Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Renew, Re-visit, Re-dedicate

Every so often, I find that I need to renew dedication to the things that are important to me. There is a time of recognition that I have drifted from a principle that I hold dear, or an activity that I know I need, or from a person that I don't want to lose. It's an unsettling moment, one that I usually try to deny or ignore or delay until a more convenient time, but once it's there it doesn't go away.

I stop eating as well as I should. I don't write as much as I should (perhaps the most common one). I don't treat my wife as well as I wish to, or don't spend enough time with her, or work hard enough to make our marriage great. Not logging enough miles on the bike, weighing in a bit too heavily on the bathroom scale, smoking and drinking too much, watching the idiot box instead of reading. The lists go on. It comes down to sliding from active, productive, fit and happy to comfortable, lazy, blissfully ignorant and sedentary. Of course, everything is relative, but when it gets to the point that I am aware and uncomfortable in my awareness, I know it's time to change.

I have a very good idea of who and what I want to be, and it's when I slip off the road to this state and begin to move away from achieving it that this need for renewal comes about.

For a long time this seemed a bad thing, this need to consciously re-commit to the things that I feel are important, that keep me happy and healthy and generally make life good. Why should I have to? Why aren't they as built-in to my life and days as breathing and sleeping and drinking water?

But now I see that the renewal is almost as important as that which is being renewed, if not more-so. Principle without action is hollow. It's politics. And as humans we are fallible. We slouch toward paths of least resistance as a matter of course, and when these paths are not the proper ones--when they are constructed for convenience and not betterment, ease rather than meaning--they are not only inappropriate but they are threatening to our very souls.

To renew is to acknowledge the things that make us who we are. It's a periodic reassessment to make sure that we, changing beings that we are, stick to the path that we want to be on. I imagine even Ghandi had to reevaluate himself and his life once in a while. And in the renewal I often find a renewed enthusiasm and love for whatever it is I'm focusing on. That rediscovery makes it all worthwhile.

So.

I will pay more and better attention to my wife, whom I love very much.

I will eat better, healthier, more frequent, smaller meals.

I will ramp up my ride/run schedule so that I have 1 and not 3-4 days off in a week. And on that day off, I will walk the dogs.

I will become angry less. To do this I will respond thoughtfully, not at the jerk of a knee; I will consider what is important to others as much as to myself; I will try to truly see things as others see them; I will constantly acknowledge that nothing is absolute and everything is relative; I will stick closer to the idea of learning everything, not knowing everything, and that a wise person is never afraid to not know something--it is from the not knowing that we learn and gain wisdom.

I will pay far greater and closer attention to books and music and far less to television.

I will cut the smoking and drinking down to a more reasonable level. This is not too far off, but I could definitely improve in the smoking arena.

And this is only the beginning.

Rewintering

Just as we settle in with the idea that winter came to a premature and unceremonious conclusion this year, the snow's back on the peaks and the weather is turned cold again. Snow and mud commingle and shorts and sunblock are re-relegated to backseat status. Out again with the thick socks and winter coats and skis and gloves.

Re-opening and re-snowpacking of the local hills has people in a tizzy about last chances resurrected, and the effect on the brain of seesawing between two distinct seasons, the transition between which is normally heralded and affective enough, has brought downright confusion to my own brain and body, if not to the population at large.

The normal turning of thoughts in the spring is still happening, it's just that we get to experience it during winter conditions. And, I suspect, it will make the true arrival of spring something much more likely to be celebrated. The doom and gloom is on pause--no more incessant talk about what a rough summer it'll be and how we're doomed for months of fire and drought. Now, we hope. A good boating season. Good crops. Snow that sticks to the high country until at least early in the summer.

We pay close attention to these things, especially those of us who have abandoned the trend toward insulation from our world. We don't dash from AC home to AC car to AC work and back in reverse during the summer, and we relish the finer points of seasonal change. It marks the march of life. It divides our lives and memories into understandable and bookmarkable segments. It connects us to the world and to each other.

So, winter is back, though how briefly we don't know, and we love it.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Yellowstone in Winter

I spent this past weekend in and around Yellowstone National Park. Every year, the park service starts to plow the roads into the park from West Yellowstone, MT, around the middle of March. Cars are not allowed in the park from this end until about a month later, in mid-April. So road cyclists have a unique and, so far, underused opportunity to see Yellowstone from the saddle without the lines of car traffic that have become so much a part of any visit to the park.

Yellowstone is an amazing place in the wintertime. The snow is somewhat thin on the hills on the western edge of the park, but the plains are largely covered as are the tops of most peaks. The bison are out in full force, with plenty of land exposed for them to graze on. Herds and herds are seen in the distance with striking regularity, though it seems too early still to see new calves. Still, they're amazing animals, their size made real when you come suddenly upon a group of 20 or 30 blocking the road ahead of you--you, who are standing, exposed, straddling a thin aluminum bike with a little foam helmet, facing off with a bull the size of a small tank. They seem calm, wary, but we are VERY careful around them. We grant them full right of way. We wait until they are well clear of the road before we proceed.

Me, Tim, John, and Tony drove out at around noon on Friday, making a beeline for the town of West Yellowstone. Just under 6 hours to get there--a gorgeous drive across highway 20, the desert turning to mountain and lingering on the border between, stretching east along the southern edge of the Boises, the far reaches of the Sawtooths, and the Lost Rivers. You can see each range approach as you cross the state, and it's strange to be so consistenly just out of their reach. This fertile crescent doesn't account for much elevation gain, but it sure does have some nice neighbors to the north.

We got rooms at the Brandin Iron Inn. Great deal. $52 for two, $57 with a full kitchen and dining area. Definitely the best deal in town. We considered a cabin, but it proved not worth the extra drive, expense, and effort.

Saturday we were on the bikes, along with Paul, and heading into the park at 10:45am. We would return about 6 hours later. The way in we had a good tailwind, shifting slightly but right around 10 or so. It was around 30 when we started, I'd guess, and close to 40 when we finished. Chilly but bearable. The weather leading up to the weekend was consistently cold and snowy, but it stayed just warm enough to keep the roads melted. The conditions for our ride were great. Blustery but not too cold, we sailed into the park with the wind at our backs.

We were about 2.5 hours out to Norris junction, after passing a nice waterfall and seeing loads of bison and elk. There we headed a quarter mile straight up to some Geysers where we sat and had lunch. Nice spot. From there, Paul and I continued out toward Canyon. We climbed a steady grade for about 3.5 miles to a pass where we got a great view into the next valley. But, not wanting to climb back out before heading 30 miles back into the wind, we turned back and made for the entrance.

We fully expected to catch the other three, but a couple herds of bison had other plans for us. The first delay, as a herd climbed the bank to the road just ahead of us and then proceeded to amble through a long stretch with steep banks up on one side and down on the other, us following a good distance behind, held us up for about 40 minutes. We got cold. We rode in circles. We talked to them. Much later, within 8 miles of the entrance, we hit another herd and waited about 15 minutes or so for them to clear off. Not so bad, but a good reminder to plan for unexpected delays.

We got back about 4:30, I think, tired and windblown and thrilled about the ride.

Next time, I'll wear sunscreen, too.

Sunday Tim and I went skiing at the Rendezvous trails. $5 fee, many kilometers of trail. A nice, well-marked system of rolling hills, up and down and again and again, some really fun and nicely groomed skiing. Skate skiing at this place would be out of sight. As it was, we had the backcountry nordic jobbies working, but it was a load of fun. We went about two solid hours, steady paced, and got back to the car just as John and Tony were finishing loading their stuff.

It was a long ride back, but it was a nice drive--especially since Tim did all the driving.