Daily Readings

Estes Park, Colorado

It has been nearly a month since I was here last.  I am typing across the street from the infamous honeymoon suite motel (which has since changed names).  I am under a different tree looking at the same mountains. 

Those amazing Rockies are showing subtle signs of transitioning. The sun sets a little earlier.  The aspens have a hint of gold on them.  The elk are moving down with the snow line.  The chipmunks are eating like there is no tomorrow.  All signs that a new season is coming…

It always does.

I wish I could give the credit to someone, but I overheard them say … “with every new season comes a reawakening of the soul.”  It made me realize how much I miss having that fourth season in Tennessee…  And while my leaves are not turning gold, my peaks are not white, and I have not put on the winter weight… I can say for sure that my soul has been reawakened. 

I apologize for the sporadic updates, but rest assured that I am in a great place – mentally, physically, and spiritually.  My thoughts over the past week have become less observational and more introspective.  And while I have appreciated your willingness to read along, I also know that you will understand when I say that not everything is refined enough to be shared. 

I saw a quote today that sums up the last week pretty well.  It was posted by Lisa, who works at the Trading Post located in the Garden of the Gods.  Under her photograph was a bio that said “Lisa moved here from St Louis.  She has given up an urban existence for a healthy lifestyle that is inspired by the outdoors.”

I have spent most of the week in the Rocky Mountain National Park.  My boots have kicked dirt all the way up to 12,000 feet, crawled over boulders bigger than my truck, and walked along streams that will cross state lines.  The result has been a week spent off trail and off line…  Lewis and Clark would have been proud. 

A series of days inspired by the outdoors.                                                          

Geoff Glibbery

Glacier Basin Campground , RMNP, Colorado

Today I spent the day scrambling.  It started with scrambled eggs, spinach, mushrooms, and feta cheese.  And then I was scrambling to make the 8:12 am shuttle to Bear Lake Trail Head where we planned to hike to several alpine lakes.

We walked with the bus load of people up a well-worn (actually paved) hiking trail to Nymph Lake.  As we continued toward Dream Lake, the crowds thinned and the path became dirt.  Just before Dream Lake we encountered an unexpected crossroad.  One path lead to Lake Hiyahaha and the other led to Emerald Lake.  We chose the path going UP to Lake Hiyahaha. 

The scenery generally rewards those willing to ascend.  About a mile into this trail we encountered a woman coming back from the lake.  She said “Don’t stop at the puddle.  The real beauty is a little further up the trail.”  I really liked that.  How often do we stop at the point that we think is our destination (the puddle) only to realize that if we had gone a bit further… we may have found something even better? 

Of course the opposite is also true.  How often do we pass up the beauty of the puddle in hopes of finding the unattainable?  Such is the draw to hiking in the mountains.  When you get close enough to the top, the beauty of your environment is lost in your overwhelming desire to know what lies on the other side…

The official park authorized trail ended at the lake (stunning indeed), but it was a mere 500 vertical feet to a patch of snow. A strong mind will look at that distance and translate it into about 45 minutes of climbing over big rocks for the chance to throw snow balls in August.  It took 53 minutes.

Scrambling (a term used when the trail no longer exists) has a way of keeping you in the moment.  The tops of most mountains are made up of small rocks, thin air, and big winds.  Walking in them is like walking on ball bearings.  If you stop climbing, you immediately begin a downward slide.  If you climb too slowly, you will ascend and descend at the same rate…  When I got to the snow, I tucked my lungs back into my jacket, threw four snowballs and began the descent.  It was worth it.

When we got back to the Dream Lake crossroad, we went with the original plan and hiked to Emerald Lake.  Again the terminus was an alpine lake just at the base of several mountain peaks.  I passed on the chance to take a nap by the lake and instead went off to do some solo scrambling.  Footnote – This is not recommended, but I knew the physics of the situation was such that my body would eventually roll back to the populated area of the lakeJ  (I’m kidding mom, I was very cautious…)

Scrambling and crossroads. 

In the everyday world these terms can mean disruption and decisions.  All too often our lives are filled with well traveled paths…. So the next time you encounter a crossroad or you find yourself scrambling, think of it as the chance to stop following… and for a brief moment… become an explorer. 

                                                                                                                                                                                Geoff Glibbery

Golden, Colorado

If you knew there was no way you could fail, what would you try?  This was the front of a card that caught my attention in the book store on Washington Street.  The inside of the card was appropriately blank.

Enter here a brief moment for you to ponder that thought.  What would you try?

Now, when your day is less structured (as mine is) you begin to LOOK for things that maybe you are supposed to see… like a card with a thought provoking message.  Sometimes I’m not sure if I see it because it is there, or if I see it because I am supposed to see it…  It would be nice if there were neon letters blinking that said “Hey Geoff”, but I don’t see things like that. 

I see license plates.  And lots of them.

Some of you may know that I considered making the destination of this trip Alaska.  After much internal debate I decided that I had (1) the wrong kind of motorcycle for such a trip and (2) started my trip too late into the season. 

So it has come as no surprise that during my travels I have been flooded with signs of Alaska.  Hats on people I am talking with, T-shirts, random conversations, and licenses plates.  I have met five people who have actually ridden a motorcycle to Alaska and one person that still finishing his three month trip from San Diego to Alaska.  Almost unanimously they have told me the bike to ride is the new BMW F800 GS.  I made a mental note to check it out.

Well, my motorcycle is currently at the BMW dealer in Denver for a scheduled (routine) maintenance visit.  While appointments are normally required, my status of “traveler” elevates me to the second highest priority.  (The first being police motorcycles.)  Joe in service assures me he will do his best to fit me in (this week) and then suggests I visit the showroom.

As I am leaving the service area I see a black and yellow BMW F800 GS coming in on a flat bed.  The bike still has temporary tags.  Joe tells me the bike was sold several weeks ago and is back for the 600 mile service.  BMW of Denver provides this pick-up and drop-off service with a flat bed.  This seems like both a good and bad idea. 

I asked Joe if this is the bike that will take me to Alaska.  He says “Alaska and beyond.”  I then glance at the temporary Colorado license plate.  It has the expiration date in large numbers.   09-13-09. 

Dad, you better start looking for yours. I’m thinking a Memorial Day departure would be appropriate.

                                                                                                                                                                                Geoff Glibbery

Golden, Colorado

At 7:00 am this morning the incoming freshman are required to meet at the base of the hill with a 10lb rock.  This is tradition at the Colorado School of Mines.  They will then hike up 1800 feet to deposit their rock on top of thousands of other rocks that form the letter “M” which overlooks the campus.  After some ceremonial behavior, they will engage in “whitewashing” the rocks.  (Think food fight with white paint.)

When it is over, the razor wire covered fence is locked back up, the video surveillance cameras are turned back on, and the “M” returns to its glorious prominence in the hills.  This will be the last time any of these kids will stand on the “M”… this tradition belongs to incoming freshman only.

We chose to leave a bit later, leave the 10lb rock at the base, and hike what we thought was the trail to the “M”.  When it became apparent that our trail was heading towards the “M” in Mexico, we did what was logical.  We made our own path in the direction of all the noise.

We arrived as the kids were boarding the buses for the trip back down the hill.  They were each wearing a yellow mining hat.  They were covered from head to toe in white paint.  Most were having a great time.  Some were aware of the history.  A few were still wondering how they made it up here at all, much less carrying a rock. 

It is a unique tradition.  And while I’m sure the logo needed to be spruced up, I’m guessing this was more about beginning the journey together… several hundred incoming freshmen… still in that “get acquainted phase” … have already united to complete a common task. 

The Colorado School of Mines lists the first official day of class as tomorrow morning.  Traditions like this are further proof that most learning takes place outside of that classroom. 

                                                                                                                                                                                Geoff Glibbery

Vernal, Utah

Once it is broken is it ever really the same?  This could apply to many things, but let’s look at trust.  From my experience trust is something that builds almost silently.  You don’t set out to trust someone – it just happens.  Unfortunately, the first time we are really aware of how much we trust someone is when it is broken.

At 22, 158 miles the trust between me and my motorcycle was broken.  Up until that point we have enjoyed an amazing relationship.  Several trips across the country, a few trips out of the country, and hundreds of hours of shared experiences. 

But now things are different.  I’ve played the blame game, but in the end it really doesn’t matter.  Should I have noticed something earlier?  Should I have maintained it better? Etc.  The fact is the bike left ME on the side of the road. And then I left it at a huckleberry stand.

The bike has been fixed, I have been educated, and we are once again travelling.  However, things are not the same.  Every day there is a tiny little piece of me that wonders if it will happen again.  How far will I get?  Where will I be? What will I do?  Have I passed the midway point between A and B yet? 

This lack of trust is impacting things.  It has changed the route that I take.  It has changed the distance I am willing to travel.  It has changed the times that I travel.  It has changed how I feel about travel.  It has changed everything.  I have even considered trading it in.

The real problem with those last three paragraphs is that “I” and “me” were typed too many times.  How can you mend two things if you only focus on one of them?

I know this will sound strange, but I had to put myself in the bike’s tires (shoes didn’t seem appropriate there).  The bike needs me to get places as much as I need the bike.  We are a team and the prospects of either of us getting anywhere without the other is slim.  We have to start building that trust again…

So I made a deal with the bike.  I will listen better.  And if something should happen (and the odds are that it will) – WE will do something different.  We will start by unloading all of the unnecessary “stuff” we are carrying.   We’ll take it off to the side of the road and cover it with the bike cover.  We will get back to the basics.

And then I will push you up the hills and you can give me a ride down the hills… Whatever it is that caused us to stop… will just become part of our journey together. 

Oddly, yesterday was the best 300 miles of riding I have had in several years.  The combination of scenery, curved roads, nature, and the weather left me wishing the days were longer.  I listened to the bike all day.  And it responded beautifully.  Not that it would have mattered – we have a plan now. 

And all that took was a little communication.

Geoff Glibbery