Inspiration

I pedaled down the seemingly endless stretch of dark pavement, hugging the white line closely, trying not to drift left into traffic, should a car ever venture down this path, and avoiding a veer to the right and whatever ditch or curb may lie there. It is night, about 8:30, and it is dark. All the familiar landscapes and landmarks of the day are no longer there, and only black voids fill their space. I strain my eyes for some clue as to where I am on the road, how much further it is to the end of the path where I will turn around and take the dark journey again back home. I decided to take a bike ride to clear my head of all my jumbled excitements and stresses of our upcoming trip and discovered that night seems to have gotten a lot darker since I had seen it last. It is in these times, when we realize just how dark darkness can be that we really start to think. For me my thoughts went something like this:

“What was that noise!?” 
“Is there something hiding in that bush?” 
“Why is that car slowing down?”

You thought I was going to say something really deep there, didn’t you? Seriously though, I may be paranoid, but I was able to do some reflecting on my summer and on the upcoming journey, which is now just a few days away.

As we arrived in Tahoe, we were surrounded by mountains that were still snow covered, and the crowds were nowhere to be found. Each day was filled with exploration of the endless possibilities that lay before us. We approached our climbs through snow, had snowball fights on the side of the path, and watched as the dogs joyously romped through snow piles, wrestling and making snow cones (that was a lot of snow for one sentence). As the days passed, more and more people arrived at the crags where we were now locals; snow melted and turned trickles into streams, which then turned to small rivers. The days stretched on, as the sunlight replaced our need for headlamps, we climbed well into the evening. As more time passed, the rivers turned back to streams, then to trickles, to puddles and then back to dry earth. The sunlight has begun shrinking back earlier and earlier, and we find ourselves rappelling off our climbs in the dark once more. It is clear to me that it is time to move on, time to start our adventure.

I pedal down the road into the night, this ride somehow seeming longer than the 72-mile ride we did circumventing the lake two days before. I start to think about how we get places and why we do things. About inspiration.

Pedal, pedal

I see my Dad, riding in a gear that seems beyond Granny, his legs pumping furiously, bike hardly moving, as he pedals my new Trek up the impossibly steep driveway at Cerro Vista Student Housing. In this image, he is a seasoned veteran, dropping off his last child at college. My dad inspires me. He is slow to anger, exceptionally patient, extremely patient, selfless and incredibly wise. Whenever I am about to react adversely to something, I always think WWDD, what would dad do? It’s usually not what I am about to do, so I pause and change my course. Thanks for being so smart dad.

Pedal, pedal

I think about my friends, all of who inspire me in very different ways. There are the ones who amaze me with their dedication to school and to their studies. The ones who are excellent at being there for you when you need them. The ones whose endless joy and exuberance can lift you up out of the deepest sadness. Chelsea, who has my back like a chiropractor, and Alex who always impresses me with his zest and endless passion for life and love. Thank you friends for teaching me to be a better person.

Pedal, pedal, pedal

I realize that the dark is good for something. I look up and see thousands of stars, stretching across the sky. I think of Tim and how when we first started dating I left for Honduras for six weeks. Before I left, he told me, “At night, if you get sad or lonely, just look up at the stars and know that I will be looking at them too. We may be far away, but we’ll be looking at the same stars and that will bring us together.” Tim inspires me. He taught me to love everyone like a brother or sister, to see the good in them, and to encourage them to see it too. Thank you Tim for teaching me to love.

Pedal… pedal.

How long is this road anyway? Thinking beyond who inspires me, I think about what inspires me. Nature, rocks, lakes, passion, road trips, food, climbing! I think Fred Nicole puts it best. He says, “What makes climbing so great is that it’s not rules invented from the humans beings, it’s given from the natural [nature], so there are as many possibilities as there are rocks on this planet.” Beautiful. Humans have a tendency to mess things up, but nature… nature is perfect. Nature is the best route setter, the best hold shaper! I like what Kevin Jorgeson says, “My style is to do what inspires you, whatever that is. I used to be really psyched on doing the hardest moves I can, but I don’t know, something shifted in me a couple years ago where just being part of the landscape on a big beautiful line for an instant was what really got me psyched on climbing.” I am inspired to climb things that make me smile. Usually that is something easy. I am not often smiling while pulling off tiny holds and working arduous cruxes, and that is perfectly fine with me. Sometimes I like to crush, but most of the time I’m just cruising along with my homies.

So what inspires you? Climbing? Cooking, biking, reading, building things, drawing, singing, dancing? Whatever it is, do what you love. Be inspired, and let that joy be inspirational to others.

By the way… I’M LEAVING FOR SMITH ROCK RIGHT NOW! YES!