Spon - tan - e - it - y

I wrote this one on the road.  So I'm going to do something here that I'd like to call post-posting.  A.k.a. just read it.

On the evening before our departure a friend said to me, as she so kindly assisted in the last minute packing of my things, “Sometimes I wish I could do things spontaneously, like you do.”  I was confused.  I asked her what she meant.  She added, “Like this trip.  Three weeks ago you weren’t sure if you were going at all, now you’re leaving tomorrow…for a month.”

Real friends tell friends to wear helmets while they pack you're car.

Ohhhh, that.  I guess that does look spontaneous to most.  If only they knew how it all panned out in my head.  The amount of time that I spent hashing and re-hashing out where to go, for how long, how, when, if…made it feel not so spontaneous at all.  But I’ve never been a planner.  So I guess committing to a month out west with only a couple weeks notice (and packing the night before) doesn't feel spontaneous to me.  

This should be no problem.  3 people, 2 dogs, 1 sedan...

A few weeks before, Meg and I had sat by Millers Pond with an atlas, a few beers and a snack or two.  "Wanna go there?"  one of us would ask.  The other would reply, "yea, how about here?" as we pointed at the map.  We invested a solid fifteen minutes in to this planning activity.  Then we went swimming.  Once Derek officially joined the road trip we consolidated our planning with an hour of coffee and our laptops before we headed to the gym.  Trip finalized.

Spontaneity.  I thought more about it on the road, and in my tent, and on cliffs, and by campfires.  Then the other day, about 200 feet away from a 14,000-foot summit, it made sense.

This is me.  This is things making sense.  Or...I'm on the moon.

I’ve always craved spontaneity, unpredictability, and just a touch of chaos in my life.  I know this, I’ve written about this, talked about it and accepted it.  A few more details became suddenly clear in the thin air of Torrey’s Peak.  (Besides the fact that I had to work on more creative excuses to stop and catch my breath other than, ‘Ooh, <wheeze> pretty <wheeze>’ while I pretended to take a picture with my phone.)

I have to..tie my...take a pic...stand here...Im breathing...

Here are the details that presented themselves in all my light-headedness.  I enjoy, and must say, am good at handling spontaneity and unpredictability because I openly accept the consequences.  I’ve learned over time that, with the excitement of going at things half-prepared, under-planned and with high energy, come the let-downs, frustrations and consequences. 

Like...rain at the crag.  Because you've arrived at half-past-when-everyone-else-is-leaving.  Because you drank PBR last night.  And sat on a roof.  Until way past a timely climbers bedtime.

I accept the consequences, that they exist, and that they are 100% heading my way at one point or another.  I know that living out of a car, a tent, and on the road, will undoubtedly lead me in to some inevitable pit-falls.  For instance, showing up to a campground on a Friday night, at 10:30, hungry and having driven 9 hours, to find there are no open spots.  Well, obviously.  It is a weekend, even during our vacation.  The atmosphere in the car was tense.  The hanger started to seep in to our decision-making process.  Before we knew it, we were cursing out established campers, one dog was out running behind the car and the other was in a protective hold. 

Hangry (or Hanger): A state of anger and irritability resulting from being hungry.

We finally found a “campsite”.  A pull-out, almost outside of the canyon, isolated from the rest of the sites.  We quickly fell out of the car, began making dinner and pouring the wine, while the dogs happily began to roam.  Soon enough, they were returning with bones.  Big bones.  Femurs.  Scapulas.  Clavicles.  We quietly collected them on top of the car.  Until the pile was big enough to no longer be ignored.  “What are these from?”  I blurted.  “This is not normal.”  The only response I got was the very hangry eyes of my fellow travelers. 

No

Yes

We survived the night, despite the very CSI-like start.  The morning brought a whole new challenge.  Flies.  SO many flies.  Hundreds, even thousands, of flies.  I woke to the sound of buzzing.  (And sticking with the CSI theme – what I consider to be the sound of death and week-old bodies).  I opened my eyes to the backlit canopy of fly bodies ALL over my tent.  “Ew” was the only thought in my head.  I rolled clumsily out of my tent to find Derek already standing outside.  “Lots of bugs out here”, he said calmly.  My blood pressure shot sky high.  I looked at Meghan.  We swatted, ran in small circles, Luka lost his mind trying to eat each and every one, and finally yelled, “We gotta get outta here!”  We broke down tents like our lives depended on it.  (And it crossed my mind at a certain point that we might be a good team for something like the Amazing Race).

I am confident we would be able to avoid this situation.

We threw pots, pans, sleeping bags, utensils, dogs, and each other in to the car.  We yelled at Derek (and not for the first time, bless his soul) to “JUST DRIVE!  Go!  HURRY!” as he (in his usual deliberate-Derek ways) calmly rolled down the windows, put it in reverse and then drove in to the canyon. 

This is just one example of a consequence due to lack of preparation and by-the-seat-of-your-pants travel.  But I, we, accept that as a part of it all.  We said out loud to each other, “THIS WILL BE FUNNY LATER.  Factor two fun!  Factor TWO fun!*”  The experience wouldn’t be the same without the challenges, the ups balanced by the downs, and those moments where you have to dig deep to find that patient and positive spin. 

There were other times.  Like when we drove too far on an un-planned route and succumbed to sleeping in a Wal-Mart parking lot. 

(no picture available due to lack of humor at the time)

Like when my bike rack got stolen.  Or when Maggie caught herself some Giardia and decimated carpets across Colorado.

Like when poor choices were made by one, the other, or all travelers upon returning to civilization.  Like partying late in to the night before hiking two 14,000-foot peaks and showing up an hour and half late at the trailhead.  Then attempting to dance at a Pretty Lights show in to the early morning hours that same evening. 

Or my favorite, when you find yourself living on the edge of society, out of your car, because you’ve made too many plans to visit too many people, and now you have a shit-storm of a puppy, and you don’t feel comfortable anywhere but outside.     

She tried to self-medicate with smoked almonds and plastic.  Poor choice, Maggs

The thin-air-thinking reaffirmed my love for the freewheeling, slightly chaotic, unpredictable style of living.  It’s why I continue to work with people and students that challenge me.  It’s why I continue to spend, what most would save, to travel across this beautiful country and back.  It’s why I love to push myself in climbing.  It’s why I seek out new challenges that dare me to try harder, go further, play harder.  And there is nothing more refreshing and inspiring than finding people that feel and live the same way. 

And dogs.  Dogs always understand.

*Factor Two Fun: n.  1) during the activity you are a) terrified, b) anxious, c) not enjoying yourself at all, but, upon the completion of the activity you decide it was fun.  2) An activity that is fun when it is over.  (i.e. grueling death march of a bike ride, or a tall, insecure lead climb) 3) Something you wish you weren’t doing, until you’re done, and then you want to do it again (but probably later).

Antonyms: Factor One Fun i.e. petting a puppy, eating ice cream.

(Thank you to Aaron Ferguson for contributing the Factor Two Fun definition, and of course, your overall presence to the Ten Sleep portion of this trip.)