Preparing for a Big Road Trip

 12/14/22 - Life has never been better. 

I've lived in Bishop for more than two years now. It seems that I've landed in a place that suits me perfectly. I have no desire to be anywhere else anytime soon. I feel gratitude every single day for my situation. With world-class outdoor activities just outside of my front door, I live in a place people come from all over the world to visit for a vacation. The peaks of the Eastern Sierra and the White Mountains still tower over the Owens Valley. I try to walk outside early enough to see the sunrise each day and marvel at what's just outside of my house. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever get used to living here. 

My self-confidence has skyrocketed this year due to a combination of several things. Paying off the student loan was instrumental. It was a huge goal and I attacked it aggressively and consistently. I love my new apartment, its huge patio and grassy front yard. I did a fair amount of hiking over the summer and attempted some truly difficult hikes such as Gable Lakes, Bishop Pass, North Fork Big Pine Creek and Clouds Rest. I attempted hard shit all year, stuck with my plans and accomplished goals. I've impressed myself on multiple occasions. 

I finally understand why my parents love Yosemite National Park so much and why they consistently spend weekends there and hike there so much. They used to drag me to Yosemite in my childhood and teen years, but it was a chore to spend a whole day several hours away from home. I'm now 32 years old. I get a rush of excitement each time I pass through the eastern or western gate into the park. Yosemite is a wonderland. It's paradise, to such a degree that I pinch myself that I live close enough to visit several times a year. Some people will never visit Yosemite. Others will only get one chance to see the splendors of the Sierra. 

This year I hiked Clouds Rest, Glenn Aulin, Lembert Dome, Upper Cathedral Lake, Dog Lake, and ventured into Yosemite Valley for a short visit, all in the summer. I've seen a lot of the park, but it's still a tiny fraction of all Yosemite has to offer. 

I haven't done much traveling outside of eastern California, but I did fly to Alabama and Georgia for a long weekend to visit an old friend. I also spent a lot of time this year daydreaming about traveling to certain places within the United States, like Glacier National Park, Badlands National Park, Arches National Park, Vermillion Cliffs National Monument, or outside the states, like Uluru in Australia. One of my daydreams was to hike to The Wave, a red-orange sandstone geological feature on the north side of Vermillion Cliffs, near the Utah border. To do this hike, one much enter a lottery through the Bureau of Land Management for a chance to win a permit. For some people, this process takes years. For me, it only took about three months, perhaps because I accidentally applied for Friday, January 13 as one of the days I wanted to hike, among two others. 

I was supposed to learn of the results of my entry on October 1, the same day I hiked Clouds Rest with mom and dad. That epic endeavor, combined with our campsite on the west side of the park, put us out of cell range, so I did not have access to my email. On Sunday morning after waving goodbye to the parents, I decided to make a visit to Yosemite Valley. On the way down there, I noticed that my phone had weak cell reception, so I decided to check my email. In the brief moment when I did have cell reception, one word appeared that sent an electric shock through my body. 

"Congratulations!"

I screamed inside my car. I had actually won a permit to hike to The Wave! This meant I would be able to embark on one of my fantasy road trips through Utah and Arizona! 

Entering Yosemite Valley and being dwarfed by its towering granite cliffs usually makes me burst out in laughter. Along with the news that I would soon see an incredible geological feature, I felt as if I had drank an entire pot of coffee. I was high on life. 

Fast forward a couple of months. The road trip will happen about three weeks from now. I have this feeling in the back of my mind and my gut that this adventure will be one of the greatest things I will have done in my life. I have two weeks off from work, so that will give me plenty of time to enjoy the road. The first week is taking shape. My first major stop will be Valley of Fire State Park, just outside of Las Vegas, NV. From there, I'll head to Page, AZ where I'll join a tour of Upper Antelope Canyon, a world famous slot canyon. After the tour concludes, I'll drive to Monument Valley within the Navajo Nation, where I intend to watch a sunrise and sunset in that stunning landscape. After I get my fill there, I'll head to Kanab, UT and then eventually The Wave. 

After seeing The Wave, the road trip is wide open. All I have is a list of places to see: Canyonlands National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, Arches National Park, Dead Horse Point State Park, Goblin Valley State Park, Hanksville, Utah State Route 12, and whatever else catches my eye. This will be a photography road trip. I expect to take thousands of photos and see awesome shit with my own eyes, things I've only ever seen in books or on the Internet. 

12/31/22 - I've begun watching weather reports for southern Utah and northern Arizona. The only thing in the forecast is partly cloudy days with highs in the 40s. In the week leading up to my hike to The Wave, there is only partly cloudy forecasts. This means there won't be much snow on the ground, if any, during my drive in and the hike. I can definitely imagine ice on the trail though. 

However, I think I'll still rent a Jeep in Kanab, UT to help me get to the Wire Pass trailhead. That dirt road off Utah State Route 89 is about 10 miles long and from what I hear, can be quite messy in wet weather. In dry conditions, I could possibly navigate it in my car; I don't want to take that chance. It is recommended to take a high-clearance vehicle on that road at the very least. The Jeep will guarantee that I reach my destination. 

I'm ready for the road trip. I'm prepared. I know the hiking route I want to take. I'll have warm clothes to help me stay out there all day. Plenty of food and water. Of course, I'll take the camera. 

Time to see some amazing things with my own eyes and feel joy and wonder.

The Return to Portland and Chasing Waterfalls

 5/1 - After the excitement of a weekend in Southern California roaring around the desert with a motorcycle club, it's nice to have a weekend in which you do nothing. 

I have barely left the apartment this weekend. I love it. 

It's a break right before a busy four-day workweek. It's also a break before my next adventure. 

For my next trip, I'll visit Portland, Oregon! My last trek to Portland was in 2019 when I spent a weekend in the city and stayed in a hostel in midtown. I enjoyed wandering around downtown on foot with my camera and getting a taste of a new place.

This time, a friend will host me and pick me up from the airport. 

5/6 - Greetings from Portland. I drove 200 miles to Reno from Bishop and then flew to Portland from Reno. The Reno airport was strange because it was quiet; not many people were traveling early on Friday. I emerged from security oddly quickly. The TSA did not ask me to remove anything from my backpack, such as the laptop. That was weird to experience so little hassle while at an airport.

The journey to Portland was quick and painless. But here I am.

I was unprepared by how utterly, vibrantly, shockingly green it is in Portland. I’ve arrived in the middle of a springtime explosion of flowers. It’s wet and soggy from heavy downpours. I’ve seen a rainbow already. It has been a bit of a shock to the system, coming from a dry climate in the high desert where I’m used to seeing more subtle colors in the landscape; coming to Portland has felt a bit like having the lights turned on after my eyes adjusted to darkness.

Portland has been in the news over the past few years for violent protests in the streets. The National Guard came to the city in an effort to diffuse these protests I’ve come to a city with large homeless camps, expensive costs of living and heavy traffic. I learned yesterday that the city has a shortage of 1,000 police officers. You really have to watch yourself on the roadways because certain drivers know they can get away with driving recklessly. The city has its issues.

But my goodness is it colorful!

5/7 - During that road trip in Europe all those years ago, near the town of Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland in the Alps, I was mesmerized by the number of waterfalls crashing over the cliffs in that valley. I had never seen so many waterfalls in one area before; it was like wandering into a dream. That was a wonderful 12 hours spent in the most glorious, mountainous landscape that was so big that it felt fake. 

Until today. 

A friend drove me through the Columbia River Gorge along Interstate 84, about 25 miles east of Portland. It was cloudy, soggy and chilly, but the weather didn’t subtract from the experience. This gorge, carved by floods thousands of years ago and formed with basalt rock, is home to some 80 waterfalls that empty into the Columbia River which marks the border between Oregon and Washington.

Some of the cliffs feature basalt columns like what you see at Columns of the Giants or Devil's Postpile in California. Although, Devil’s Postpile is perfect and an example of highly specific conditions for how lava cools and forms those flawless hexagonal shapes. The cliffs in the Columbia River Gorge aren’t as pristine as Devil’s Postpile, but they’re steep and impressive, and most of them feature waterfalls of various shapes and sizes. The falls range from gentle, thin trickles to powerful deluges that sound like jet engines mixed with thunder, or a noisy roller coaster.

One of these was Multnomah Falls, a world-famous, nearly 700-foot, two-tiered waterfall. I had only ever seen this waterfall in photos before and like with all things humungous, pictures do not do it justice. Like the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park, the Eiffel Tower or Mt. Denali, pictures somehow diminish the size of the waterfall.

The power of Multnomah is immense. You can see it. You can hear it. You can feel it. The footpath and bridge are close enough that the spray from the bottom will soak you, like a water ride at an amusement park. Signs along the path warn visitors to stay alert for falling debris such as rock; they tell stories of a wedding in 1995 that was interrupted when a boulder the size of a bus broke off from the cliff and fell into the pool, creating a wave of water that knocked the wedding party off of its feet.

It’s a setting buzzing with the awesome power generated by Mother Nature herself.

During my time at Multnomah Falls, I was lucky enough to see the sun peak out from behind the clouds. Its light pierced the mist surrounding the waterfall and lit up the lower falls. I felt like the water began to sparkle with diamonds. I began to wonder if this was real. We only glimpse settings this dreamlike in films. As I went through the photos afterwards, I laughed. You can probably understand why:

Other waterfalls in the area aren’t as large, but they are no less pleasing. Latourrel Falls was the first my friend and I stumbled upon. This 249-foot tall waterfall sits in a setting that’s suspiciously perfect in every way. The landscape around it frames it well. The water crashes down an overhanging cliff made of basalt columns tinged with green from moss. The footpath leads to a small bridge crossing Latourrel Creek. My friend and I had this spot to ourselves and I laughed hysterically as I attempted to keep my camera lens dry long enough to get a quality photo. It was one of those magical moments one experiences only occasionally, resulting in an endorphin spike.

Another large waterfall was Horsetail Falls. The old Columbia River Highway runs so close to this beast that the spray reaches traffic. If you need a car wash, this is a good place to visit. On the bridge, the concrete rails closest to the water are coated in green moss, creating an interesting foreground for photos. Just keep an eye out for oncoming traffic.

I felt joy during this adventure in the Columbia River Gorge, like I was a kid again. Multiple times I loudly exclaimed at the sight of another waterfall, basalt rock wall or cliff side.

“Whoa!”

Most of all, I felt gratitude for having had the opportunity to see this part of Oregon with my own eyes.

Riding with a Southern California motorcycle club

 4/15 - Let's get back to basics. 

This blog was originally a way for me to document my own travels and adventures. Over the past few years, however, I've gone away from that and wrote about stuff like debt repayment. I want to go back to writing about my travels now that I'm debt free again. 

I've done my share of travel since moving to Bishop. I went to Alaska in September 2021 and rode a train to Denali National Park where I was lucky enough to see Mt. Denali, the tallest mountain in North America, with my own eyes. Someday I'll return to Alaska to explore it more. 

I've rode motorcycles a few times since my move to Bishop, mostly in the Palm Springs area. I've also explored Joshua Tree National Park on those occasions. 

But this entry will be about my most recent motorcycle adventure. Once again I'll head to Palm Springs to ride with some friends in a group. Like last year, my horse will be a Harley Davidson, a machine that will be lent to me by one guy in the group. And like last year, I'll be fortunate enough to spend a night in perhaps the most luxurious bedroom I've ever had the pleasure to use. 

This time, we'll go on an overnight trip to a small town in the mountains of San Diego County: Julian. This town is known for its apple pie. Our group, whose leader is a friend of mine and the guy who invited me to join, will head south on the eastern shore of the Salton Sea, California's largest lake, and head west through Anza Borrego State Park, home to massive dinosaurs and scorpions, all the while navigating a maze of little used county roads and a mixture of tasty state highways.

4/24 - Back to the most elegant home I’ve ever stepped foot in, and one more opportunity to sleep in a comfortable bed in a spacious, modern room I would never be able to afford myself, I found myself back in Palm Springs for another motorcycle ride. This time, however, I was prepared to step foot inside this home; last year I was genuinely shocked. I had found myself wondering what the hell I had done to deserve such an awesome opportunity. I ended up talking to a therapist about this issue. 

But I digress. 

My horse for this trip was a blue Yamaha V-Star 950cc, a standard/cruising style of motorcycle. Our ultimate destination was Julian, a small town in the mountains of San Diego County with a history of gold mining and a reputation for quality, buttery, flaky apple pie. It was my first time riding in more than a year and as I write this, my body is reminding me that I’m not in riding shape. I ended up riding in a group with nine other bikers, something I hadn't done before. The biggest group I had ridden with before this adventure was two other bikers. The group consisted of members of a Southern California motorcycle club, most of whom I had never met before. 

With a low center of gravity and lighter weight than the 2018 Harley Davidson Fatboy 1800cc I rode last year, I adapted to the V-Star  quicker. Although, it still took me a few miles to knock the riding rust off. This included a near wreck, as I fishtailed in response to the leader unexpectedly slamming on his breaks for a yellow light at an intersection. Fortunately, I stayed upright, but not without a spike of adrenaline. Some of the guys complimented me afterwards for keeping the bike upright. 

We headed east through the Coachella Valley, away from the final hours of the Coachella Music Festival and between the fields of agriculture so oddly placed in such an arid, desert climate. We turned south along the eastern shore of the Salton Sea, California’s largest lake but also an environmental disaster. I had visited the Salton Sea once before, but hadn't traveled south beyond Bombay Beach. On this trip, the itinerary called for a visit to Bombay Beach, Salvation Mountain and Slab City, havens for artists or people who wish to live off the grid. In order to live in a dry, desert climate like this, one must be wired just a little bit differently. We took group photos in these areas and continued farther south.

We eventually tore through Anza Borrego State Park on the west side of Salton Sea. Anza Borrego is a geological wonderland, filled with washes and alluvial fans, colorful rock, wildflowers and tall ocotillo plants amongst a landscape that looks as if someone had pushed two ends together and squashed everything together. While riding through California's largest state park and leaning through its meandering Imperial County road in a state of disrepair, I giggled and sang, babbled like a madman and felt euphoria. 

We stopped at a seedy biker bar in Borrego Springs, where the fish tacos were surprisingly good and glasses of water wildly refreshing after getting pounded by the afternoon sun for a few hours. Borrego Springs is a desert oasis on the edge of San Diego County that's completely surrounded by Anza Borrego State Park. One thing that immediately sells Borrego Springs is the presence of numerous metal sculptures of various animals such as horses, camels, tortoise, eagles, dinosaurs and in one case, a dragon that traverses a road.

Here's where the ride became a notch more difficult. Our path was S-22, a San Diego County rode that sharply rises above the Montezuma Valley floor and tightly curves and winds a few thousand feet up the mountainside. Having not ridden for more than a year, my cornering skills were understandably rusty. Picking a quality line to follow took some time to get used to. There was one moment where I leaned too far over and scraped the underside of the footrest on the pavement, sending a shiver through the bike. There was another curve where I went a bit too far wide and came uncomfortably close to a white box truck descending the mountain. 

But, I got the hang of the road eventually and made it up the mountain in one piece. I noticed that on these tight curves on twisty mountain roads, I do not laugh or whoop. I am entirely focused on taking the right line and holding the angle through the turn. This is one reason why motorcycling is physically and mentally exhausting compared to driving a car. You must be entirely present and engaged on exactly what you and your machine are doing. 

The curves of this road relaxed at about 4,000 feet. We emerged onto S-2, a county road with gentle, fast bends through a green valley surrounded by mountains and an access point to the Pacific Crest trail. It was on this road that I felt a smile appear on my face, a sense of calm settle into me, feeling at peace with the world. 

We then roared into Julian's Main Street, where we turned south for a few miles to arrive at our Airbnb, a home in Pine Hills complete with a fireplace, hot tub, wild turkeys and comfortable beds. We had ridden more than 230 miles; I was exhausted. Sleep came easily that evening. 

4/25 - When riding a motorcycle, you have to accept that you’re going to crash the bike at some point. In my eyes, this is an inevitability. I’ve dropped bikes my fair share of times. I’ve dropped them after stalling the engine in the middle of intersections, back when I was a new rider. I’ve dropped rented bikes trying to turn too slowly on slopes. 

But I’ve never been seriously injured after crashing at highway speeds. Back during my time in Porterville, I crashed on a bicycle going 35 mph going downhill and suffered some serious road rash. I spent a week nursing that injury and picking out gravel from my wounds. 

Thankfully, I haven’t had a major motorcycle crash. But on Sunday as we were returning to Palm Springs, weaving through the gentle green hills of State Route 79, we witnessed a serious motorcycle accident. Certain images will probably always be there in my memory now.

A truck pulling a horse trailer was going slower than the speed limit and had built up a line of cars and bikes behind it. The truck had plenty of opportunities to pull over and let traffic pass, but it never did. A lone biker on a black Harley Davidson began passing everyone, including our group of bikers. He attempted to pass the horse trailer right before a curve. A car was coming the opposite direction, so the biker sped up to make the pass. He went into the curve way too quickly and ran off the road.

I remember a cloud of dust and a starfish shape of his body 10 feet in the air. This man flew 20-30 feet from his bike, which exploded in the field. Fortunately, he had crashed in a grassy field on top of soft dirt. I yelled in shock inside my own helmet. Our group pulled over, as did the cars in the line. One man in our group was a retired doctor. Another, a nursing assistant. Several people including myself called 911.

“I need to report a motorcycle accident on State Route 79 at postmile 52.”

While we waited for the ambulance, the leader of our group, the retired MD and a few other people raced to the guy on the ground. The MD, though he didn’t have much training in trauma response because his expertise had been in family practice, collected data from the guy. What’s his name? Can he move his limbs? Any lacerations? Can you breathe? Where’s the pain? What's his heart rate? How does his color look? Is he turning blue? Just focus on breathing.

The guy had trouble breathing. It seemed that it was less painful for him to lay on his right side than on his back. He was groaning in pain.

“Oh no,” he repeated.

Those of us who were not immediately tending to the man righted his motorcycle and put the kickstand down, to prevent gas and oil leakage. We collected his things from the wreckage; I noticed that his jacket had either fallen off in the crash or burst forth from one of the saddle bags. We brought water when asked, moved our bikes to make room for the ambulance and flagged it down.

Eventually the EMTs arrived. They worked quickly; their training served them well. They got the biker into the ambulance and away it went, perhaps heading to Temecula. Miraculously, the biker did not suffer any lacerations. I have no idea of what happened to the biker after the ambulance took him away, or of the fate of his Harley.

We got back onto the bikes and continued our journey, eventually descending 3,000 feet in elevation to the Coachella Valley on State Route 74, one of the best roads I’ve ever ridden on a motorcycle. But I kept thinking about the crash I witnessed.

We discussed what happened upon our return to Palm Springs. The MD suggested the biker had broken ribs and perhaps a punctured lung. He showed me pictures of what a punctured lung looks like, known as a pneumothorax. He explained what happens to the blood vessels and airways in that case. He suggested the biker was in shock.

It was certainly a learning experience, an overdose of real life. As I lay here in bed, wide awake and unable to sleep even though my body has been through the wringer this weekend, I recognize that I directly faced my own vulnerability and mortality while motorcycling. 

We only hear about crashes like that through news reports, horror stories passed on by people we know whose goal is to discourage us from riding or educational videos during safety classes. We don't actually expect to see it unfold with our own eyes, to hear gasps of pain, to see legs and feet thrashing in discomfort, to feel the frantic energy of a group of people who know they must act quickly to help a person who's badly injured. 

While it was an excellent weekend filled with something that makes me happy and experience true freedom, the accident shook me a little bit. I took a sick day from work because I was still thinking about it the morning after and on the journey back to Bishop. 

I am a biker. It is part of who I am. I am good at riding. After I returned to Bishop, my friend and the leader of the group said I did a great job, and that I fit in well with the group. It may be time to seriously consider acquiring another motorcycle for myself...

Farewell to Debt

 2/25/2022 - I've busted my ass over the past 12 months. 

In the past 12 months, I've paid off almost $57,000 of student loan debt. As of today, February 25, 2022, I have $3,599 left to pay off. When I think about what I've accomplished so far, in such a short amount of time, I am astounded. With an unexpected check from work today and payday next week, my student loan debt will be eliminated by this time next week. 

I am on the precipice. 

Part of me feels emotional. Overwhelmed. I have put my entire being into this endeavor; it has become my drive, a defining characteristic of who I am. I am about to accomplish something massive. A huge weight is soon to be removed. 

Another part of me feels depression. My motivation is about to disappear. The carrot will vanish soon. What now? Why do I feel somewhat empty? What's my next goal? Where will the drive come from? 

I've busted my ass this year. So much energy, focus and discipline has gone towards achieving this personal goal. So much, in fact, that I'm burnt out. I am sleeping more. I'm having thoughts of looking for a new job (or simply quitting). Every aspect of the full-time job, the sole reason I moved to Bishop in the first place, has become tedious and irritating. Frustration bubbles just under the surface, like a lake of lava. After a year and a half on the job, it's safe to say I don't enjoy it. 

So, thoughts have shifted towards how I can improve the situation. What would I rather do? This is a difficult question, because I've never enjoyed work. I do it because it pays the bills. I don't work because I have a passion for it. 

3/8 - I did it. 

I'm debt free. The student loan is gone forever. I'm done. 

I just paid off $60k in only 13 months. I have impressed myself. 

3/25 - My loan service provider sent me a letter today that said my loans have been paid in full. 

I am officially debt free. 

While I'm still burnt out and exhausted more than three weeks after the final payment cleared, I am happy. This was a humungous accomplishment. I impressed myself with the amount of focus and self discipline I used to kill the debt. I initially attacked the debt simply because I was tired of thinking about it; the knowledge that I was in debt was always in the back of my mind, like a fungus. What I did not foresee was the major boost in self-confidence as a result of such a huge accomplishment. 

If I can do something like this, I can do a whole lot of other things! 

The loan debt was one of the last remaining links to my year at Bournemouth University in England in 2014-15. That year remains the greatest accomplishment in my life, and I am no longer held down by the debt I put myself into to make it happen. The year in England is now just a fond memory of my 20s. 

Though I rarely write in this blog anymore, the blog was originally started as a way for me to keep friends and family up to date on my experiences in a new country. The loan money was mentioned in several of those early entries, including the second one overall on Sept. 26, 2014. 

The past 14 months of my life going back to Feb. 3, 2021 have been difficult. There have been few times in my life that have exhausted me the way this debt repayment journey has. It's not often that I say I deserve something, but I deserve a break from work and a long rest. Fortunately I have a week off from work rapidly approaching; it's looking more and more like I'll have a staycation here in Bishop. 

Now that one chapter of my life has ended, the next one begins. Here is where I must think of a new goal to achieve. Without a new goal, I will miss having drive and motivation. Over the past few months, I've learned that I am a goal-oriented person who thrives when trying to reach a new goal. I loved seeing the progress I made on the debt; I felt like I was gaining momentum. Now I must look elsewhere for that feeling. 

One goal of mine is to visit Australia. I nearly traveled to Australia two years ago, but that trip was slaughtered by the Covid-19 pandemic that brought the whole world to a grinding halt. But the time has come for me to travel internationally again; I must break in the brand-new passport that was supposed to be used for that Australia trek two years ago. Planning will be expensive, as the debt repayment has left me damn near broke. 

Another goal of mine is to get my photography website fully functioning by the time I turn 32 years old. This site will act as a portfolio of sorts, something I can show to prospective clients. Eventually, I'd like to photograph full time. 

A third goal of mine is to climb Mt. Tom, the Sierra Nevada peak that towers over Bishop at more than 13,600 feet, by the end of this year. I am out of shape, but I will make it happen.