The Saga of Bavychlorskjevya boskjorB - Canto the Second

For those of you that have been waiting anxiously for the next installment in the Icelandic Saga of Bachelor boB (that's Bavychlorskjevya in Icelandic) here is the most recent post. Apparently he lives, but only by the skin of his teeth, and perhaps a few knuckles.

I should be dead.

Note that there is no humor in that statement.

I endured cold, rain, sleet, heat, non-existent trails, deep sand, sharp lava, impossible footing, quicksand (for real), bog, drought, sand storms, fog, impossible wind (tent was literally flattened, then dragged across the sands with me+gear inside = 250 lbs. *several* times in a night+day), etc. But all of that really means nothing.

My 20-day hike ended yesterday (Thursday), for on Wednesday afternoon (day 10 or 11; not sure) I was swept away during a river ford. Two rivers off of a glaciar have re-routed themselves into one. After hours of trying to travel upstream, through crumbling moraine, ice, and hidden mud pits, to get across or above the source, I went back downstream to the original jeep ford and headed across.

The current swept the very loose bottom from below my feet, a Leki hiking pole snapped, and I went under. Mind you, this river is ragging and barely above freezing, with a large floating ice content. I was tumbled, above and below the surface, for several minutes. A shoe was pulled off by the force of the current, but the gaitor kept it to me. Knowing that I would never make it out without both shoes, I gave up on stopping myself or standing up in order to secure the shoe and lost the broken Leki in the process. Somehow I managed to get my right wrist through the shoe´s laces.

At that point I was in fast and deep enough water to follow the advice I´ve read of getting yourself feet-first+head up going downstream. From that position, I dragged my hands to try to stop myself. They and my feet found bottom very abruptly soon after, but dragged for some time. Though stopped, I could not stand for the soaked pack, so I rolled over to face upstream. Trying to stand, I suddenly realized that my legs were so numb that they were failing, so I forced myself onto my knees using the Leki and both arms. Once up, I headed for the far shore only to be swept away again.

From there, I dog-paddled for the shore like my life was ending. (It was..) Thankfully, the current threw me to the bank and I dragged myself up it.. I could no longer feel legs or hands, which was good, as I dragged myself up the bank to behind a large boulder. (The wind was still gusting 40-60 kph.)

I have never even heard of someone shaking the way I did as I put on my rain jacket and pants. I was screaming to keep going and the blood was pouring from my hands and knees. The rain gear did what nothing else would of as I lay trembling behind the rock. Once I could stand, I headed for better cover, and noted that I had been swept downstream at least a mile.

My right hand was unusable, the shoe laces having constricted it in the current. I somehow managed to get my tent up with my left hand and right armpit. For the time, I thought my right wrist was broken. Though the howling wind quickly dried the pack, it had about 10 new lbs. of volcanic sand in it. My clothes were worthless (soaked + sand), but the waterproof sack and synthetic sleeping bag did their roll. That night was sleepless as the wind turned into a sandstorm. I sat up to support the tent "roof" for the worst part.

When morning came, I was coherent enough to know that no one was coming for me, no one would be coming by, and I was far enough away from the route to likely never be found. I did what it took to get walking again, having lost nothing except the one Leki.

My best way out was back across the same river. I cried at its edge.

Then I used my brain a little better than in the preceeding 24 hours. I followed the river for several kilometers downstream to the lake it entered. The area is currently in its seasonal drought and the lake is very low. Before reaching the lake, the river split into dozens of channels. I zigzagged my way across them, feet renumbed with ice water, until I was fully on the opposite shore.

This was still a very risky route, as the river *out* of the lake is impassable, which is why the trail takes the route it does. When I saw jeep tracks around the shore, I knew that it had recently been crossed and the tears now flowed from relief.

Around the very large lake´s shore, insane wind and deep sand still battered me, my hands and knees missing lots of skin and covered in cuts and blood blisters. My right hand was still about 50% too large and the fingers barely worked.

That´s when I saw 2 hikers, standing on the south shore, watching me approach. When I got to them, all I could say was, "I hope you guys are doing better than I am."

They had driven to the new dam (which removed the impassable drainage river) and hiked out to see if the river I was swept away in was fordable. They needed to know in preparation for doing a hike that covered some of my same route. I briefly told them my story, how to successfully cross it, and we 3 returned to their car. They were openly surprised by my route, being solo, and having survived. Icelanders don´t mince words.

An unimaginably different 24 hours later, I am back in Rekjavik (capital), showered, in twice laundered clothes, have about half my gear cleaned and dried, have the tent functioning again (it´s now died 3 times; I showered with it last night), have eaten a great pizza, cheese, fresh bread, and skyr (yogurt), it´s calm, bright sun, and quite warm, and I´m planning to fly to the north in order to do the end of my original hike. (That will skip the center section that virtually no one goes to/through, for very good reason.) I am covered in large, deep bruises, I´m almost certain that I have a damaged (not broken) right-front rib, my back hurts very badly in one spot, and I look like I fell off a mountain bike at full speed. But I´m not going to waste the next 12 days.

My fingers are very painful, so this has not been easy to write physically or emotionally. I´m not going back to check or correct. I just want everyone to know a few things:

I did something stupid. I should have known better. It almost cost me my life. Hikers die in that same river every 2-3 years and I knew that. I really should be dead. I´m not going to play the "What if...?" game and/or the "If only I had..." game. I´m just going to accept that what happened is what happened and continue to live accordingly, appreciating that I´m (mostly) okay and knowing that things can go from fine, to nightmarish, back to almost normal at dizzying speed. Life is perilous, tenuous, and precious.

Think about that and be happy.

Vegas

I flew into Las Vegas last night on business. I have never been here before. The plane touched down about 9:30 p.m. and the flight attendant announced the the outside temp was 99 degrees Farenheit. I looked out the window. Ninety Nine degrees and no trees. I wasn't in New Hampshire any more.

I hopped the shuttle to the Luxor. I looked around a bit as I rode along.

Vegas is ridiculous.

Vegas could only exist in America.

In fact, I think that Vegas is a powerful and concentrated distillation of a certain strain of American culture. It is at once amazing and (to me) slightly repulsive. It is so completely over the top, so absolutely contrived, so artificial and stimulating and....I'm not sure what. It is a sleight of hand practiced on monumental scale. At a certain level, you have to appreciate the genius of it, but...damn.

And I really haven't seen that much of it. I've been working mostly, and trying not to spend much money. Not much to do here without spending money. That's part of the genius. That's why it could only exist in America.

So I am sitting outside Krispy Kreme inside the Excalibur shopping gallery, logged onto the Krispy Kreme wireless network, passing the time until my shuttle bus takes me to my red eye flight home.

I really love America. What a country!

Watch your Altitude Mister!

Got back late Friday nite from a business trip to Denver. While there, I had several occasions to do some physical training. Went for a run on Wednesday morning. Planned to go 2-3 miles at a moderate pace, not pushing hard. My aim was mostly just to get out, get active, and get the blood moving. Not looking for a “pushing myself to a higher level of performance” type of workout.
About a mile and half in I noticed that I was really kind of dragging. I wasn’t going fast, even for me, but it just felt tough. I had gotten a good night’s sleep the previous night but felt a bit like I do when I am running low on sleep. What gives?
Then it hit me. Altitude. I was a mile high in the air running with no oxygen. OK, not really NO oxygen, but apparently a lot less. So…I decided to start doing wind sprints. I figured that with the reduced air resistance I would break even. Yeah. Not so much really.
I did a couple of weight workouts over the next two days. Oof dah! Swings. Snatches. Clean and jerks. 400 reps overall the first time. The second workout I went easier only totaling 300 reps. Both times just blasted me. I am still sore. Oh but it is such a gooood pain.
I also noticed that altitude seems to affect my body’s metabolism of alcohol. I had one beer on Thursday night, and got a little buzz off of that. I’m 200 lbs, and that has never happened before. Not with just one. The good news is that I figure I got 3 to 5 times the benefit out of each rep at 5000 feet than I’m getting here. Let’s hear it for efficiency!

Cali Wrap Up

Well, it’s been almost 2 weeks since we got home from CA. I guess it’s time I put that trip to bed, blogwise. I’ll keep the comments short, and may even aspire to pithy.

Dry heat is still hot. But at least it feels like air, not soup. It’s easier to breathe. I liked it. I guess I would prefer the desert to the jungle.

The sheer variety of fantastic flowering plants is quite something. And the growing season! I’m not a gardener but I can certainly appreciate the attraction.

I would love to visit in the spring rainy season and see the hills all green instead of brown.

It’s not all hot and dry. I was impressed by the difference near the coast. Much more temperate. I like the Northern CA coast quite a lot. Yup…me and about, what? 8 million other people?

Californians are people too. For the most part anyway. I didn’t get to LA, so I may be working with too small a statistical sample.

I think I would learn to surf if I lived near the coast. I would use a big board and say I am retro. Look at me! I'm the retro surfing gorilla!

3 days after returning, I’m laying in bed at 12:30 a.m. My wife whispers, “Are you still awake?” I reply, “Yeah.” She says, “Why are we still awake.” I said, “Because it’s 9:30 in California.”

We can both see why people would want to live there. We aren’t moving…yet. But we can see why people would.

Monterey

Driving up from Merced yesterday we experienced a 30 degree drop in temperature in 3 hours. Actually, the drop in temp took place in about the last 45 minutes of our drive. It was approaching 100+ in Merced when we left. As we climbed out of the valley and over the mountains just east of the coast, it became cloudy, then foggy and the temp plummeted. We had been forewarned, but it was fascinating to watch.

We spent the afternoon in Carmel by the sea. We bought a beautiful handmade steel wall hanging from a little shop called It’s Cactus and Beyond Borders specializing in imported crafts and folk art, mostly from Mexico and the Caribbean. It is a “Tree of Life” made from hand hammered steel cut from discarded oil drums, and it is beautiful. It will probably end up hanging over our stairway. It’s a beautiful piece. The picture to the left is similar, but our hanging is a one-of-a-kind, and is about 36 inches square. We feel that this will be a fitting tribute to Renee’s brother, and will bring joy and beauty into our home.

One of the things I most appreciate about my lovely bride is her love of beautiful things. She is always reminding me of the importance of beauty. I have a tendency to be utilitarian, and I know for a fact that my life in greatly enriched by the art that she brings to our home. I love this piece and look forward to mounting it on the wall. It will always remind me of the goodness of the world – the paradise it was first made to be, and the new kingdom to come when justice shall roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream!

In the last days the mountain of the LORD's temple will be established as chief among the mountains; it will be raised above the hills, and peoples will stream to it. Many nations will come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths." The law will go out from Zion, the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. He will judge between many peoples and will settle disputes for strong nations far and wide. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Every man will sit under his own vine and under his own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid, for the LORD Almighty has spoken. All the nations may walk in the name of their gods; we will walk in the name of the LORD our God for ever and ever. (Micah 4:1-5)

We also spent some time on the beach. I’m not sure how it compares to any other day, but the surf was amazing. We could feel the spray from 2 hundred yards out. The weather was cloudy and very cool, the water a pale translucent green, generously spattered with foam from the rolling waves. Surfers were out doing their thing. Lots of dogs out looking happy and sniffing the piles of seaweed and checking out holes in the sand. Lots of folks just walking around, playing, running. I’ll post some pictures later, as I don’t have the camera with me at the moment.

We found a cheap hotel and ate dinner at the Mexican restaurant called Peppers in nearby Pacific Grove. Seafood tacos, excellent frijoles and a pitcher of Margaritas with a salted glass. That’s good livin!

We go back up to Berkeley today to try to wrap up a loose end, and then catch an early fight home in the morning.

From Merced

We are now in Merced CA, in the heart of the Central Valley. Again, I am amazed at the variation in terrain and climate. What a country. I love America.

We are here visiting Tom and Sandy. Tom and Sandy are parents of Wendy, our good friend from Green Bay. It has been several years since we have seen them and it is as good as always, as they are wonderfully wise and generous people. Just hanging out with them is a joy and a blessing. Wendy and Ron are our bestest friends in GB (and probably anywhere actually), and it has been years since we have seen them also. This is about as close as we have been to them in some time. In fact, we understand that they will actually be here in a few weeks. We'll have to leave some secret messages hidden for them.

This morning we got the tour of Merced and Atwater, including Wendy's high school, the houses of the boys she used to date, and detailed descriptions of her teenage life. It was all most enlightening, and it really explains so much that has puzzled us for years. ;-)

We were privileged to attend the Atwater July 4 parade. It is the same parade that is taking place across America today. The marchers change, the names on the floats change, the length of the parade may be shorter here and longer there, but it is the same parade. It's a great reminder that ultimately America is not Washington DC. It is here, it is your neighbor and my neighbor, the farmer, the insurance guy, the businesses and churches and clubs that populate our towns. Is it boring? I suppose as an event, as entertainment it is not the most exciting thing ever. I view it more as a ritual, and expression of community and democracy and life in a great county, a life of abundance and freedom and responsibility and community. This is not my community, but it is like my community and I felt right at home watching this parade and enjoyed knowing that it is still my parade.

The highlight of the day (so far -- it ain't over yet) was eating at In 'N Out Burgers. Ron grew up in CA, and has at various times extolled the virtues of numerous eating estblishments common to the west coast -- Jack in the Box, Del Taco, and Carl's Jr. among others. Perhaps the highest praise, the most esteemed location in Ron's gustatory pantheon is reserved for In 'N Out Burgers. To drive by, one might simply chalk it up to another fast food place, but not so. Oh no.

The menu is elegantly simple. Burgers. Fries. Soft drinks. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing. This alone sets them the owners apart as geniuses.

The burgers come in three varieties only; Double, Cheesburger, Hamburger. Therefore, there are only three combos available. Each burger is cooked to order. The fries are cut from fresh potatoes (from Maine!), cut and then fried "in oil free from trans-fats since 1948." This somewhat ambiguous grammatic construction does make me wonder if they change the oil periodically, but I decided not to worry about it. Some things just are better left unknown. Underneath the each soda cup is the reference to a bible verse. This may be good or bad depending on your perspective. It reminds us of Chik-fil-A, another offbeat fast food venue which we thought offers uncommonly good food. The burgers are good sized and well-built, hot and delicious. The fries are real potatoes and really yummy.

And so, we experience yet another important slice of California culture. There is so much to eat, and so little time. I am not a food snob. I love good food in all forms; fast, slow or even sitting still. I thought this was terrific. Thanks Ron!

Berkeley

What can I say about Berkeley CA?

What a fascinating conglomeration of people and culture. I am skirting around the central reason for our going to Berkeley, as I’m not sure that it is really something that I want to publish on the web. Suffice it to say that it is not quite like anyplace I have ever been before. I would say that certain parts of Madison WI, and Royal Oak MI aspire to be like Berkeley, but Berkeley clearly is the source and mother of all hippie things. It is the spring from which the magic water flows. All other such places are mere shadows. Here it is undiluted and runs deep.

It was a full day, and we accomplished much and met some good and helpful people. I am glad we went.

California Terrain

I find myself in California for the first time in 24 years. Last time I was merely passing through, and actually saw very little of the countryside. This time, I am spending a week in and around the San Francisco Bay area. A few general observations about the countryside today. Perhaps more to come about the people and our particular reason for being here.

Earth
It seems silly to say it, but this sure is different from NH. The shape of the hills is different. The colors are different. The plant life is different. The terrain is dominated by hills covered with tan colored grasses, offset by swaths of trees. The greenery seems to mostly settle into the folds and crevices of the land, apparently seeking out the water that channels into them. Up close, you can see there are many different types of grasses, but from a distance they take on a uniform, almost mowed appearance. It’s quite beautiful and so alien to my eastern eyes, so used to land and ecology shaped by glaciers and by lots and lots of rain water.

Air
I notice a distinct difference in the air. It dry. Pleasantly, delightfully dry. Humidity? What’s that. Granted, I have not spent any time yet in San Francisco itself, which I understand is typically much cooler, cloudier, and even damp. And, this is only one short slice of time out of the year. Even so, the air appears remarkably clear and clean. This in spite of the density of population. The color of the sky has been a beautiful cerulean blue, accented with just the right amount of clouds to prevent a frightening uniformity. The temps have been perfect, although when we travel to Merced later this week it threatens to get up to over 100 degrees F. Those of us from the Northeast like to say about the climate out west that “It’s hot, but it’s a dry heat.” As if that makes it better. I shall test out the truth of that adage. As they say where I’m from, “It ain’t the heat. It’s the humdidy.” We’ll see.

Water
I’m a little surprised by the appearance of San Francisco Bay. It’s an opaque chalky green color. While flying in, it took me a while to realize that we were actually flying over the bay. I was expecting blue, or maybe a clearer more translucent green color. I’m not sure why it looks the way it does, or whether that’s a bad thing or not. It just looks a lot different from what I expect.

Philadelphia

My family traveled to Philadelphia last week for a family trip. We made it a long weekend, leaving on Thursday and returning Friday. The trip revolved around a visit to the exhibit of artifacts from King Tut’s tomb at the Franklin Institute. Since my daughter's are home schooled, and last year’s history subject was ancient Egypt, we thought this would be a good opportunity to bring some of that history into clearer focus. The exhibit was terrific, of course, but it ended up not being the highlight of the trip I my mind.

First we were struck by how much Philadelphia is a real city – in a good way. My wife and I lived in Detroit for 9 years. Detroit certainly is a place with it’s own special problems, but it is also a great city with much to recommend it. You cannot, however, say that it’s downtown is one of it’s strengths. In Detroit, there is some activity during the day, but it’s mostly the business crowd virtually all of whom live in the suburbs. There is no sense of a truly active urban life, certainly not after 5:00. Center City Philly, on the other hand, is clearly a place where people live. We spent most of our two days there walking around downtown, and I think the girls learned more from that experience than from the museum exhibit we ostensibly came to see. The variety of people, shops, events, street life, architecture and public art was fascinating, and we spent a lot of time just pointing things out to each other and talking about them as we walked. At one point, my wife described the place as very European – at least when compared to Detroit. I think she was referring to the amount of art and public space. I had to agree with her.

Among the new sights, we were able to see and meet several homeless people. This was a new experience for the girls. “Why is he sleeping in the doorway?” “Why did you give him money?” When we explained, the questions became, “Why doesn’t he have a home?” On the way home, we saw a woman at a rest stop along I-87 who was sitting outside with a sign that said she had no money for gas. She was wearing bedroom slippers for shoes, and it was apparent that she had fled her house in a hurry. We gave her some money and some food. The whole experience along this line was not only a good lesson for the girls, but also for me. As I tend to be a pretty stingy person, I was consciously trying to give to these people generously, and out of a sense of my own abundance, realizing that the small amount I would barely be missed. I fully realize that what little I gave them would not solve their problem, but was a simple act of human kindness. This may seem like a small thing, but as I said, I am stingy. Giving away cash does not come naturally to me.

I have to say that my favorite part of the trip was our excursion into the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul. We had a little time to kill before our scheduled entry to the Tut exhibition and we found ourselves in front of the Cathedral and decided to go in to take a look around. Not being Catholic, and being raised in a small town, my girls had never seen anything quite like this before. My oldest was simply transported. So many colors, and shapes and so much artistry! There is a dome at the top of the cathedral, with stained glass windows surrounding it. They are actually quite hard to see from the floor of the nave, and I asked why they would take so much trouble to put all those windows and paintings and sculpture way up there where no one could see them. The oldest got it right off the bat. She said, “God can see them.” As we walked around, talking about the basilica, the transept making the shape of the cross, the purpose of the altar, and why the pulpit is off to the side, her face shone. As we viewed the devotional art in the chapels, and talked about why people come here to pray, and how these things can help us to see God more clearly, her eyes were bright. I loved it.

And then the next day, we found ourselves sitting in a 225 year old Quaker Meeting House. What a contrast! And another great opportunity to talk about how we go about Meeting with God.

I haven’t even touched on the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, the golden artifacts of ancient Egypt and the fact that my girls at ages 9 and 5 still get totally fired up about a Merry Go Round. I’ll have to come back to those things later, perhaps. It was a good trip.