucker Trail on North Cheyenne Canyon west of Colorado Springs.

Windy, yet Beautiful in Boulder

I stayed at Ryan's last night and woke up around 6 this morning to make a quick attempt at climbing Green Mountain in Boulder. It was a very pretty little jaunt, although, due to my own time constraints, we didn't summit. No worries, though. There was a few inches of very powdery snow once we got up into the valley a ways, but the sky was blue and the wind from the west was fierce. It makes me want to climb things again in a fevered pitch.

Making Faces

I lay here, waking up from a sleep that started what seemed to be much to early, on a spare bed in a spare room in a friend's house. The weather isn't unpleasant out yet, although this weekend is supposed to be a killer. I lay here thinking of earlier today when I was making this stupid face to Ryan... this stupid face where it looked like I had no chin. Easy to say with his being the size of a small state. But pondering this in my sub-awake state, I have to ask how much of my life is a stupid face and how much is just my face? How much is just me making a statement or a scene and how much is reality, pure and simple? I think we generally put to much stock in what could or should be instead of just accepting qwhat is and what can be. The deference in could and should versus can is that could and should imply difficulty between what is now and what we lust after. What can is a simple acknowledgement that things, ideas, goals exist that we have not yet touched. They're just out there, waiting to share themselves with us like food on a shelf at the market, waiting to be chosen to nourish our souls with their energy, their essense for being. I sometimes feel like that sharing is similar to how we are chosen for consumption by this world, this universe, this God, that we are tested and poked and checked every day to see how ripe we are, to see if we're fit to bring to the table. What kind of face are you wearing? What kind of skin are we showing? Does our navel smell of melon?

I love waking up and thinking of silly things.

The Cold...

I'm finding that my shoulders and hips are paying for me curling up in fetal position on my 4" foam mattress. Maybe I should invest in some more blankets to keep me warmer. Last night, the cold was nipping at my feet. I wasn't uncomforable. I slept soundly until just before my alarm went off. When I woke up, though, I noticed the soreness if a body that is used to sleeping sprawled out on it's stomach. It's funny to me that when it's cold, my issue is not being able to sleep on my belly, not that it's too cold.

Sleeping in the snow...

Right nw I'm laying in my bed all cozy at a Walmart in Lakewood, Colorado. It's been snowing here for a few hours, but I'm toasty warm with thoughts of adventure and kindness surrounding the holidays. In a way, I hope all my doors get frozen shut! That would be great! In the meantime, I would say the testing of this G1 smart phone is proving successful, sans the few typos. (It's a tiny keyboard!) Keep the journey going...

Vandalism!!

I was at work today, and I got a friendly reminder of why I loathe certain people. Thanks a lot, Gary. I hate you. I hate you the most.

It's getting cold!

I woke up this morning, and it was chilly. I'm getting used to rolling over in the same spot when I sleep. Maybe it's because I know that if I roll into a different spot, it won't be pre-warmed. Neither here nor there. Just an interesting tidbit of info.

Dinner has been good. Since the chicken juice, I've been toning it down to ramen noodles and slowly adding things. I think a key to my success will be preparing my food over some plastic, washable basin of sorts. That way, I don't get chicken juice in the carpet. I get it in the basin, and I open the door, and I share it with the insects that may be congregating outside my van.

I go between feeling like an adventure and feeling like settling down. Part of me just wants to clock out and take off, never to return. The other part wants to get a great job and rent a place, get a TV, and just embrace the community idea. That's what I miss the most about having an apartment. I miss neighbors.

But the dream is now being lived. I'm thankful.

The StinkWagon Chronicles

The other night, I was going through the tribulation of making dinner. Normally, cooking is a stress-free, even fun way to spend an evening, but in the van, it's an adventure. I decided I'd make a quick and easy meal. A can of black beans with jalapenos. A can of chicken chunks. A green onion. Some salsa. Tortillas to eat it all up.

I added everything to my little cooking pot (except the tortillas, of course), but when I was opening the chicken, I spilled a little of the chicken juice onto the van carpet. No big deal, I thought. I sopped it up and kept cooking. Dinner was delicious.

I got up in the morning, and I realized the horrible truth. The van STUNK. It STILL stinks, and I made this dinner almost a week ago! The chicken juice killed it. I tried to introduce chicken juice to baking soda and then fabreze, but it seems as though the chicken juice has its own agenda. Sigh... such is life in the van.

Snow!

Last night, as I slept, a strange sound woke me up. I was groggy, as it was two in the morning, but it sounded like sand being blown against the van. I thought nothing of it. "Just the wind." I fell back asleep and dreamed that I was in a musical that took place in a cabin, where people kept trying to bring stuff into my cabin, and I was singing to them to take the stuff back. My wife in the musical, I called "deer face". It's funny what we dream about sometimes... but I digress.

I woke up this morning, and looked out my window, and I realized as I slowly gained consiousness that I was looking at snow. I survived my first night of sleep in the snow in the BattleWagon! The accumulation wasn't much. Maybe half an inch on the places where it actually stuck. But still, it was a spectacular feeling. I got up, ate my bagel, got dressed for work, and took off, driving away from the sunrise with a feeling of inspiration.

My Personal Legend

I've been reading books and having some experiences that are leading me to believe in Omens and trust in good friends. I'm starting to believe in a Language of the World.

It's weird to sort of flow through life. I've had instances lately where I consider calling an old friend, and then I recieve an email from him. I've had moments where time seems to just slow down, as if it were giving me the opportunity to really take everything in.

Last night, I left Jenny's and went to my favorite Walmart for parking. I had to get a few groceries anyway, and when I was checking out, I spoke to the cashier. He was talking about Proposition 8 in California and how it passed. He was disappointed. I am, too. It was a crushing blow towards equal rights for everyone. Everyone. I comforted this guy, told him that we were taking baby steps. I told him about my beautiful girlfriend, and how we were all taking baby steps together to fight this bigotry and closed-mindedness that will not allow people who are in love to make a statement officially commemorating that love.

As I walked back to the van with my groceries, I helped an old Asian couple load their groceries into their Mercedes and talked to the gentleman about a guy who asked me for change. Apparently, this man has done this for days on end, and I'm just throwing money away by giving him a dollar. I think in the future, I'm going to start handing out the Denver Voice to the homeless, a newspaper for and by the homeless, that will direct them where to go toget food, shelter, and medical attention.

As I fell asleep last night, I considered my evening. I don't know if they're exactly omens or just a series of interesting events, but I'm starting to fall in line with a belief that God is watching us, not with orders, but with baited breath, as a father watches his son grow and take his first steps. I'm starting to believe in a Language of the World.

Realization

I've always wondered how people manage their lives in the wake of monumental changes. It never ceases to amaze me how some people will be stoic and strong after losing a loved one or becomming unable to do the things they are most passionate about. It also stuns me to see how some people will become absolutely destroyed over minor things.

Before taking on the BattleWagon project, I thought that rock climbing was the thing that put this into perspective for me. I had considered that, being on a rock way up off the deck put things into a certain perspective that I couldn't gain anywhere else. When you're thinking of life and death and the things most important to you, you realize that things that aren't important fall by the wayside, that those things become inconsequential.

I challenged myself to live by this mantra. I pushed myself to believe in the sort of un-stated religion of the rock climber, the faith of the hard core, the severe, the extreme, and the gentle acceptance that, someday, death will find me, and that day will come for me sooner than for others in my life.

Recently, though, I moved into my van, and while I feel that rock climbing is a big part of who I am, I realize though the coldest nights so far, that many, many people are living a life more extreme than I. I live in a van with blankets and heat, and I wake up in the morning with a very cold nose. There are people that live with a blanket and no heat, crowded together under a bridge or in an alley, trying to stay warm.

Perhaps the most important difference is that I choose to rock climb. I chose to move into my van. For these other people with lower life expectancies than my own, they do not choose this. They haven't been educated to find their path in life. They haven't been taught the value of hard work. Or they have, and they can't do it. They lack the mental stability or the physical prowess to do the work that needs to be done.

I guess the point I'm trying to make living in this van, at least for me, is that while I don't need much to survive, there are comforts that I still take for granted. I have friends that will let me take showers at their places. I have a job. I have health insurance at my disposal. I can afford to take my van places that I haven't seen before, to take it and visit my family 150 miles away.

We'll see how this thing turns out. It's not yet an exercise in futility, but it is an exercise in patience and understanding.

Catching Up

This last couple of weeks have been a landslide of work and tooling around and everything else under the sun.

Last weekend, I worked on Saturday and Sunday to catch Bob and me up with our painting job. I got started early in the morning, and I captured some beautiful "city clouds" marking the sunrise of the day to come. I love the sunrise. For some reason, it's like spring to me. It's like a re-birth to face the day, a fresh start. While working, I got to drive this huge International bucket truck. That was fun! I thought maybe I was in over my head, but this thing rode smooth like fine, German sports car.

I also made some stickers and business cards to advertise my website. They're prototypes, and I'm sure some better designs will come in the future, but for now, it'll have to do.

Dan and I found an escape and tore up to Mount Sanitas park just west of Boulder for some, well, bouldering. It was actually a pretty lax day as far as climbing goes. We sent a few problems that we've sent before, tried a couple new ones, and made friends with a couple, the guy from Westminster, the girl from San Francisco, both trying the ultra mega dyno problem that we've had so much fun with in the past. The dude nailed it, but I think the girl was frazzled. No worries, though. Just afterwards, though, Dan and I sent our Sharma-wannabe problem and just hung out on the top of the ridgeline, watching the shadows from the flatirons get longer and longer over boulder as the fall sun set. It was pretty neat. We cracked jokes. I'm sure Ryan would have been annoyed, but we just hung out like a couple of guys. It was a chill day.

Crazy.

Over the past few weeks, I've been working really hard to get situated in this van experiment. I've rented a place, although it looks like as a result of the tumultuous economic times, I will be looking for a new one... the property owners are selling the house (and driveway). It's no big deal for me. There are always Walmarts and dark alleys and friends' houses. It's just funny how the trickle down effect seems to pour down or flash flood down when it's negative, but when it's positive, there seems to be a great levee in place to keep it all contained higher up.

Over a week ago, I visited my friend Todd, and we talked briefly about the crisis. Todd lives off the grid. He has a modest cabin with solar power, well water, a septic system, and a garden. He lives 15 miles from the closest town, a modest city of 6,000 people. In his words, this economic crisis is a big game that people are tying to convince us we're losing but that he (as well as I) do not play. He's not invested. I'm only marginally invested. He and I aren't taking the hits that others are. He and I didn't buy the house that we should have known we couldn't afford. We didn't make the mistakes that people all over the economic scale, rich and poor, have made and are now suffering for.

But yet people are still suffering. I could be insensitive and purely to-each-their-own and say that everyone who is now paying for this deserves to be. However, I think that a majority of the people losing houses are simply uneducated. That's not completely their fault. It's crappy that the people going through this trauma are the ones who haven't been taught how to balance a checkbook, haven't been raised to appreciate hard work.

More thoughts to come... (I'm on a break at work.)

REPLAY: Peace through hardship...

I wrote this on July 1st on the heels of a weird dream.

How does one truly know peace? What is peace? Is peace absolute or relative?

Before I think about addressing these questions, let me relate a dream I had last night. I dreamed it was winter. The days were short, and it was dark early. I was in Salida, visiting my parents at their house, and it was snowy outside. Growing up in that house, I expected it to be comfortable, cozy, and inviting, and instead I found it to be nearly vacant, save a few old chairs and some candles. I saw my Mom wrapped in a blanket. It was cold inside. "What happened to the furniture?" I asked? She looked sad and told me Dad had let people come and take it.

I woke up groggy, and it was hard for me to face the day. I suppose there are a couple of ways I could go with this, different lessons to learn from this dream. I guess one could be to vow not to let that happen to my family, to work hard, hard enough to do my best to ensure that, no matter how bad things get economically, politically, environmentally, that my parents will not be stuck in a cold and empty house. But I choose to learn a different lesson.

I feel that the only choice that will ensure happiness in this instance is to know that, no matter what, I will love my family, and that love, despite the hardships, the cold, the grief and sorrow... that being at peace with the difficulties that lie beyond our realm of control, that this is what will ultimately save us.

What a terribly wondrous lesson to learn. What a big and hard thing to even begin to understand. Throughout histories (both mythical and factual, and the fuzzy lines in between), we see figures and stories involving characters who learned this lesson, or at least began to at the end of their lives.

My question and challenge in this brief blog is to ask, then, why it is so hard for us, the majority of us, to accept our own fates, to be content with the things we have, and to pursue the things that will make us truly happier, in spite of money and stuff and status and popularity? You like being outside? Go outside! It's much easier than you would believe. There are many illusions that both we and the rest of the world create as roadblocks to keep us from achieving our goals, but it's really a matter of how badly you believe in your own happiness.

I don't know where this all came from, but I thought I would throw it out here before I forgot.

North Table Mountain

Yesterday, after work, Ryan and I jetted up to North Table Mountain, just northeast of Golden, to hit what we hoped to be a couple of quick routes. It was a very cold day. The high temp didn't break 50. That's alright. There wasn't any wind and the sun was shining bright all day. The temperature was just a hangover from the autumn weekend of drizzle and fog.

We drove up these very hilly Golden streets to the trailhead. Ryan told me that the Access Fund owns and maintains the trail, which is extraordinary to us climbers. A climbing community maintaining a trail for climbers! That's awesome!

I parked, and we started our quick scramble up the hill to the rock. About halfway up, I stopped to snag a quick picture of the Coors brewery. I love Colorado. Mountains and beer. What else do you need, really?

As we got to the rock itself, the sun was already starting to set, and time was limited, so we did one quick route, and then got back to the Wagon before dark. A quick scramble, to be sure, but it was a great time.

The Foggy Adventure

Monkey and I had planned to meet at 9:30, but I was running a little late. There was something so comforting about cozy cuddling and staying in bed that I could have laid there, awake, for hours and hours and not shown a hint of discontent. Sigh... the cold autumn fog was calling, and I had to pick up the phone.

I got to Monkey's around 9:45, and we left for our destination, Mt. Falcon Park, a Jefferson County Open Space. The weather the whole way up was foggy and wet, but no matter. It was still a stellar trip.

We got to the park around 10:30 and began our hike into a creep and surreal wilderness. I say wilderness loosely: I've been here once before and it was very crowded, but this time, the sissies stayed home, and the occasional mountain biker or jogger would appear out of the fog and politely pass us.

Monkey and I checked out the ruins of the old house built up there, and then we walked up to the Eagle Eye viewing station, and the view of a sea of white was very humbling. One could only imagine what it would look like on a clear day. My guess is that you could see all the way to Denver.

We found our way through the fog back to the car, and left around noon for the Bucksnort Saloon. Monkey had spoken about this place before, and now it was time to check it out. We drove through Conifer and down to Shaffer's Crossing, turned left, and went down a very small road towards pine. Six and a half miles later, we happened accross this century year old wood building called the Bucksnort.

This Saloon was a sweet gem of old times. The floor boards were wood and had holes in them. The tables were covered with etched graffiti. The walls had dollar bills and foreign notes stapled to them, all personalized with someone's name or something offensive. The bar was tilted a good ten degrees. The service was charming. A sign hung on the wall that said "If you're in a hurry, go to McDonald's." Then the food came.

I had a burger that tasted as home-made as my dad's burgers. Monkey and I had potato skins with guac, bacon, ground beef, red chili... so good. Chips and beans and a cold beer on a cold day. We ate in a dining room with a fire place in the middle, providing the only heat in this relic of a place.

All in all, a great day, we got back in Denver mid-afternoon. I had a story to tell. Monkey had a full belly. It was a foggy adventure.

Fall

Yesterday, after work, I took a quick jaunt down to Morrison Park to explore this place I'd never been. The foliage was incredible. So close to the city, the park was empty, and when night came, the stars had shown so clearly. I read four or five chapters of Three Cups of Tea, and listened to Bear Creek trickle by, the same creek my mom and uncles would play in, just a few miles upstream in the little town of Idledale. With a heavy sigh and a mild smile, I think to myself, "I love the fall."

Economic Woes

It's somewhat disturbing what I'm finding at Walmart parking lots accross the city. You would expect to see RVs there with out-of-state license plates, people taking a break from their cross country treks. However, I've noticed five or six vehicles parked in certain lots that have been there continually. They're random cars with people in them, a Ford Explorer, a Chevy Blazer, a Kia... my guess is that these people aren't travellers, and they're not like me. My guess is that these people have been forced to move into their vehicles as a last ditched effort to not fall into homelessness. I suppose they have jobs but had bad loans and lost everything with the mortgage crisis.

I see this, and I see friends getting laid off. I even hear rumors of it where I work. Scary times. Very scary. I'm thankful I don't feel my stomach rumbling, but we can only hope things will improve.

REPLAY: The Big Step Up

This was from March 30 of this year, one day after I watched "Into the Wild" and found my motivation to do what I'm doing now.

One can debate on how to live his or her life for so long before something happens. Sometimes they acknowledge that the path they have been walking is the right path, they embrace it, move forward, learn, and keep going. Sometimes things happen where one is forced to take a different path, to journey around unforseen obstacles to reach a destination unknown. Sometimes, we choose a third option, to change direction in the middle of the journey, unhappy with the course of our original choices and yearning for a route that will lead us towards a new life or lifestyle.

I sit here, this snowy morning on the last Sunday in March, sit here on the floor in my bathroom with the shower running beside me, and I listen to my music, and I ponder my future. I have a trendy studio apartment in the heart of a trendy city. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to pay rent. I don’t want to be stuck in a life where I am tied down to things that aren’t going to inspire me in the future. I think it’s time for the big step up.

Ryan and I are talking about doing Longs Peak and the Grand Teton this summer. I’m going to be pushing myself harder than I ever thought possible. It’s time for the big step up.

The van is running well, and it has plenty of room for a bed and counter space. It’s time. It’s time to shed these chains of lonliness and laziness and ineptitude and take the big step, the one that pushes me to explore and push my body, my mind, and my spirit to new heights of reality. I need to learn. I need to seek. I need to explore. I need to stop trying to understand and just let go of what is tying me down here.

The lease runs out at the end of May. I have an idea of who will take care of miss Harry and give her the best life possible. I have places to shower, places to sleep, places to do laundry, but most importantly, I have places to go. I have places to explore, things to see that I have never seen before. I have a pre-destination of sorts to find what it is that being here in Denver has left me lacking.

I’m sure my best friends, the people that understand me most, understand this desire. I know people like my friend that moved here after moving around the country from places like Saint Louis and Oakland and travels to places like Jamaica, Florida, Hawaii, Mexico will understand. I know people like my friend who moved to a tiny town from Chicago and now is a certified guide in almost every discipline as well as a photographer, artist, and explorer will understand. I’m sure my friend that left the California city life for a life of climbing and exploring this human condition will understand.

The journey begins. The line is drawn here. The steps can only go forward do the destination unknown. It’s time to take the big step up.

Update on the Walmart Chronicles...

Since I have a space taken care of as far as parking is concerned, I thought I'd do some more exploring. Last night I "camped" at the Walmart at Stapleton, off I-70 and Quebec in eastern Denver. It was the most comfortable I've ever been at a Walmart. There were three other RVs in the parking lot, and two parked semi tractors. It's comforting to know that you're sharing space with others, some on a journey similar to my own, others catching a few weeks between shifts on the road. I feel like there's an unstated camaraderie that occurs between us.

REPLAY: The absense of control/The sweetness of solitude

I wrote this blog in March, and I feel it was a very crucial part of where I am now and how I got here. Looking back, it's intriguing to see my own history from slightly altered eyes. I think when we can do that, we gain a spectacular insight into who we are and who we want to be.

One shouldn’t know just how to percieve our own life. The reason I say "should never" is because I feel that having any sort of handle on our lives (where we are, where we are going, why we are going there), while these are all great ideas to have, they spoil the innocent joy of how we live our life.

Consider a good story you’ve heard, a good book, good movie, or a good song. Think back to the first time you heard it. Do you remember having an idea about what you thought it was going to be? Maybe you did, and you were pleasantly surprised. Maybe you did, and you were reassured in your choice you made to watch this movie. Maybe you knew nothing about it, and were stunned that this was out here, and you knew nothing about it.

Now think back to the second time you heard this story. The third time. If it’s a really good story, you enjoy it every time, but you still never quite gain the mistique of having heard it for the first time.

Can we apply this principle to our own lives? Is it safe to say that we can wander through our own lives, on the one hand making the decisions that make us happy, truly happy, setting goals that will help us find an even greater happiness and sense of self? I believe it is, and I think having everything pre-destined, while a noble ideal, leaves something to be desired in the essense of life.

Imagine going on a backpacking trip and seeing something you’ve never seen before in the solitude of the wilderness. Imagine the first time you were on an airplane or the first time you went to a different state or a different country. Imagine your first road trip, your first pet, your first child...

Imagine your hardest times. The times you’ve felt yourself tested, challenged, pushed beyond what you knew to be your own personal limits of existance. Think back to the times when you knew you couldn’t make it one more day without something giving way to all of the weight of the world that you were carrying on your shoulders.

I would hope that if you’re reading this, you’re still here. Somehow you made it through those difficult times. You’ve answered the calls of the challenges and met them, and chances are, you’re a different person now then you were.

You didn’t plan for the bad things to happen. They just do. And you cope with them, you grapple with them in the depths of your soul and show return to the every-day workings of your life as new and improved and better than you were, even if you are now stained glass instead of an open window.

I feel happiness should be the same way. I feel like happiness shouldn’t be planned as much as met with open arms in the midst of everything that goes wrong or awry in our lives. I beleive that when we map out the courses of our own paths through life, we lose some of the flavor of what it is to be overcome by happiness, only leaving room for the undeniable realities of grief and suffering.

I believe that it’s arrogant of us as humans to expect that everything is going to be okay and that bad things interrupt the flow of the good. I think that particular philosophy robs us of our abilities to learn from the difficult times, an prohibits us from learning even more from the good times.

Every aspect of our life has the potential to be unknown territory, the potential to be new and exciting or challenging. I don’t think that trying to funnel your life into a very narrow track of the typical "career, family, financial security, etc." allows you to branch out and experience the weird sensations that may lie just beyond the outside of the funnel.

I suppose with this rant, all I can do is encourage you not to be scared. Maybe I have no right to encourage anything. Maybe this is a blog about me being scared and afraid to branch out and seek my own truths about some questions that are bigger than me. However, I know for certain, that there arecertain parts of this universe that have to be negative, even if simply for the idea of balance. I feel obliged to tell the stories, to boast the good deads and gently utter the not-good.

However, I am not afraid to let go of my control. Do not be afraid to go boldly into the unknown, to trust the lack of control. Whatever happens, I have to believe that despite the losses and wickedness, there are lessons, too, to be learned from the random and overwhelming good that exists when you forfiet control.

Do not be afraid.

"What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after your own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lead climbing in Eldorado Canyon

I took a trip up to Ryan's on Sunday, and the result was little Ryan getting a new set of walkie talkies, me getting a bed built, and leading a climb in Eldorado Canyon. The latter was absolutely amazing. I felt like I had just entered into a new realm of giants, legendary and prolific climbers who lived lives like I'm striving to live for the sake of pushing themselves and their sport (or faith, as they're so often intertwined). It was spectacular. Just amazing.

I'm also very stoked for this opportunity to share so many of these experiences with so many of my friends and family. I'm getting back in touch with people I haven't seen in years. Good times had by all.

If you are interested in my travels, you'd probably like to see my friend Todd's adventures. His site is at pst-solutions.com. He is part of my inspiration for this project, and I owe him a debt of gratitude. My friend, climbing partner, and mentor, Ryan has a blog too. His awesome political blog is here. Todd, Dad, Jenny, and Ryan... you'd get a kick out of this stuff.

The BattleWagon in the flesh!

Here is the BattleWagon, my home away from work or whatever else I may be doing at the time. Sleepy. Cozy. Warm. Inviting. You know you love it as much as I do... okay, maybe not that much. It's not a Volkswagon, but it is a Westy in spirit (except it'll actually do better than 35 up a hill on a highway). More pics soon to come. Thanks for reading!

The Sweetness

I'm almost through my first week without a house. I'm close to getting a good parking spot off street. Having just read some history on Greg Mortenson living out of "La Bamba" (see Three Cups of Tea), I'm thankful I won't have to be driving around looking for dark alleys that the cops won't find me and wake me up in the middle of the night. Beyond that, the actual sleeping part is quite pleasant. I always seem to sleep better when I'm camping out, and this is like always camping out.

REPLAY: The Rock That Changed My Life

I posted this blog last October on my related blog site. It's a re-hash of old material for your entertainment. Enjoy.

I was raised to embrace the outdoors as my religion. Instead of dressing in our best clothing and making the walk to the Methodist church a few blocks away in my small hometown, our family donned our most rugged clothing, packed ourselves and our 2 big black lab mixes into my dad's old Land Rover, and took off for another new trail, road, or high mountain lake somewhere in the wilderness.

I grew up in a small town in Rocky Mountains. The local range was full of gentle giants, towering mountains that held us in their embrace like loving mothers do their own children. Growing up like this, I didn't learn my morals by being told from a preacher at a podium what was right and what wasn't. I learned by being humbled by views that few people were ever going to see in their lifetimes. I discovered, no matter how badly I wanted to stay home and play with friends and neighbors, that I would always regret the part of the day where we had to turn around and head back to the truck. I was inspired, as a young adult, to continue chasing these dreams, exploring these places that had the ability to expand my view of the world around me and deepen the view into myself.

Through friends and family, I have been led to places I didn't know existed. These places had a way of transcending everything I thought I understood about reality. The journey to and from my geographic destination ultimately became a spiritual voyage into new realms of serenity and passion that made my brain feel like a bomb with a lit fuse. A few days ago, my close friend and most-trusted climbing partner Ryan led me to one such place, except at this place, the bomb in my psyche exploded, shattering my reality once again.

The sun rose on a terribly windy Saturday morning in our camp south of Moab, Utah. We set up camp after midnight the night before, our bodies rested but our minds aching from the five-hour-drive to get here from Denver. Ryan, his family, and our friends Dan and Melissa were all in attendance, making the preparations for what was to be a challenging climb in significantly gusty wind. We all drank some coffee and piled in my van, heading steadily towards our destination inside Arches National Park.

The sun had been up for a while, and we stopped at a few places along the way to admire the huge rock cathedrals that seemed to have been made by Mother Earth for God, or maybe vice versa. This alone was a very deep experience, but was only a glimpse of what was around the corner.

We continued to drive, and turned into a small viewing point off one of the main roads in the Park. There, we saw our climb: Owl Rock. "The Owl" is a modest sandstone spire, but I only say modest because, compared to the other towering monuments in the park, it's eighty foot summit isn't exceedingly remarkable. I should correct myself here and say it WASN'T remarkable at first sight, being limited to walking on flat land. I remember thinking to myself, half-seriously, "This is it? It looks like a giant wang! Where's the glory in this?"

The wind howled, and Ryan, bravely yet nervously, led the route up the large crack on the west face. I ran around taking pictures of this feat, knowing that someday, I was going to be doing the same thing on some other rock. He took his time, placing the correct gear into the correct place so that it would protect us, should we fall. He was graceful yet bold as he approached the summit, and when he got there, he tied into the chains bolted near the top, scrambled to summit, and stood, the wind at his back, the rising sun behind him. However he felt then will never be completely known to me, but how I felt seeing him there was overwhelming. He had become more than a simple human, but also less than a human at the same time. He had become part of the rock, part of the earth, part of a force that is bigger than I can even begin to know how to comprehend.

Ryan set up his belay spot on the Owl, and Dan was next up. Dan made this climb look easy, taking out the gear that Ryan had set on his way up, and trusting the top rope that held his life at bay. Dan easily grabbed holds, crammed his feet into the crack, put his toes on little pebbles that one wouldn't think capable of holding even a child's weight, much less a grown man's. The summit in his grasp, Dan made the final pitch, reached the top, and sat there for minutes, taking it in. Another god-like image burned itself onto my brain, another climber bonded with some unexplainable Chi, and I waited patiently for my turn.

Dan came down, and I roped up, ready, willing, and eager to have my chance to climb a rock. Climbing mountains had been my single goal at this point, but this small tower held more inspiration for me than the tallest mountain I had ever climbed. Slowly but surely, I started my trek. It was an amazing sensation as I crammed my hands, arms, legs, and hips into the large crack that now felt more like a cradle than a part of a sandstone tower. I inched my way up, and got to the crux of the route. Still 20 feet below Ryan, I stopped climbing. This crux was more difficult than anything I have ever encountered before. I was nervous and excited, and I had to talk myself down. I had to breathe.

Breathe.

Calm and collected, I easily moved over the crux and found the rest of the route to be like a ladder to heaven. Meeting up with Ryan, I checked my ropes, got my instruction, and began my Buddhist-like hands-and-knees crawl to the summit. And there I sat, quietly, happily, humbly, and feeling so many other wonderful emotions that I can't write. The wind swept over me, like God was holding me in Her arms, and I never wanted to leave. I cried as I thought of the most important things to me and how those things were now redefined. I smiled as I saw the clouds in my own life give way to a clear view of things that maybe weren't so beautiful, but were a part of me. I felt pride. I felt honor. I felt changed.

In the days after the Owl, I found myself thinking about these climbs and escapades into the wild. I felt like I could train and learn as much as I could, but would I morally be ready to climb? Are all of my sins and my bad karma going to allow me to accomplish what I'm setting out to do? I think, in retrospect, the only thing we can do is trust that there is a general idea for what we are supposed to be in our lives. Having the courage to follow what our ideas for ourselves is the tricky part. That courage gives us the moral compass necessary to have a passion for something bigger and better than what we know to be real. That courage allowed me to climb the Owl. That courage allowed me change my life.

Week One is Freaking Out!

I don't have the bed built yet, nor do I have a place to park. Parking in weird spots (i.e. Walmart) and sleeping next to and partially buried under my clothes and gear and stuff... it's exhilarating, but also a little unnerving. Just breathe, Russ, and gear up for the best trip ever.

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It's crazy how sometimes we, as humans, find inspiration in the strangest or most unexpected places. It's almost as if, somehow, we are subconsciously searching for something greater, a search that trumps even the best intentions we are aware of, that leads us to new and motivating things we couldn't fathom before.

On September 11th, my cousin Shawn Funk died. To say I knew him or anything significant about him would be fallacy. I haven't seen him in around 20 years. I knew bits and pieces, like how he had dreads and did amazing pottery, but that was all secondhand and vague. He died, and I went with my mom and brother to his funeral, and here were all of these people whose lives he had touched for being a free spirit. I fear I've made an error in not getting to know this guy. I think we could have been good friends. However, Shawn did inspire me.

Free spirits are usually kindred spirits with one another. A free spirit can recognize another upon their first meeting and many times are drawn to each other. The essence of Shawn was with us all at that service, and I felt motivated to follow through with my goal of moving into my van, the BattleWagon, to see where I go with it. We only live once, and now is the most precious time.

This is a more severe feeling than when I had watched "Into The Wild" or read the book before that.

So, tomorrow is my last day at home in my Capitol Hill studio. I'm out. My home will be a 1994 GMC Safari, and I'll be building it to my needs as I go. Come on this adventure with me.