Free Wheeling Fem
An ongonig blog about cycling, the environment, and the human spirit. Join me on my adventure!
Friday, May 20, 2022
Monday, January 10, 2022
Self-Doubt and the challenge of adventure travel.
Self-Doubt and the challenge of adventure travel.
It’s 2:30 in the morning. I am awakened by a breath stifling pang of anxiety. “Are we going to do this?” This is the question that I often ask myself right before I embark on one of my long ambling bike rides.
Part of the problem is that I’m a terrible planner. I get an idea about a place I want to ride and go. I have significant ADHD. This is why I became a guide and adventure traveler in the first place. No desks and clocks to punch. I cannot sit still. This is not metaphor. I cannot hold my seat for more than about 30 minutes at a time. It caused problems in school and work. I’ve tried to plan rides and logistics, but it gets so garbled. I much prefer to amble anyway. Keeping to an itinerary can be stressful.
I wanted to write about getting past the hurdle of “self-doubt”. It is pervasive. Looking over the guidelines for Adventure She magazine is anxiety provoking.
My friends tell me I should write a book about my experiences when I start telling stories. I’ll try to complete an intriguing and coherent article first.
I am also in recovery from drugs and alcohol. It’s been twenty-eight years since I’ve had alcohol or any other mind-altering substances. I follow a Twelve Step model. I’m not here to extol the virtues of one model over another. This is what has worked for me.
I mentioned writing this article for She to my AA sponsor. Her response was, “How interesting that you are calling it ‘Self-doubt’.” Emphasis on, “self”.
The model of recovery that I follow believes that "self" is part of our problem. When we get out of self (or ego), we have a much better time of it. A loving benevolent power of the universe is the one who has ultimate say in what we do. Some folks call it God. Makes it easy and there are fewer keystrokes needed to describe who and what I’m talking about. This God or "higher power" helps us in everything we do.
For us, God is omnipotent. This belief is not only about not taking a drink of alcohol or using drugs. It’s about how we live day to day. That this “God” has ultimate control. This can be a very hard "pill" to swallow for some folks. Pun intended.
This does NOT in any way mean that this so-called God pedals my bicycle for me. It/she/he/non-binary/ does not control the weather or even make decisions for me.
This also does not mean that I am absolved of any wrong doing on my part if things go south. Nor do I haphazardly step into something without first considering all the consequences.
Especially, in my professional life as a guide and mentor. It is also erroneous to believe that life is pre-determined. Where I end up is not set in stone or whatever it is they write on in God’s universe. Or is it? I don’t know. It's possible that I DO end up in a pre-determined reality. How I get there is my responsibility. It means that I do all that I can to make good decisions and let go of the outcome. God is also NOT a puppet master. I understand and believe this all to be true.
And still. There is an annoying voice in my head that I call, “K-F*CK radio. It plays all day long. It questions my decisions. It is suspicious of my validity as an adventure traveler, an athlete my competence as a guide.
When it comes to bicycle travel, I find the first pedal stroke can be the most difficult. One might think it would be the pedal stroke that pushes me over the seventy- or eighty-mile mark for that day. It isn’t. There can be a whole lot of inertia that gets in the way of that first turning of the pedal. This inertia resides in my head. It’s an unformed thought. It’s the radio DJ from the radio station attempting to thwart my success by stopping me before I even get started. There is also the physicality of the anxiety. It’s like butterflies on crack flying around in my gut. It can be paralyzing. Is that fear?
I’ve pushed past these moments of doubt. I turn my attention to whatever this God thing is and go. It helps to make a commitment. In retrospect, it looks like, “closing my eyes” and taking a leap of faith. I was a telemark skier for a long time. I got into telemark because that’s what I believed the cool kids were doing. My decision to learn was motivated by an outside source. We call that, “extrinsically” motivated. Didn't make it less valid for me as a past time but I wanted to be, “cool”. Turned out I was good at it. It changed my life. I learned that I had grace, was a real athlete. Western Culture tells us if we're not winning medals or breaking records, we are not real athletes. I wrote my master’s thesis on Telemark skiing. There is so much going on in the brain and body. So many new neuro-pathways being established. It would be impossible for it to NOT alter someone. Some folks might take it for granted. I sure don't. There is a sharp learning curve. I fell A LOT those first days. But I learned to commit to each turn. It's a very assertive skiing technique. To execute graceful and effective turns I HAD to commit to the fall line. I averaged about 80 ski days a year for about nine years. My friends and I used to joke about how to ski the steep scary stuff. “Close your eyes and point ‘em downhill.”
I became aware of the efficacy of commitment in dealing with fear when I was learning to lead climb.
Being on the sharp end of the rope feels daunting and a little terrifying. It is also empowering. There is a split second of doubt when it feels like I am stepping out into space with nothing to grab. As human beings we are at our core, animals. Our brains are hard wired to keep us alive. And gravity keeps us rooted. Going against this is counter to our basic animal instinct. Stepping out into space is the moment when I must commit to the move or risk a fall. There is no holding back.
The psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
writes about the psychology of, Flow States. I have a rudimentary understanding of this concept. It is when everything else disappears in that one moment and one is focused on the task at hand. He refers to it as, “flow states”. The fear is still present. But the doubt vanishes. The skill necessary is NOT equal to one’s level of competence. In the parlance of Adventure Therapy, it’s called the Adventure Experience Paradigm. It has a lot to do with neurobiology. Of course, getting too far out in the paradigm can cause disaster. In the case of lead climbing, letting go of THE IDEA of failure is success. Then I am reaching into space for an impossible hold. I put my fingers and toes on a tiny crystal. I am rooted to the rock. It is a profound feeling. It is difficult to describe to those who have not experienced it. In the next split second, I am clipping my rope into the bolt hanger at my waist. Is it a sense of safety, success, endorphins, all the above? But I am now six or eight or ten feet above my last bolt. I don’t climb much anymore. But the same holds true for my many different endeavors.
I stepped into guiding as a career in my early thirties. After 14 years in dead end jobs, I found myself in the Outdoor Industry.
This is where self-doubt began to REALLY show up. “Who was I to be out there leading ANYONE?”
My first gig as a guide was for a small Mom and Pop operation in south-east Utah. The course area was large and remote. It was all contiguous. We followed the seasons. We hiked from high country in summer to lower elevations in winter. We did not transport in vehicles. In all my years as a guide, it is still my favorite.
My shifts were 42 days long with weekly resupplies of food and essentials. We met with Field support staff and planned our next week’s itinerary right on the trail. We hiked from water source to water source.
Our field manual of policies and procedures was only 20 or so pages. Protocols for whatever disaster might befall us. The industry has changed over the years. These manuals are now a hundred pages or more.
It is impossible to plan for every variable. Lots can go wrong. But for me it has not. A tribute to my skill, plain dumb luck or a little of both?
Understanding the difference between hazards and risk is helpful.
Hazards are objective. Meaning we cannot control them at all.
Examples are lightening, rock fall, wildlife etc. RISK is how to manage the outcome of the exposure to that hazard.
I encountered lightening once that terrified me. I was in Wyoming working as an Outward-Bound Instructor one summer. We were in the Bear Tooth Mountains High up on a ridge. A weather front moved in seemingly out of the blue and quite fast. It caught us off guard.
Summer storms usually build over the course of the day and are most often seen in the afternoon. If climbing a peak, we need to be heading OFF the peak by noon. Afternoon thunderstorms are common in the Rockies. On this day we missed the mark. The descent took longer than expected. Getting caught in a high-altitude storm can be terrifying and dangerous. It happens. We can mitigate the consequences with good decisions based on all available information. Experience and research are useful. Inanimate objects can have predictable behavior. Lightning is a good example.
Rock fall, avalanches, wildlife, water features all have their own patterns. We cannot predict ANYTHING one hundred percent. We can make good decisions based on all the possible information we can garner. I am always observing my surroundings and watching for change in conditions. This can keep us “safer”.
I know this and yet, there is still a niggling voice in the back of my mind. As though there was this other person present inside my head saying, “You sure about this? You are the lead here if this goes south it’s on you.”
There are volumes on catastrophes and disasters in the outdoors. There is also a constant feedback loop. Every decision leads to the next and so on.
In debriefing every catastrophic event, usually involving the death of a participant there is a common denominator. A series of bad decisions. It is not usually one thing that goes wrong.
Doubt. Is it fear, lack of confidence? It’s in the same category. A manifestation of fear? I’m not sure.
I am always questioning my decisions. This is where belief in God is helpful for me. Trusting that whatever the consequences of my decisions are, I won’t go through it alone. This is both liberating AND disconcerting at the same time.
It's liberating because I know I cannot control everything. So, I don't have to try. A little bit of common sense and experience goes a long way. BUT setting off on some adventure without SOME training and preparation is a bad idea.
First principle of “Leave No Trace” is Plan ahead and prepare.
How has self-doubt played into choices and decisions I’ve made in my own travels? How did I arrive at those decisions and how have they altered the course of my life?
When has self-doubt saved me and when did it hinder me?
For example. I was beginning to doubt the decision I made to cycle from Lima, Peru to Bogota, Columbia. Getting out of Lima on a bicycle was daunting. I found a route out of the city that looked like it took in small surface streets. I left at three o’clock in the morning to avoid Lima’s famous gridlock. I tried following a route on my phone to no avail. I kept the ocean to my left to navigate as long as I could. BUT it took me through the province of Callao. Next to Lima, Callao is Peru’s largest port of entry. It’s a sea-side city replete with a beautiful historic district. As the city has grown away from the sea, it has become a center of heavy industry. It is a major shipping port and the location of Lima’s International Airport. It’s very busy and parts are very poor.
Forced away from the water by fences I had to cycle a few miles around the airport. There were entire neighborhoods of incomplete brick houses. I navigated convoluted streets, piles of rubble and empty lots strewn with trash. They say crime is rampant. By 6:00 AM the streets were filling up with people going to work and women pushing heavy carts with hot food and coffee. I stopped to eat at one such stand. People were very polite. If there were criminals with nefarious intent, I didn’t encounter any. Perhaps they thought me nuts to be doing what I was doing and left me to it. It took hours to get out of the city. There were suburbs and more suburbs and more suburbs. Finally, out of the city, I found a small fishing village and a place to stay that first night. The people were lovely. The coast of Peru is NOT very inviting. The water is very rough, the beaches rocky. Was I nuts? Am I a little naïve, too trusting? Am I lucky? DOES. IT. MATTER? Was God present “protecting” me? Or was I paying attention to my intuition?
Over the course of the next 10 days or so, I cycled as far as Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca in Peru. Not very far as the crow flies but cycling from the coast up into the mountains took days… More days than I had counted on. In every village and town, I stopped in along the ocean, I heard similar things from locals. “What, you are a woman cycling alone?! Are you afraid!? How were you not robbed in the last town?!” “Cuidate!”, (Be careful) they said.
“There are murderers in the next town.” And on it went.
I never encountered any murderers. But the anxiety began to weigh on me. I was too stubborn to turn back.
Fear and doubt ruled by the time I arrived in Huaraz. I found an inexpensive and decent hostel to stay in while I considered my options. I found out that a Brazilian woman who was cycling solo had disappeared somewhere on the border. I was also following the news in Ecuador. The government was becoming more unstable, the economy in shambles. I stayed in Huaraz about two weeks. I was able to take a few side trips by bus to outlying areas to visit Inca ruins and villages.
In the end I could not assuage my anxiety enough to cycle solo through Ecuador.
I ended up on a bus back to Lima and flew back to the US.
Did my doubts win out or my common sense?
I continue traveling to many far-flung regions of the world on my bicycle. There is not much that can stop me. Covid put a damper on things and the dog I adopted in India keeps me closer to home these days.
I don’t know if I will ever be free of “doubt” about my abilities. There is a delicate balance between “Doubt” and pushing the envelope. When Luke Skywalker was doubting his ability to raise the ship from the swamp, he kept “trying” to no avail. The Great Philosopher Yoda said, “Do or do not. There is no ‘try’.” If I don’t at least move forward with the first pedal stroke, I’ll never know.
Wednesday, November 10, 2021
Benediction
How many people have used that title to describe rain in the desert?
I recently had the opportunity to meander across a section of the Utah desert. God, I love it there! I drove this time. I retraced in reverse a ride I took on my bike a few years ago. I rode my bicycle across some of the most remote, barren, and spectacular scenery I’ve seen anywhere in the world. The best part is from Blanding, Utah across to Hite Cove and across the river to Hanksville, Utah.
I stopped and camped on the rim of White Canyon. Carved from Cedar Mesa sandstone, White Canyon comes out of the foothills of the Abajo Mountains. It meanders its way through about 45 miles of sage brush and Pinyon Juniper forest emptying into Lake Powell. There are miles of side canyons and drainages that feed it.
Looking south I could see towering red cliffs of Wingate Mesa. It rained all night. A soft gentle patter on the roof of my camper. My camper is a Ford Escape. I removed the back seats so I can lay flat on the custom 3/8-inch plywood I cut for it. It’s long enough for my 5 feet four-inch frame. If the weather is bad, I can sit up and make hot coffee with the window cracked.
In the morning I walked out on an apron of slick rock about 50 feet above the canyon floor. The potholes were full of water, and it looked like water had run through the canyon in the evening. A rare occurrence indeed. Not sure if it's true but there is a theory about potholes water. Since it gets blasted by UV rays by the sun, the water can be safe to drink. I lay down prone on the sandstone and allowed my animal nature to drink right from a large but shallow pothole. It had the metallic taste that rainwater often has. It tasted like the desert.
I reflected in those moments that I had been there before. Several times in fact. I thought back to the days when I worked as a guide. This was part of our course area. Over the course of months and driven by the seasons, we walked. Much like the Ancient ones must have done. From the high country in summer to the low slick rock country near the lake. From the back side of Monticello across the entirety of what is now the Bears Ears National Monument. Crossing canyons, washes, and mesas. Around buttes and into the featureless landscapes of what we called, “Blow sand world”.
Arriving somewhere above White Canyon, we drank from its potholes. Deep within the canyon were long standing deep pools of water. I found more than one stone age tool along the way as we made our way up and over the towering red cliffs of Wingate Mesa. They once mined uranium ore in that area, and we would hike among the remnants of rusted mining equipment. The ground was strewn with yellowish rocks of ore. Wasn’t the safest thing to do but nobody told us otherwise. On we went. Down near where the confluence of two of the biggest rivers in the Southwest come together. The southern terminus of the course area. That was years ago now. My feet can no longer manage the kind of mileage we put in while carrying everything on our backs.
But I remember:
If one can be still long enough in that place, there will come the benediction of time.
As I drank from a pothole this morning, I drew a spiral on my forehead in blessing. I thought about the people I knew in that place all that time ago. A couple of the students I worked with and a few of the guides as well. Where are they now? Has the walking across this landscape altered the course of their life as it did mine? I know at least one of those students died. She was twenty-one years old and left behind a three-year old. I remembered her name and I said it out loud. They found her in an alley in Salt Lake City dead from a drug overdose.
So, what have I done since then? I continued wandering in the desert. My travels took me to the ends of the Earth. And I cannot get enough of it. This wandering. There will come a reckoning I suppose. I never have been able to make any money to speak of. My peers and the rest of the world moves on toward, “financial stability and some future in retirement.” I am still. I am kneeling at a pothole in the desert drinking rainwater.
Wednesday, December 2, 2020
Saturday, August 22, 2020
What Prarie Dogs Might Teach US
What Prairie Dogs Might Teach Us
There is a colony of prairie dogs in the lot next to where I work. Sometimes when it’s slow in the office, I go outside and watch them from the night entrance of the building. It’s a door which is around the back of the complex. The prairie dogs’ antics are quite entertaining. As much fun as they are to watch they are also a vital feature in the landscape of the American South West. Much maligned by ranchers and developers alike, they serve a vital purpose. They forage and clip vegetation to maintain their habitats. This affects the plant species composition leading to more diversity of plant communities. The prairie dogs' constant excavations encourages penetration and retention of moisture.
They contribute to the mixing of subsoil and topsoil while redistributing minerals and nutrients. (NPS).
I work at the local Detox unit. My work consists of monitoring clients who have been picked up by the police or are coming from the emergency room because they are intoxicated. Some are detoxing from smoking or ingesting unhealthy amounts of illicit drugs. We keep track of their vitals and wellbeing until they are healthy enough to return to wherever they came from. Many of them are chronically unhoused and addicted. Some are regulars here. It’s safe, secure, they can clean up (we often do their laundry or provide clean clothes). We provide food, water, juices, healthy snacks. Some of our clients show up after days or weeks on meth and have not eaten in days. We can help with finding treatment programs if they are interested or refer to local Twelve Step meetings if they decide that they have had enough. Those who decide to seek treatment are the exception not the rule. Our unit shares the building with our local Acute Treatment Unit for those experiencing psychiatric or psychological emergencies.
My immediate supervisor is a friend of many years. We know each other from the recovery community. I am in recovery myself from years of alcohol abuse and drug addiction. We both think of ourselves as committed to service.
Our conversations often turn to drug and alcohol treatment. In this neck of the woods there isn't much. 12 step meetings and ineffective outpatient programs is about it. "Bill" (not his real name), points out the window to the empty lot next to our building where the prairie dogs live and says, "That's where we are going to build our treatment facility".
I smile and nod. A bulldozer and what I call, "other weapons of mass destruction" would wipe out my little colony in a matter of minutes.
In my years of working with addicts and alcoholics, there is often a common thread in all the stories I hear. It’s often a life of hopelessness and despair. People talk of feeling like they don’t belong, have no stake or ownership in the greater community in which they live. Outcasts, they exist in the margins.
When I had been clean and sober for about six years, I knew I wanted to find meaningful employment. Not that what I was doing wasn’t. I lived in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada of Central California. I worked as a landscape laborer and became an irrigation specialist. In my spare time, I drove my little truck up to the high country and cut firewood in the forest. I sold it for extra cash. I also re-discovered my love for the outdoors. It only took a few hours to fill my little pick up with fire wood. I spent the rest of the day wandering the woods with my dog, Buddy.
After completing a NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) course in Alaska I went to work in Wilderness Therapy. I started as a guide working in remote parts of southern Utah. Eventually, I went to graduate school and became a clinician. The “Students” as we call them, who attend these programs are mostly adolescents and young adults. Some research suggests that Wilderness is a more beneficial and effective form of treatment than in-patient clinical treatment for a host of behavioral and other mental health issues.
Nature is both harsh at times and beautiful. Our students are pulled from their dysfunctional routines at home. They are separated from family, friends and their devices. Life becomes very simple and ordered by the rhythms of nature. Many of my students report that after spending 6-9 weeks out in the bush, they feel a sense of well-being they did not experience before coming to a program. They gain wisdom about how nature reveals and balances itself. They learn about self-efficacy and emotional regulation. They learn that nature is a perfect mirror for healthy and un-healthy behavior.
When their time comes to leave the program, many express reluctance to return to “normal” life. Huge public schools and shopping malls. They say that “normal” is stressful, overwhelming. Most of these kids come from large urban or sub-urban areas. Their only open space is the local ball field. Their access to nature consists of artificial lawns or athletic fields manicured and sprayed with enough toxic chemicals to drown a battle ship. Not a single prairie dog anywhere. My students often express anxiety with the thought of returning home. More stressed than they had when they first arrived in the bush. There is good reason for this. Research suggests that our disconnect from nature is taking a toll on the human psyche.
Here is what I wish my boss and his superiors would understand. Indeed, the western model of mental health treatment in totality needs to recognize that it would be counter productive to bulldoze my little colony of prairie dogs for a building. A structure that further separates people from wind and sky. How do I explain that? Sitting inside a room under fluorescent lights with windows that don’t open is part of the problem. Our detox unit is lit with artificial lighting. There is one large screen television, 210 DVDs and a few windows that don’t open. I work three –ten hour shifts and that’s about all I can stand. We call our office, “the fishbowl”. We have windows on three sides that look out in to the milieu and to the doorways leading to the dormitories and bathrooms. We have Closed Circuit TV that monitors the dorms, hallways, entry ways and parking area. I don’t see the sun when I am at work unless I leave my post and step outside for a few minutes.
There is a whole health complex and hospital across the street from this building. It’s less than ten years old and considered, "state of the art". It’s a modern hospital with all the amenities. It stands on land that once belonged to the Southern Ute Indian Tribe. The building itself sits in the middle of what used to be prime elk winter calving grounds and later became pasture for grazing cattle. Now, these meadows and pastures are surrounded by miles of pavement and there is a subdivision with an array of residences. The remaining pasture is currently up for sale and will eventually become an ugly sub-division.
The other day, I left the fishbowl and walked over to the backside of the hospital. There is a little contemplative garden and a “healing” labyrinth. Seems the labyrinth and garden design was “squeezed” in at the last minute. It's not easy to get to from the main part of the hospital. It's a long walk with no direct path or walkway. One has to navigate through a maze of various parking lots and zig zag the occasional sidewalk. Wouldn't be easy for someone in a wheelchair. The garden sits next to the ass end of the hospital where the generator, and heating and cooling units are. There is an artificial waterfall which is a nice touch. Research also suggests the calming effect of being near running water. The water fall is very difficult to hear over the din of whatever machinery is belching exhaust on the roof top.
I was there a day or two ago. It was a slow Sunday at the detox. I walked the labyrinth with the machinery as the background noise of my meditation. It's loud. I try to convince myself it's the sound of the river nearby. I did hear a little song bird above the din. I looked up into the canopy of the trees planted neatly in straight lines and saw a finch of some kind. And then it dawned on me. The hospital, the ATU, Detox, all of it! Everything designed and built to keep us healthy is the very thing making and keeping us sick. Some might argue this is by design. But that is for another blog post.
The irony of sitting at a computer staring into a screen writing this is not lost on me. In my mind, there is a much deeper significance to the existence of a small colony of rodents. Aside from the importance for the ecology but more difficult to articulate is that their very presence right where they are is profound. Obviously, my experience of them is subjective and personal. The prairie dogs signify resilience and survival. Humanity is NOT the all important apex species it thinks it is. Destroying the colony for a building that is supposed to heal our damaged psyche perpetuates the problem. It only serves to illuminate our warped perspective on health. It magnifies our dependence on an artificial lifestyle and economy.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Covid 19 As Rite of Passage
Covid-19 and Social Isolation as Rite of Passage
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Staying Safe While Traveling Solo
Sign in the market in Antigua. Basically telling thieves that shop owners don't wait for the police to arrive. |