Author Archives: S.A.H.

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About S.A.H.

Cycling. Espresso. Photography. Words. Travel. Aimlessness.

News, Updates, Assorted… Stuff

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Hi. If you’re one of the handfuls of readers of this blog, which you are if you’re seeing this in your email or your WordPress reader, you will know that I am no longer on a bicycle trip/journey/adventure/odyssey, and if you’ve paid any attention to the occasional dates that are affixed to certain posts you will know that this has been the case for some time. I’ve had a backlog of hand written journals to get through, and now, alas, this backlog has more or less come to an end (well, it properly ended some posts ago while I was in Colorado, but I’m only now acknowledging all this in a conversational way). However, I have several voice recordings that I have not transcribed into text, as well as some thoughts that I typed into my phone, which I will collect here. As of yet I am uncertain as to whether I will post all of these as one or two separate large posts, or break them up individually. I have a feeling this decision will be dependent upon the length of the individual pieces, some of which are extremely short, though none are particularly long.

Currently I am in Berkeley, California, house-sitting for the next two months (until October 20). I’m very much uncertain what I want to do after that, and, naturally, with my wide assortment of interests but only this one body to experience these things with, I have to pick and choose carefully (or not so carefully because whatever I choose it will be the “right” choice, I’m certain).

Here are the options I am debating between. Also, if you have thoughts on any of this feel free to leave a comment. This may sound like a strange request, since I never address the reader directly, but instead post journal entries and photographs at a whim, none of which are ever directed to anyone, or written for anybody other than myself. And that has been my intent for the whole of the existence of the blog. To have something directed to you is then likely something of a surprise. I’m not sure if, or how much, this will change moving forward. I’m tempted to write to an audience, and less to myself, or make an attempt to find a balance between these two modes. I’d like to present a warmer, more human presence in the blog. On the other hand, does this matter? I don’t know, so I suppose I’ll just continue feeling my way along and allow things to develop as they will naturally, as in my opinion, that is generally the best way to go about most anything.

However! Onward! To the future! Or the current present…

My original “plan” for this blog was to provide a public place of record of my bicycle trip which came to an untimely end around Santa Fe, NM. Though, perhaps it was quite timely, based on all the wonderful experiences I’ve had since the injury (which I imagine has healed by now): purchasing a cheap car (I haven’t owned a motor vehicle in over a decade) and driving up to Colorado, a state that  I hadn’t planned on visiting, to spend much time with my long-time friend, Doug, and while there making a friend who has provided me the opportunity to visit Hawaii cheaply; developing an interest in trail running; hikes up Grays and Torreys Peaks; traversing the entirety of the Ten Mile Range (I didn’t actually write about this, but my Instagram has some details if you’re interested) and so much more.

Now that the bike trip is over, at least for the next few months, what will I be putting here? And what ideas do I have for the future? 1) At the end of my house-sit I can go to Hawaii for a month, leaving my car and bike—safely—here, and then spend most of December on a long road trip back home to Maryland in time for the Christmas holiday, staying there through the winter and then either, picking up the bike trip again in the spring (going north and west this time), or road-tripping up to Alaska to find summer work at a seafood processing plant or on a boat ($$$$), and then going to India in the fall/winter for a walking/running trip as a way to explore that enormous and enormously complex country (again, writing and photographing along the way) which would also give me options for Central and South-East Asia; 2) I could just stay here in Berkeley because honestly, the Bay Area and Marin County are some of the most astoundingly gorgeous places in this country one could possibly ever want to live, and are fantastic for trail running, cycling, and anything else outdoors related, but also Acme and Tartine are hiring, and I’d seriously love that opportunity to learn how to make incredible bread or pastries, but this would require of me to put any adventuring on hold for a minimum of a year, something I’m very reluctant to do; 3) I could do everything from option one minus going to Alaska and/or cycling, but instead go to Georgia/Armenia and volunteer on the Transcaucasian trail building project, which would be a great opportunity to visit a part of the world that I am enormously interested in, and contribute to a worthy project in somewhat still developing countries, AND potentially use that area as a jumping off spot for an international cycle tour (I’ve long wanted to visit Central Asia, which is just a ferry ride across the Caspian Sea from the Caucasus); 4) I could stay here until spring, like I had originally planned before growing a bit homesick and meeting cool people with thoughts of going to Hawaii, and pick up the bike trip then (of course this would require finding semi-permanent residence in an expensive area (not ideal!)).

I think that’s about it.

I should find a job while I’m here, but all the jobs I want I would feel horrible leaving after just two months, yet I honestly can’t see myself staying here right now (I could, however, see myself moving back whenever I’m ready to settle down somewhere) because there’s too much I still want to do that I wouldn’t be able to if I were to find a wonderful job here. I’ll probably end up doing some combination of one and three. There’s also the off-chance that I just move back home and stay there if given an opportunity to do something cool. Right now, frankly, I have no idea, but thankfully I don’t need to make a decision until November (of course, assuming I go to Hawaii, which the likelihood is really high, I’ll be making that decision well before October).

I’ve written a fair bit here, and I have a lot on my mind too. This likely won’t be solved any time soon, but hopefully I can at least continue to provide some content (I’ve written a few things since being in California, and I have an adventure article I wrote for a magazine, but had the submission declined, which I will post here). In the meantime, thoughts?, opinions?

Colorado

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It rained briefly on my way north from Santa Fe.
Great Sand Dunes National Park. I actually didn’t enter as they were asking $15, I think, and I felt like I didn’t have the money, but the views from just before the gate were beautiful. It’s certainly an extraordinary area, and definitely worth the money charged.
Great Sand Dunes National Park
Great Sand Dunes National Park
Great Sand Dunes National Park
Great Sand Dunes National Park
It was crazy windy because I was on an enormous plateau, and still had not reached the heart of the Rocky Mountains at this point. The dust storm is a result of poor farming practices. All the dry fields without crops were nothing but sand pits. This is the result. An utter mess.
Long, straight roads in south-eastern Colorado
This is a view of Interstate 70 from the top of Mount Royal. This was a favorite run/hike of mine, despite it’s incredible steepness. Pretty much the rest of the images are taken from a forty or fifty foot radius of this one.

69 – Take My Home With Me

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Watching a spider wander through the grass beneath the small wooden table here in the yard, and thinking to myself wouldn’t it be grand if I could produce a thread inside of me and string up a cozy hammock anywhere I’d like. To carry my own house inside me wherever I roamed. It would keep me dry in a deluge of rain, cool during the heat of summers, and warm through the winter.

68 -Found in the Mountains

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Tuesday 06/21

Woke up this morning and went through what has become my typical routine since being in Taos: make a cup of coffee and read something (currently, a book of selected works by Faulkner—it’s marvelous). Afterward, I went for a spectacular run/hike from the house to Miner’s Creek Rd, then Rainbow Lake, then Mason Town, and finished with a taxing hike up Royal and a screaming-fast run down and back to the house. This was all wonderful, but that which made it all the more special was the fifteen minutes spent reclining amongst the rocks overlooking I-70 some thousand-plus feet below.

Hiking up the mountain, heart pounding like a timpani drum, lower calf feeling so stiff that one might imagine it could be broken like a bone, I was harassed much of the way by flies that could not be rid of due to my glacially slow pace I was incapable of increasing. Yet, at the top, having espied a portion of the mountain that formed something like a lounge chair, and seating myself in it, sprawling rather languorously, limbs akimbo, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun-heated rocks as a cool breeze skimmed across my skin, they ceased to bother me, or I ceased to be bothered by them. Instead I looked on in amazement as various different winged beasties made attempts at clambering over an arm or a leg but, tripping over the stumbling blocks of hair, struggled to make much progress.

Lying there, like in a hammock, looking down far below, past the pines and contours of rocks, at the cars and trucks crawling along the interstate, and then to one creature or another on an arm or a leg, and then back to the traffic, I could only think how small and negligible humans are rushing about on their daily, various errands and tasks.

Butterflies frolicking in the wind or sunning themselves on an exposed rocky slab, folding and unfolding wings, sometimes in flight blown off course by a rogue zephyr… chipmunks scrambling and foraging; the colors of lichen (pumpkin orange, and the zillion unspeakable shades of green); tiny purple flowers like magic buttons and baubles; a plant similar to hens and chicks, tiny like a baby’s fist, with yellow blossoms; the shells of old trees bare and weather-beaten lying on their sides like shipwrecks off an unnamed island.

In short, an ocean of peace on which I floated like a reverie, my eyes coursing over everything, projecting a world of fascinating beauty and sublime indifference. Peace! Peace! Peace! And the appreciation of a world that for a short while was untouched by anything save the glance of my eyes alone.

67 – The Virtue of a Light Bulb or, On Being Rich

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The naked light bulb in the lamp on the table beside my bed fascinates me. A bare light bulb, whether hung by a cord from a ceiling, or screwed into a lamp, is a symbol of poverty. Not just a financial poverty, but, as well, a poverty of the spirit, an indifference to the state of one’s self. The reason there is no lampshade covering this particular light bulb is because I removed it, basically, because it was completely useless. Really just a thick, purple, glass bowl with an opening in the top, it didn’t simply soften and disperse the light radiating from the bulb, but contained it altogether. That, it needn’t be said, is not useful.

I look at this light bulb, and I look around the room that I am in with its dirty white walls, kind of brown and tan in places, the surface rough and unfinished, areas of incision where squares of drywall were removed and inexpertly replaced; exposed electric sockets naked in wall recesses; the ceiling which slopes down to a waist-height wall in which a door is set, sea-green, about three feet in height, and held shut by a single piece of duct tape; another wall: red, following the contour of the ceiling, also with a door, dirty and with a large brown smear of spackle that looks like a wad of human shit where someone lazily repaired a hole; the mismatched dressers and tables; the clay-colored tile floor; the dirty window and its frame that’s coming apart at the joints, paint chipping off. I look around at all this with fascination. It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t make me feel poor, or contribute to feelings of inadequacy (none of which I have, anyway). Perhaps that’s because I know I’m only here temporarily. Or perhaps its because I have a sense of self-worth, or self-knowledge, or understanding of the world and my place in it that is great enough that a lack of certain material things doesn’t affect me so much. I know better.

And so I look at this light bulb, this naked balloon of argon filled glass, and I appreciate it for the light that it emits, that I might write down these thoughts, and I wonder at its polished, white, pearlescent surface, and its simple, beautiful shape, and I don’t know that I am poor because I feel as though I am rich, and so this light bulb holds no sway over me, but sheds light so that I may rejoice because I am alive to experience it.

66 – Does a Dog Have Buddha-nature?

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Right now it seems to me that I am living like Sugar, who is lying off to my left in a patch of grass (I dare not call it a lawn because it seems much wilder than that, and far more lovely for all the dandelions about, and the grass most places being eight to ten inches high, but more lush and more beautiful than any lawn I have ever seen on anyone’s property who so bothers himself with keeping one), basking in the warm sunlight, as still as a statue, eyes mere slits. And I, on this bench-swing, doing the exact same thing, only reflecting on the sameness of our lives.

65 -Frisco Morning the Lawn Pondering

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Frisco, CO. Eight a.m.
Lounging on the bench-swing in the lawn. Surrounded by dandelions. The dog, Sugar, being dog-like, sniffing around, investigating the morning scents, then choosing a cozy spot in a warm patch of sunlight on a lush patch of grass to lie down; the prominence of the fast-running river only a stone’s throw from here very nearly the only audible sound, white noise maintaining a backdrop for the bursts of birdsong flushing through the aspens and pines, and the sun filtering through just beginning to stab my eyes with its pointed glare. The slight sound of slightest traffic thin and fringy, and thankfully, easy to ignore.

I just finished drinking an exquisite cup of an Ethiopian Kochere—citric, floral with a bright, lively, happy acidity that dazzles the tongue much like the early morning sun might one’s eyes, or the song of the birds one’s ears. There is no better start to a day than this little ritual of mine.

I’m noticing now how in the shaded parts of the lawn the dandelions are closed up tight, like they might be cold, and so each of them has snugged up his and her sepals tight around their blossoms like I might zip the collar of a warm jacket up tight. I would also be remiss not to mention how much like aristocrats from the sixteenth century they look like, albeit headless ones, with their broad collars peaking out the tops of their shirt and jacket. A particular painting by El Greco which hangs in the Prado in Madrid titled The Nobleman with his Hand on his Chest comes to mind.

In places where broad swaths of sunlight paint the ground these dandelions’ heads are thrown back, petals fully extended like mouths wide open stretched to their limits, swallowing whole all that pours forth from the sky. How strange that I’ve never noticed this phenomena before! How intelligent the world is! Is there anything that looks happier, more full of joy, than a flower opened up completely? It is like a human soul who has become so accepting to everyone and everything, all experience, good or ill, that it matters not what might become of it, that it might be destroyed means nothing, but that it continue in its course, which is always the correct course, and finds satisfaction in that.

A White-crowned Sparrow is flitting about the yard, sounding out its presence from perch to perch like a submarine’s radar keeping time with whatever metronome guides it.

64

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Wednesday 06/08

Saw a cafe in the town of San Luis, CO (the oldest town in the state, according to a sign) so mistakenly decided it was a good time to stop on my way north to Frisco. The espresso machine is a beautiful, lever actuated, single-group, copper and brass piece, with an eagle perched on top. The espresso itself, however, is very bad—much too long for a single basket, thin, watery and bitter. Who knows how old the coffee is.

Driving is proving to be strange, and slightly unsettling. Obviously it feels like less of an adventure, but I’m a bit worried that the engine is going to blow up or something. I shouldn’t, of course, but the car is nearly twenty years old, even though it does seem to be really well cared for and the man I bought it from was enormously cool and, I felt, trustworthy. Anyway, I’m really eager to get to Frisco, which I think, along with my concern for the $1500 car, is part of the foundation for my general feelings of unease. That a mutual friend of ours is going to be in town this evening is also encouraging me to slow down and stop for little (not that one notices much to slow down for when zooming passed everything at such speed).

San Luis seems a rather dismal town. Nothing happening. Couple cars parked. Barber shop and a market across the street. Gas station on the opposite corner. The owner/employee here at the cafe seems utterly bored, and was absolutely disinterested in helping me. The abundance of grey sky overhead is not encouraging of any sort of joyfulness either.

The oldest town in Colorado. It evokes the sentiments of an old, a very old man or woman, decrepit, miserable, misanthropic, who’s lived too long and is really quite ready and willing to pass on. “Let me die already!” it seems to be saying. That’s how it feels sitting in this potentially cozy cafe. Potentially cozy. Maybe with a barista who cared, who wanted to be here, and with smiling people to serve instead of just the vacant air and the dull throb of a heart tired and worn out wanting to give up for the pointlessness of it all. The couch looks comfortable, the tables and chairs are okay, there’s art on the walls and shelves full of books. There’s just no LIFE. No music. Dead quiet. It doesn’t matter how many books you have on a shelf, or how comfortable the couch looks, or how good (or bad) the art hanging on your walls is, if there’s no heartbeat there’s no life. It’s like trying to dress up a cadaver. No matter how fine the clothes the cadaver’s still a cadaver. There’s no reanimating that. And that’s exactly what this experience is like: it’s like having a cup of coffee in a morgue, only less sterile. Deadman’s Reach Coffee. Fitting.

New Mexico

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Tucumcari
Tucumcari. The previous two images are also of this motel.
This and the previous five photographs were taken in Santa Rosa.
Lit by the sun in the distance. What is that? Somewhere between Santa Rosa and Las Vegas.
My host’s van in Las Vegas. They were a fabulous couple, and I received some fantastic advice on my circuitous route to Santa Fe
Somewhere on 434 between Mora and Angel Fire.
This was a tough climb, though mercifullly short, from Angel Fire to Taos. The downhill portion was marvelous and went on just about the whole way into Taos.
I passed this view pretty much everyday in Taos. It was one of my favorites.
My host’s neighbor had this sitting in their yard near the road.
Part of my host’s yard.
Ravens
Taos Museum shop.
Taos mesa, where some off-grid living is happening.
Rio Grande in its gorge sweeping rafters along.
Silk flower.
Rio Grand Gorge. This was on my way to Santa Fe before my knee became really unhappy with me.
The End. About ten miles from Santa Fe.
Santa Fe graffiti.

63, or, The Blog Post that Turned into a Book Review

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Picked up Alastair Humphreys’ book Grand Adventures yesterday and reading it now. An absolute joy. Lucid, convincing, inspiring, practical (without sounding like a “guide”) and humorous in places (often self-deprecatingly so). This book is a must-own for anyone who has even had the slightest inkling of a consideration of embarking on an adventure, odyssey, journey, whatever, grand or otherwise.

Grand Adventures can be broken up into four parts, some of which overlap. The first third of the book consists of practical matters, and the point of it is to convince you, the reader, that yes, a big adventure is possible, and yes, you can find the time, money, etc. to go on one. The second two thirds of the book is broken down into modes of transport, or types of adventure—travel by bicycle, by foot, by watercraft, etc.

What could the other two parts that comprise this book be, you may now be thinking to yourself, since I’ve obviously covered the entire length of the thing from front to back. Well, Grand Adventures is also arranged in such a way that each of the subsections are broken down into two formats. Each is introduced by Al and his thoughts on the matter at hand, and then, and here’s the real genius of the book, supplemented by the thoughts and anecdotes of certain people, average human being and Grand Adventurer alike, he questioned who have gone off on these adventures themselves. I almost don’t want to say “supplemented by” because these stories and bits of advice from others make up the bulk of the book. They’re also the bits that when you read you can’t help but be grabbed by the guts with the desire to immediately fling everything, all previous engagements and responsibilities aside, and run out the door prepared or not. Each section is then neatly concluded by Al summarizing stories and pointing out similarities, differences, and unique points of view between them. It’s a neat little bow on a tidy package full of gifts of inspiration and motivation.

If you’ve never rowed across an ocean before (and I’m pretty sure that accounts for about 99.99999 percent of the population of the world) you might find yourself wanting to. If you’ve never gone on an (ant)arctic journey before, maybe that now sounds exciting and possible. If you’ve never walked farther than from your front door to the nearest bar, then perhaps walking across your country of residence (or any country for that matter) sounds like it might be up your alley. Of course, maybe you think it might be better to row across a smaller body of water than an ocean, to start with, or maybe make a visit to southern Greenland rather than attempt to trek around the arctic, or pick a shorter distance to walk than across a continent or country (unless your country is small, unlike the United States), although, the wonderful thing about walking (or cycling) is that you don’t need any more experience in doing it than you already probably have.

There are no lengthy kit lists here, just a very simple one covering some of the basics. That’s not the point of the book anyway, which is mainly to convince and inspire, and this it does exceedingly well. If you as a prospective adventurer are set on going on a particular adventure, the web contains vast surpluses of information for recommending specifics in terms of kit (along with the lengthy debates that often accompany them).

The photography in the book is, on the whole, excellent. At its worst it’s bland and prosaic, but does still cover its most basic function of describing or detailing further  a particular story. The great bulk of photographs though are far and away better than this, many of them being jaw-droppingly gorgeous, particularly the two-page full bleed spreads (I’m thinking of a particular image of Iceland right now). These images not only enliven particular vignettes, but also make one envious of the subject in the  photograph, or of the photographer himself, and oftentimes both, while additionally, and perhaps most importantly, evoking a wide array of feelings, from daring and desolation, to danger, but also quietude, peace, joy, and fun. Above all though, they inspire adventure.

To wrap this all up I think I’ll repeat what I began with in my opening paragraph. And maybe add a few bits. If you’ve ever at any time in your life thought about going on an adventure, big or small, you should own this book. But even if the thought has never crossed your mind to go on an adventure, you should own this book; it’s likely that you need one but just don’t realize it. Perhaps you’re feeling life’s gotten a bit dull, lost a bit of its sheen, is too predictable or repetitive, but you can’t quite pinpoint why this might be. There’s this itch you have, but you can’t quite figure out how to scratch it. All this is pointing to one thing: you’re desperately in need of an adventure. But you didn’t know this because you either don’t know someone who’s been on an adventure, or you haven’t read a blog or a story by someone who’s gone off on an adventure. In short, you haven’t been exposed to the adventuring world. But no worries. Now you know. And with this book you can get to thinking, pondering, picking, and planning. This book will be your constant companion, at least until you leave, because by that point you will be no longer be in need of it. But, while you’re planning, or just pondering an adventure, or even after you’ve returned from one, you will always go back to this book, for it is filled with the seeds of your own personal journeys that you’ve finally discovered you so badly need.