Running Water in Grass Valley, CA

APRIL 25, 2013

It was in retreat at the center in Allahabad where I originally met Brooke.  The label to one of her herbal tinctures claimed Asheville, North Carolina and I was inclined to get her opinion on the city, as it is on the short list of places I would move to.  Now a resident of Grass Valley, California, she feels like her new hometown feels like what Asheville must have been like 25 years ago before overdevelopment.  I intended to take a look myself. 

I was immediately greeted at the door by her daughter Saki who confidently introduced herself and gave me hand shake firm enough to fit in at most business settings.  Her husband Cactus followed behind with a hug.  Any family that starts their intros like that is good by me. 

He’s a video of them at work …which is to say on stage as a family hip hop group.  No joke.  Just watch.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ml_fJFw-UhM

Saki, Brooke and Cactus hangin on the banks of the Yuma

Grass Valley and neighboring town Nevada City are indeed amazing.  Cool little downtown area with a good local bike shop, food co-op, a couple indi coffee shops, live music, raw food, and every Friday the local art gallery serves kava.  That’s really all I need to live.  Sprinkle in a lot of good riding in the surrounding areas and 280 days of sun each year and I was basically sold. 

On my fourth and final day, we went down to the Yuma river to hang out.  What’s interesting is that despite being desert and high desert, the region has access to a reasonable amount of clean fresh water.  Locals fill up five gallon jugs directly from an unfiltered roadside spring.  This is in stark contrast to the rest of California which is keenly aware of the water scarcity problem plaguing the region.

Good people and good energy here. I leave Grass Valley refreshed.  Inspired.  Hopeful.  I might return here.

Yoga in Palo Alto, CA

APRIL 21, 2013

Two days hanging with my fellow ParaYoga Jillian here in Silicon Valley.  Though I traveled much of the bay area, Palo Alto is a new stop for me.  Everything here is shinny.  Everything is new.  Everyone here is a genius.  At least that’s my impression.

Here we are on the left playing the role of stereotypical Cali yogis, getting coconut water at Wholepaycheck after class.  Think my smile is creepy?  You should check out my see-through Lululemon yoga pants I'm rocking.

At least that was my impression before I was able to score a guess pass to the Stanford pool and watch the future leaders of our country drink non-descript juice out of Solo cups while screwing around on the grassy area by the pool. 

If this blog were honest

 

The way this thing works is that I have a journal that I write in from time to time and then the stuff fit for public consumption gets posted here, while the rest I keep offline.  There have been a few funny things that have happened to me over my travels that didn’t make this blog.   The offline content is basically all the personal stuff that goes on between my ears.  There is also some outright embarrassing stuff.  Originally the embarrassing stuff was going to go out to few close friends of mine via email.  But eff it …no one reads this thing anyway.  So here are the posts that would have been made if this blog were honest.

JANUARY 11, 2013

Negombo, Sri Lanka

My beard trimmer broke today.  More accurately, my beard/pube/chest hair trimmer broke today.  Damn you Wahl and your cheap travel products.  Guess I’ll be keeping my shirt on for asana practice at the yoga retreat next week.

FEBRUARY 1, 2013

Khajuraho, India

My chest hair has approached late 80’s Magnum PI levels.  No way I can take my shirt off for asana practice.

FEBRUARY 10, 2013

New Delhi, India

Well.  That was the weirdest place I’ve ever taken a $#!t.

FEBRUARY 14, 2013

Rishikesh, India

Effing monkeys.  I was walking down the street with some mangoes that were to by my lunch.  A monkey snuck up from behind, ripping the mango bag from my hand and racing up a tree before I knew what hit me. 

FEBRUARY 15, 2013

Rishieksh, India

I just farted.  It was glorious. Not particularly loud.  Didn’t smell.  No frat boys around to high five.  Nothing noteworthy really.  But after a week of “Delhi belly”, now being able to fart without worrying about $#itting myself is a wonderful treat. 

FEBRUARY 16, 2013

Rishikesh, India

My guesthouse neighbor is so nice.  She was with me yesterday when my mangoes got ganked by the monkey.  Today she bought me two mangoes.  …and the monkey got half of one of them again.  Okay, not the same monkey, but a monkey.  I was eating on the balcony and he/she came out of nowhere hissing at me.  I was defenseless and retreated, giving up half a mango on the table. 

FEBRUARY 17, 2013

Rishikesh, India

I have blown past any reasonable amount of body hair.  I’m 30 pounds and 3 inches away from looking like a young Ron Jeremy.

FEBRUARY 18, 2013

Rishikesh, India

I started this trip Indiana Jones style at the ruins of Petra.  I’m gonna end this trip Indiana Jones style too – which is to say I’m gonna kill and eat me some monkey brains.  Sure, I’m a vegan and pacifist.  But I have my limits.  Earlier today on the balcony a black-faced monkey (the normally tame ones, unlike the aggressive mango-stealing red-faced ones) came and bared his teeth at me.  The only thing in my hand was a cup of water which I threw at him.  Unfazed.  He charged.  I retreated.  From my window I could see him hissing at my neighbor.  She was better armed and took a swing at him with a cricket bat.  That’s what I need – a cricket bat.

FEBURARY 19, 2013

Rishikesh, India

Good thing I wasn’t looking to whore around this trip or I’d have to find a babe that likes Star Wars as I’ve gone Full Wookie.  It’s out of control.  Think they’ll ship a beard trimmer all the way to India?

FEBRUARY 21, 2013

Rishikesh, India

Situation dire.  Code Red underwear famine in effect.

Went to get the laundry off the clothes line on the roof today and I was down one sock and one pair of underwear.  Sure, the wind might have taken them.  Or maybe Natasha, the quiet Ukrainian chick next door has some weird fetish.  I blame the monkeys. 

You don’t understand how bad this is.  When I left California I was urged by my friend Casey to upgrade from two to three pairs of underwear.  Glad I did.  Back on Adam’s Peak in Sri Lanka I sat down in some red clay that trashed my shorts and underwear.  Then hours later had an Ayurvedic massage.  If you’re not familiar with the process, you actually wear underwear for some reason.  And they use lots of oil.  Even sans happy ending I was covered with oil as were my underwear.  Let’s just say that red clay and oil don’t make for a good look on grey boxers.  I washed.  I washed again.  They were toast so I threw them away and was down to two pair.

Now I’m down to one pair of underwear.  This is serious, people. 

FEBRUARY 26, 2013

Darjeeling, India

My body hair is so long that it retains water.  Back in Rishikesh I didn’t notice this as my guesthouse provided nice towels.  Now that I’m stuck for one night in a dive out in tea country, I’m forced to use my tiny travel pack towel.  I have to use it once to dry my fur, then wring it out and use it again to actually dry my skin. 

FEBRUARY 27, 2013

Darjeeling, India

I think I prefer the big cockroaches to the little ones.  The little ones are sneaky little bastards that come out of nowhere and disappear to places unknown.  Who can trust a creature that does that?  I feel much better about these big mother fahkers that are twice the size of my big toe.  When they enter the room on tile they sound like Fred Astair in tap shoes.  I can respect that. 

FEBRUARY 28, 2013

I find underwear in a street market today.  They look small so I buy size large instead of medium.  This isn’t to say my boy parts require anything large.  They just look tiny, I upgrade.  When I get home and put them on it is clear they are fit for the malnourished Nepali population that dominates the area.  Those Sherpas might have the red blood cells needed to climb to great heights, but they sure don’t have the quads and @$$ of an American cyclist.  I immediately discard the underwear.

March 1, 2013

Darjeeling, India

Free at last.  Free at last.  Thank God Almighty, my balls are free at last. 

Maybe I didn’t mention it earlier, but underwear pair #3 that I am forced to wear are actually runderwear – tight briefs I typically only use for running.  Forced to wear them every day, my boys were a little cramped.  But today in Darjeeling I passed a mannequin that was, as we used to say in the 90s, “bustin’ a sag” to show off his Calvin Kline boxers.  I ran in the store happier than Buddy The Elf finding The World’s Best Coffee and bought a pair.  They’re glorious.  

MARCH 11, 2013

Kathmandu, Nepal

Biggest. Spider.  Ever. 

And its in the bathroom.  No sleep tonight.   I’ll have to stand watch.

MARCH 13, 2013

Pokhara, Nepal

This is the worst day of my life.  My bs knock off Calvin Kline underwear exploded during yoga practice this morning, leaving a whole “down there” big enough for them to fit in the Crotchless Underwear category.

Negativity and Agression in North Clairemont, California

APRIL 16, 2013   

"This will not stand, ya know, this aggression will not stand, man."

- President H.W. Bush, as quoted by The Dude in the movie The Big Lebowski

“Anywhere but there’d been good.” My neighbor motioned toward my car with a closed hand full the same trash food that filled his mouth, making his grumbled command irritate me all the more.  After swallowing he pointed out the four other spots on the block I should have intuitively known were better options to park my car, for the spot on the public street in front of his house he liked to keep clear.   

At other times in my life I could see the point.  When I lived in a fancy South Florida neighborhood and drove a beat up Subaru with as many dents as window stickers I could understand why you might not want to see it outside your front door next to your Bentley.  Here, in a lower-middle class neighborhood of North Clairemont, California where the street was littered with beat up work trucks and trailers that haven’t moved since Arnold was Governor, I don’t see why my clean new vehicle presented an issue.

This is the kind of agression I’ve been up against for the last week.  My short-term housing situation has been a bigger disaster.  Since leaving college, here are some of the roommate situations I’ve had.  You guess which one would be the biggest problem and which one would be the most perfect fit.

1)   Sublet guy who smoked in my house

2)   Sublet raging alcoholic gay guy with three almost house-broken dogs in my house

3)   Shared house with a cokehead/self described “bar slut” female and a white supremacist male (swasktika tat and all)

4)   Duplex including yard shared with trust fund cokehead who partied until sunrise almost daily, occasionally broke TVs like a rockstar, and was on the registered sex offender list

5)   Aging hippie in an all-vegan house in the suburbs

Guesses? 

One through four worked out fine, though I have many interesting stories to share.  Number five describes my last week and has completely sucked.  Never before have I been so disrespected and unwelcomed in a shared living situation.  There are a dozen little things that drove me insane in the first week of living there, though I’ll spare you the details and insults she threw at me.  It was today that put me over the edge. 

After traveling without issue around numerous third world countries including three well-documented malaria zones and countless sketchy hostels and guest houses, I have recently involuntarily donated large quantities of blood.  To bedbugs. 

It’s disgusting.  My body is covered in red dots and scales.  The best part?  The homeowner is blaming me for bringing them back from India.  Nevermind that I just spent ten days living in luxury in The Emirates followed by a week staying in my childhood bedroom back in Detroit before coming here and that I never had bedbugs before that.  She’s certain I brought them. 

But geez ….if we only had an expert on the subject ….someone who knew something about this topic ….someone to set the subject straight…

…like the guy living in the guesthouse in back who happens to own and operate a pest inspection and control company!  As it turns out, the little fahkers live the walls.  Surprise, surprise. 

I packed my stuff and got out of there.  It the second time in my life I’ve broke a lease, abandoned my cash, and fled for safety.  The first time involved an “incident” that changed my opinion on the existence of ghosts.

So here I am.  In a laundry mat.  Despite the décor that is more hip than most lounges in the Midwest and despite the $10.50 per load pricing that can be paid with a credit card and despite all my other dirtbag adventures, there is nothing that make me feel more like the broke white trash that really I am than sitting in a laundry mat.  At the advice of the pest control guy I am washing and drying all my clothing in the hottest water and the hottest air the commercial machines will put out to kill off any bugs that may have decided to hitch a ride out of the dirty hippie home.  

 How mush of my training and racing gear is being ruined by the heat right now …$200?  $1,000?  I choose not to think about it. 

Days like this make me wish I was still a big drinker.

Nature Time near Laguna Mountain, CA

April 3, 2013

Escaped to Laguna Mountain area after two days in San Diego.  Great scenery.  Great riding.  Great to sleep outside in the fresh air.

However, my first bike ride in 3 months at 5,200 feet turned out to be a terrible idea.  The only good to come from that was these pics.

Had to retreat almost 25 miles downhill each day to a Starbucks to catch an internet connection.  It’s amazing how much of a day can be wasted with a simple commute.   It made me realize how badly I need my own space to hang out in.  Some place to sleep, read, do yoga, and just sit.  I feel like this space has moved from my Want List to my Need List.

Encore in Amsterdam, Netherlands

MARCH 25, 2013

"I'm gonna write you a letter
I'm gonna write you a book
I wanna see your reaction
I wanna see how it looks
From way up on your cloud
You're never coming down
Are you getting somewhere?
Or did you get lost in Amsterdam?"
- Amsterdam, by Guster

All packed.  Ready to go.  On my way to The States.  Almost.

When you’re traveling for business or need to get to your destination, you look for the shortest flight with little or no layovers.  When you have absolutely nowhere to be and plenty of time to get there the strategy is bit different and I managed to score eight hours of layover in Amsterdam.  It has been five years since I’ve been here and I forgot how much I absolutely love the vibe of this city.  It’s all bicycles and kittens.  Seriously.  I have the photos to prove it. 

Lemme get this straight - I can live on a boat AND have a garden AND be a bike commuter?

While on the street staring dumbfounded at a map, I met an amazing traveler.  Actually it was woman who has managed to pull of the travelers dream by landing a job abroad.  She too was on a layover, which was good for me.  Good because her layover was shorter than mine and up until this point I had the thought that trying to explore Amsterdam in eight hours may have been a bit crazy.  But now that I found someone else with the same plan, my stop seemed totally normal. We walked together back to the train station and on to the airport.  It was time for my journey to come to an end and to board that flight to Detroit. 

Much like going to Venice without riding a gondola or Nepal without trekking, I leave Amsterdam without getting stoned.  Life is to short for bothering with others’ expectations and interests.  I am comfortable with my own path.

                                        -  End, Chapter 5 of my life -

Desert Silence in Dubai, U.A.E.

MARCH 24, 2013

Last day of real travel.  The common question folks have been asking me is, “Are you ready to go back?” to which I can definitively say, “No.”  Most everything about my travels have been wonderful, which I hope has been made clear by my writings. 

As you can tell by the shading I'm pretty much and expert photographer

The one thing I will miss the least about my travels is the constant, never ending stream of lies told by merchants in an attempt to get my business.  You perhaps read a while back about my papaya smoothie incident in Sri Lanka.  There could literally be a story like that every day.  Today I got screwed one last time before hitting the road.

I'm no civil engineer but that right turn from the center lane may have been a bad idea

I asked my hotel to arrange for a desert “safari” which is to say a four wheel drive trip in to the desert.  A traveler I met told me how the desert silence is unlike any silence I’ve ever heard.  Or not heard.  Or however I’m supposed to word that.

After all this time surrounded by skyscrapers and rich people I was ready for one final escape into nature.  I knew, and was indifferent to, the fact that the hotel would gouge me a bit on pricing.  The only thing I was adamant about was that I was not part of some large group circus-like off road expedition and that this would be a small group of two or three vehicle.  “No problem!  Very small.  Very small.” I was told.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Not until after I paid and was driven an hour out of town did I realized we were part of a convoy of 12 vehicles from the tour company I was with and part of a larger group with about 60 vehicles in total.  There would be no silence.  Only a desert baja expedition with four rowdy Saudi men in back who kept urging the driver to go faster, launch off of bigger dunes and be more and more reckless.  It would have been so cool if I were 16 years old.  I’m not.  I wanted it to end.

The dune jumping session was followed by a trip to some camp in the middle of the desert complete with buffet food, dancers, hookahs, open bar and really terrible faux-arab dance music.  It was hell, though a funny way to end my trip when you think about it.  Most people start with organized tours then maybe work out to venturing out in to some type of solo travel adventure.  Three months ago I landed in Sri Lanka and wandered the central highland mountains by myself. Today I sit eating prepared Western food as part of a tour package.  Of course it wasn’t all bad – I got to see cleavage for the first time in three months. 

And who doesn't love fake Russian cleavage, really?