Interesting article

I was eating some delicious broccoli and tomato pizza for lunch today, reading a back issue of Wired magazine.  Typically this magazine gets on my nerves because it is dedicated to discussions of technology and its intersection with society.  Oftentimes, it is championing technology and "progress".  Anyone who knows me well can tell you that technology doesn't usually blow wind up my skirt.

Regardless, I was reading the cover story which was an article by Joel Johnson examining the story behind 17 worker suicides at one of the world's largest consumer electronic mega-factories.  What began as an account of working conditions and labor practices at the factory turned into a serious discussion of consumerism and collective guilt by the end of the article.  While I found the entire article interesting, two statements especially stood out for me that I have never been able to adequately elaborate for myself.


"But I believe that humankind made a subconscious collective bargain at the dawn of the industrial age to trade the resources of our planet for the chance to escape it. We live in the transitional age between that decision and its conclusion."

and

"I don’t know if I have a right to the vast quantities of materials and energy I consume in my daily life. Even if I thought I did, I know the planet cannot bear my lifestyle multiplied by 7 billion individuals. I believe this understanding is shared, if only subconsciously, by almost everyone in the Western world."

I don't want to escape this planet.  I want to relish it in all of its beauty and wealth and variety.  It is arguable whether or not everyone in the Western world understands this, even subconsciously.  Either way, I want people to get it out of their subconscious and into their conscious and change their lifestyles before it is all too late.     

Adventure is a state of mind

What do you think of when you hear the word adventure?  Probably most of us think of huge mountains, foreign languages, gold, or any other grand idea that we've read in novels or watched on the big screen.  According to dictionary.com, adventure is defined as "an exciting or very unusual experience".  So I take that to mean that if I am excited about doing something in a way that I haven't done it before, then that would count as an adventure.  I don't need a Spanish armada, a treasure map, and an eyepatch to have an adventure.  When I was confronted with what to do this past weekend, I initially made a plan to drive up to the Adirondacks in a sleepless push, climb something horridly long in the backcountry, and have an epic that lives up to the fine storytelling tradition.  What I ended up doing couldn't have been further from that, but provided me with just as much adventure.

Gravel roads, loaded touring bikes, & approaching nightfall

Friday evening, Jeff "Spotted Zebra" Carlson, Eric "Seven Fingers" Durante, and I set out with loaded up touring bikes and a simple plan: have an adventure in our backyard without a car.  Since Jeff has a real job, we waited until about 6 to take off, making it into Rothrock State Forest around dusk.  Our bikes handled the gravel ascents and descents of the fire roads neatly and we eventually found ourselves making a stop in the dark at Detweiler Run.  Our friends, Clay Chiles and Peter, Jess & Sacha Buckland, were camping there for the evening.  We stopped and said hello and as a reward, Jess gave us malfunctioning glo stick bracelets that ended with me looking like a glo in the dark cheetah.  Since we still had about 20 miles of riding in the dark left that night, we bid them adieu.

Ridgerest = bikepacking crashpad

By about 10 o'clock we made it to the parking lot by Hunter's Rocks where we cooked up a delicious dinner of tortellini before finding a campsite along the Link Trail.  The next day we took all of our stuff over to the Powercut climbing area where I bouldered, Eric went hiking, and Jeff sought out the best vantage points for meditation (or was he just sneaking off with the group whiskey supply?).

Jeff, the upper crust of society, holding a boxed wine and string cheese party for one

I managed to claw my way up some familiar problems and also give some pointers to other folks.  I was impressed that two guys, Dan and Davey, had driven all the way from Gettysburg to get in about 8 hours of bouldering at Hunter's and the Powercut.  Unbeknownst to us, Eric got to see an enormous hawk migration from an adjacent ridge.  Concluding an evening bouldering session later, Eric and I were delighted to see our friend, Tor Nordmark, appear through the trees.  

Eric, myself & Tor

Tor had stopped out to do some hiking and to check up on our condition.  In fact our conditions couldn't have been any better.  Our camp that night was situated on a ridgetop with stellar views off of the surrounding rocks.  A convenient fire ring (well that and a few nips of whiskey) allowed for us to stay nice and toasty on a night where we could see our breath.  And against common belief, there were adequate flat, rock free spots to house our tents.

 The next day, Eric and I parted ways with Jeff.  It wasn't a mutual disgust of each other's fireside flatulence or adolescent humor (of which there was plenty), but instead we had another climbing objective whereas Jeff wanted to keep riding.  (It turns out that Jeff had some climbing to do of his own as anyone who has ridden northbound on 26 over Pine Grove Mountain can attest!)  Eric and I rode further south to Donation Rocks.  Of course a rope and harnesses were among the items strapped to our bikes so we were able to enjoy several hours of toproping.  Then began the business of riding 30 odd miles back to town before nightfall.  Not following Jeff's lead, we rode back through Rothrock and had a longer albeit much more gradual climb than he did.

The definition of "fully loaded touring"

"So, whoopedydoodah, you spent a weekend riding your bike around like you always do and climbing in the same places you always do.  What an adventure!", you might say with a rolling of your eyes.  Eric, Jeff and I could not disagree with you more.  I think we could all agree that we had an exciting and unusual experience.  Yes, we were familiar with a lot of the elements of the trip.  But when you descend Bear Meadows Rd in the dark with a fully loaded bike, it is a whole new ride.  And when you're pulling climbing moves with just your foam sleeping pad under you instead of a cushy 6" crashpad, it's a whole new problem.  And when your legs and not your car carried your tent, food and malfunctioning glo stick bracelets out to that ridgetop, the campsite seems all the more sweeter.

So like the title says, adventure is a state of mind.  I think many of us (and I include myself here) get too caught up in making grand schemes that rely on lots of money, time and preparations.  Instead of doing what we love, we spend our time making money, building up vacation time, or ordering a new mapset.  Finding a new way of doing something local or familiar can bring adventure and fulfillment just as much as a "big" trip.  I may venture to say that I had more fun this past weekend than when I went on a three week roadtrip out West this summer.  In the end, don't hold yourself to lofty goals that may only end up in preventing you from doing anything at all.  If it is "an exciting or very unusual experience" no matter the scale, seize it!

Author's note:  Does this mean that I am abandoning all of my grand, stupid, far-reaching plans?  Hell no.

The Cultural Recyclists

I was in downtown State College yesterday talking to my friend Bob Vander Voort aka "Taxi Bob" about bicycle touring and our mutual love of Long Haul Truckers (the bike, not the kind that doesn't shower for weeks on end), when Bob started calling out "Will.  Will.  WILL!!" to someone across the street.  I looked over and there was a young man about my age trotting along the sidewalk wearing just a pair of shorts and a reflective vest usually reserved for road construction crews, both of which had seen better days.  I realized that I had seen this guy along with a couple of other similarly clad folks biking around town for the past couple of days.  The only reason that I took any note of it was that all of their bikes were laden for touring, sporting racks, panniers and in one case, custom kitty litter bucket saddle bags.

Will made his way over to us and as he and Bob fell into excited conversation, I started to learn a thing or two. It turns out that Will was one of a group of folks that called themselves The Cultural Recyclists.  I think that it started out as just two of them and people came and left as they pleased.  Either way, Will had spent the past 14 months traveling along the northern Lower 48, travelling down the West Coast and then bouncing his way back to PA along the southern border and all of it by bicycle.  Along the way, he and his travelling partners would stop at farms and do whatever work needed to be done in exchange for food or a place to rest his head.  You might think this sounds a lot like wwoofing but Will assured us that he had no site guiding him nor any structured plan.  He wanted to travel by bicycle.  He wanted to get closer to the land and get a feeling for where his food comes from.  He didn't want to worry about where to go or where to sleep but instead let spontaneity and strangers' goodwill guide him.

It sounds like he had a great experience and I look forward to looking through his blog for more inspiration. Hopefully when they're back in town, The Cultural Recyclists can give a talk either on campus or at Appalachian Outdoors.

Blast from the past

Hot damn.  I am working part time at West Arete Computing as does my friend, Eric.  He is in the process of learning new computer programming techniques.  Most of his time is spent working with textbooks and creating new webpages himself.  Looking to spice things up a little bit, Eric somehow remembered that I created a crappy website about 8 years ago that I used to do writeups of our various climbing trips.

 The page began as some assignment for a Penn State computing class where I had to post my resume and a picture on a site hosted by the university.  That was a pretty lame page as you could imagine.  So I decided to start making a whole site and forced myself to learn basic, basic html.  This kept my friends and I amused for a while.  That is until yours truly dropped out of school and Penn State stopped hosting my site faster than you can say "Penn State stopped hosting Tom's site".  During the academic void in my life (which continues to this day), I didn't think about the web site at all.

That is until today.  Eric had me dig up the old files for the site and threw them up on the web again. He wants to alter my site as a project of sorts to learn more about web development.  At the very least Eric can look at my shoddy work and have an example of what NOT to do.  Though he may end up making some stylistic changes, the writing is and will continue to be mine.  It's like a goddamn time capsule since I haven't seen this for the better part of a decade.  It's pretty funny too because although I don't climb with all of the same people or in the same places, some things don't change.  My stupid sense of humor.  Getting into trouble with Eric and Jeff.  Enough of this, just go check out

Tom Mrotek's Ruling Climbing Pages

Planning for success

I've got ideas.  Man, do I have ideas.  And plans.  So many ideas and plans, it makes my head spin.  Enough to keep me up at night.  My ideas are so grandiose that I don't share them with people.  I don't even want to say them out loud or write them down because maybe even then I will acknowledge how ridiculous they are.  And let's face it, if you don't act upon an idea or plan, then it ain't worth shit.  To me, the trips I have tried to take lately have seemed to be largely failures.  On a smaller scale though, I do follow through and act upon my ideas and usually have successes.

Greg: A model for all outdoorsmen

A couple of years ago, I bought a canoe on a whim.  Something in the back of my head told me that I should do some paddling.  After a couple of training laps on the Spring Creek whitewater course, I deemed myself fit for surviving some easier whitewater.  My older brother, Greg, required little convincing to join me on an early spring foray.  We chose the Pine Creek Gorge or "Pennsylvania Grand Canyon" as our objective.  Neither of us had ever even seen this gorge before and had little idea what was in store.  Just to ensure that we were ready for all possible contingencies, Greg and I watched Deliverance the night before.  Burt Reynolds does a wonderful job demonstrating the J-stroke and shooting hillbillies with a bow and arrow.  Regardless, we had an absolute blast paddling the 18 odd mile section of the gorge.  Upon takeout, we had a local outfitter pick us up and give the two of us and our boat a lift back to our car.

Recipe for awesome

A month later, I was painting my toenails or tending to my camel herd when a new idea popped into my head.  How can one be a little more self-sufficient and do that same route by oneself?  (A similar and related question would be "How can one with no friends and no money to pay for a shuttle do this same route?")  The wheels in my skull got to turning and I came up with a fun plan.  I stashed my mountain bike at the takeout in Blackwell and then drove upstream.  After putting in up in Ansonia, I paddled the gorge by myself.  Upon taking out, I hopped on my mountain bike and rode a path that parallels the creek 18 miles back to my car.  Then I just had to pick up my boat and drive home.

Alone on the water

Which brings us to present day.  Removing the car entirely from the equation makes the next logical step.  More than likely, I will find myself living in State College at the beginning of next year.  As soon as conditions permit, I will ride to Ansonia on a bike, boat the Pine Creek Gorge, run back up to where I left my bike, and then bike home.  For the boating portion, I will either rent a canoe and leave it for the outfitter to pick up (less desireable) or buy a packable whitewater raft and haul it with me (more desireable).  Of course anyone who would be interested in joining me on this voyage is wholeheartedly welcome.  I thought through the different components in my head.  I have definitely paddled the section of the gorge from Ansonia to Blackwell before.  Check.  I have run 18 miles before.  Check.  I hadn't biked 100 miles in a single day before which is the distance from State College to Ansonia.  So yesterday, Eric, Jeff and I biked a 100 mile loop.  I incurred no big difficulties.  Actually it was rather anticlimactic.  So..."check".

So is this my Plan?  No.  It is just a small trial that would let me know if I'm ready to move on to bigger things.  I may even be hoping that it will introduce me to someone who wouldn't laugh at my Plan.  It will be fun and cool as hell I'm sure.  But in all honesty, it is a known quantity.  I don't want to ever predict success because I think that brings bad luck, but I know that I can do this.  With that realization brings another: that I'm not facing up to the real challenges.  The Plan.  I'm just delaying.  I have a myriad of excuses or diversions to keep myself from getting on with it.  And that realization is a bitter pill to swallow.

Approaching in style

My friend Ieva once commented that I give less attention to my intended activity, but focus on the approach rather.  And that I like to approach "in style".  Typically this means I come up with a more difficult than necessary means to go climbing, fishing, skiing or narcoleptic paragliding.  Fortunately, my friend Eric enjoys manufacturing hardship for himself as well.  Yesterday was such an experience.

Fresh apple donuts: Energy food of champions

Eric was interested in riding in a mountain bike race at Black Moshannon State Park yesterday.  The park (in)conveniently is located approximately 15 miles away from his house.  Also, whereas his house lies in the bottom of Bald Eagle Valley, Black Mo sits atop the Allegheny Plateau.  Eric and I agree that a journey should not be merely a means to an end, but part of the end itself.  The plan that shook out was that Eric would ride to the start of the race, race it, and ride home afterwards.  I volunteered to be his race manager, escort him to the race, and try to make sure he eats something.

Jeef and I rolled out from his house at 7am.  I think that Jeef had volunteered to be cheerleader for Eric... at least that's what I thought when I saw him stuffing some pom-poms, airhorn and a skirt into his panniers.  Regardless, we made it to Way Fruit Farm where Jeef acquired some much needed provisions: fresh apple donuts and peaches.  The rendezvous with Eric was made in Port Matilda at Lyken's Market, where three dudes in lycra shorts surely made everyone's morning.  Then we put on our serious faces and started riding towards the race.  We maintained a fairly brisk pace along the flat valley floor, riding about 10 miles effortlessly.

Eric says, "I don't need no stinkin' car."

From the valley floor, there is a sustained climb to the top of the plateau where the park and the race lie.  We picked a slow but maintainable 6mph pace to ride the last 4 miles.  The best part of the ride was watching cars drive uphill past us with mountain bikes on them.  The passengers would look at the three of us with first a look of confusion and then a sense of disbelief when it dawned upon them what we were doing.  Arriving at the race, Eric went over to get registered while Jeef and I were volunteered to be course marshals.  A course marshal stands at an important turn on the race course to ensure that riders don't get lost.

It was great to watch Eric riding strong through our checkpoint a while later.  He was hooting and hollering as he passed.  When Jeef and I eventually got back to the end of the race, we found Eric still smiling, but decidedly more tired when we last saw him.  About halfway through the race, he ran out of steam from not eating enough.  He finished the race and had a ball doing it.  And really that's all that matters.  I would venture to say that he had more fun and fuller experience than all the folks who drove to the race.  But we didn't dwell on this too much.  Eric had a 15 mile ride home.  Jeef and I had a 25 mile ride home with a wicked ridge in the way... and we were all out of apple donuts.

RMNP serves up some humility

The sounds of air wrenches finally wakes me up.  I'm sitting in my inoperable truck next to Bob's Towing & Repair in Estes Park, CO.  I slept like shit.  The garage has several spot lights that kept the inside of the truck illuminated the entire night.  Some Hispanic business across the street had customers coming and going in loud cars all night.  I never figured out what they sold there.  It looked like there were pinatas hanging inside, but every customer walked out with a bag that sounded like bottles.  What am I doing here?

Yesterday, I started in Boulder, CO with a cup of coffee and the idea to drive through Rocky Mountain National Park and camp somewhere on the western side.  I had been in the park once before but only did a short hike at lower elevations.  I didn't really plan to hike much, but I did want to drive along Trail Ridge Road which gets above 12,000' in elevation and offers some awesome views.

Along the way to the highest point on the road, I passed a cycletourist.  He looked to be okay and was keeping a slow albeit steady pace.  I shouldn't say slow.  It's a miracle that people can still turn pedals at all up there.  I tried to put myself in his place as I had thought to ride through RMNP at one point.  When I pulled out at the next view, I noticed some gnarly looking clouds surging towards me.  I heard some thunder too.  So I waited for about 20 minutes for the cyclist to get up to where I was to check and make sure he was okay with the impending weather.  I didn't know if he would want some food or water or maybe even a shuttle over the highest points on the road.  He said that he was alright to keep riding so I continued on.

I drove down the west side of the Continental Divide and reached level ground once again whenever my truck died rather suddenly.  I think the gods (or God) might have been telling me that I would have been better off had I been biking like the other guy.  At the very least, I found the humor in it.  Finished with laughing, I found some rangers who could call a tow truck to take my truck 40 miles back to Estes Park where I had entered the park earlier.  After waiting two hours and then a pleasant two hour drive with Diana in the tow truck, I found myself at Bob's with a $250 towing bill and a probable broken fuel pump.  Probably best for the expenses if I just slept in the truck...