Dog Days and Dank Espresso

In an attempt to appeal to a wider audience, get some different perspectives and offer unique stories, we're excited to start featuring pieces written by friends and new authors.  Below is a piece written by our friend and Partner-in-Gnar, Amos.  Although I've written about Amos before, I'm stoked to have his voice join the chorus at Nature of Motion.  If you're interested in submitting a story of your own, consider getting in touch through natureofmotion@gmail.com.

Dog Days and Dank Espresso

Amos Swanson

Ambassadors of Action

 One of my high school teachers once asked, “Without speech, would there still be thought?”  At the time this stoner-esque consideration was profound enough to leave me not only speechless, but thoughtless as well.  I tried to imagine a thought without words and could only vaguely conceive of emotional inspirations that well up deep within us.  Music has a piece of this power, to convey thought and emotion without words, but in a way it borrows so much from speech and sound.

People seem to do a lot of talking, and a lot of thinking.  Unfortunately, they don’t always go hand in hand and at times we seem to say things without thinking about them, and conversely to think of things without talking about them.  Most of the time, this is all fine and well, after all if you’re not hurting someone or something with your pointless drivel then who cares, but words and thoughts have a way of turning into actions, and together these can have a serious impact.

Lessons Learned

We each want to progress, to learn and improve.  Each generation is not only lucky enough to build upon the efforts of those before us, but we too act, practice and refine our thoughts, our crafts, and our lives to be more in line with an evolving world view.  As climbers and adventurers we strike off, in an effort to learn more about life by experiencing it in extremes.  As we scratch the surface, the experiences call us back again and again, and soon we become more proficient and comfortable with the logistics, trouble, and physical hardship that often go along with these trips.  We learn from friends and relatives, books and movies, and of course our own personal adventures.  Certain disciplines call us, whether it be bouldering or alpine climbing, creek-boating or surfing, as the specialists we are we devour this lifestyle completely, striving to understand every angle and aspect of it's execution.  Along the way we come to understand more about ourselves and the world, and subsequently the relationship between each.

This concept of bicycle-powered adventure is not new, and there are seemingly more and more resources appearing every day on it's subject.  While I do not claim much experience from my limited adventures, from the meager amount I’ve learned along the way, I do wish to add my voice to the chorus of encouragement.  Truth is this is all still so new to me, and although we’ve been living the bicycle-life for about two and a half years, I constantly find myself exploring new aspects that keep it fresh, challenging, and exciting.  This was the first trip I’ve ever done that involved skis, only the second that involved snow, and the first that involved multiple stages of shipping gear.  In an effort to clear away some of the confusion, and help with the logistics of your own ride, I wanted to share as much of this knowledge as I can, in hopes that you’ll be able to take it one step farther, while doing it easier.  While in no way comprehensive, chronological, or even ordered, what’s below is one part trip report, one part advice, and three parts rambling rhetoric, enjoy.

(Another) Case for Place

Winters, for me, have always been a practice in hibernation.  Not in the most literal sense, and I haven't always seen things this way, but as my time here continues to unfold and my views and values continue to evolve, it's easy to see how the seasons affect many changes in my life.  My food, sleep, work, my mobility, my drive, and so much more, all are grounded and shaped by the colder months, where and how I spend them.  This year marks the ninth winter season I've come to Alta, Utah.  Each of these seasons has seen progression, regression, evolution and expansion.  I've loved, learned, limped, and continued to move forward.  While I've never had a vehicle with me for any of my winters here, it's only been since 2008 that I haven't owned a car year round, and only in the last two years that I've truly embraced the bike.  This season makes the second winter of Nature of Motion, and it's interesting to see the hint of a pattern here.  Winter is truly a time for introversion, a time for reflection and renewal.  As I look back, look forward, and look inward, I continue to notice new things, re-connect with the familiar, and find my creative spark to progress.  It's easy to look to the side of the screen and see the pattern, the abundance of posts and activity in the summer months, and the scarcity in the winter.  Granted, there's been a lot more than just my change in transportation in these last few years, but I think that reflects a lot of what goes on behind the scenes.  Recently, I've been thinking and journaling a lot about this topic, this sort of seasonality and localism that plays on my life each winter.  March is usually when I start to wake up and dig myself out from the haze of the winter, it's also the month of my birth, so it's a pretty appropriate time to be reflecting inward on my progress and position.  A little over a year ago I wrote a piece on this subject entitled A Case for Place. Here now with a year gone by and I find myself in the same place, thinking along the same lines.  But what do I have to add?  What have I learned or how have a grown?  I find it helpful to look back first, to gain some of this perspective of time and place, so before I spewed out all the nonsense below I took a minute to read the original piece, if you've got a minute, and think it'd help you too, check it out here. Enjoy.

A Call To Climbers

Here I sit, hand bandaged in gauze and cotton, temporarily sidelined and forcibly inactive.  The slightest miscalculation and most seemingly insignificant accident and I’m left with a torn ligament in my thumb, and it’s resulting surgical repair.  After another summer of movement and adventure, I anticipated returning to a relatively sedentary winter existence, one with an abundance of reflection and introspective time, but this is hardly what I expected.  A sense of déjà-vu pervades as I re-live Liz’s recent injury and remind myself that life is full of surprises, their being good or bad depends entirely on perspective, which in turn itself relies upon your grasp of reality, your worldview and your version of sanity.  So as I recline with the subdued awareness I will not be climbing for months, that my work and play in the mountains will be limited equally, I cannot help but feel excitement and optimism for the future, and know I might be a little insane for doing so.

Coastal Ambiguity

I'll always be an East Coaster who's heart is pulled by the smell of fresh cut hay and cow manure, the thought of a steamy sugar house or a crisp autumn day filled with the fiery color of changing leaves.  I don't know what it is about growing up in New England that at once makes us so nostalgic for the simpler life of rural self-sufficiency, but at the same time lights a fire for the passion of a far flung adventure.  Every so often I wander home and find myself torn between these sentiments, and as I grow older, I may not become wiser, but I certainly do gain the perspective of time, place, and experience to better understand these two sides of my personality.  While this struggle has existed in me to some degree always, it's when I return home that I consider it most often.  The East versus West discussion can take on many forms; migration, motivation, mindset.  Ultimately it's about where we come from, and where we want to go, parts of ourselves that we can't escape or deny.

I started writing this piece when we were still back in New England, but it's been with me for some time before that.  I'm back west now, and it's even more apparent how different things truly are.  Weather or not you grew up on the east coast we're all a part of this discussion, we all came west at some time, unless you're one of the people from whom we took this land, and unfortunately that's equally as true in the east.  The decision to move west is written into the blood and history of being an American, and that's true even if you feel comfortable staying put at home on the east coast.  Traveling west is part of our individual and collective manifest destiny; experiencing freedom, independence and generally being unbound.  What does it mean to you, to live where you do, to travel in one direction or another, does your home call you or is it exploration you seek?

Apology and Affirmation. A tribute to Stuart Smalley

 When you take a look around at your favorite blogs out there you’ll find that most amateur ones have a similar theme of entries asking forgiveness, apologies for not writing so often, and a promise to try harder.  While most folks seem genuinely sorry for their lack of conviction in keeping a post going every week or whatever, I’ve always found it to be a silly and slightly conceited thing to apologize for.  I can’t really imagine their readers, sitting there patiently, anxiously waiting for the next piece of prose and genuinely angry for having not received it in a timely manner.  But I’ve begun to realize, at least for myself, that this apology isn’t really for the reader at all, but more accurately, an apology to myself. 

Just a Reminder...

This is a blog.  Simple.  A quick deconstruction of the word reveals its true meaning, a web log.  A diary.  A journal.  But more then that, the format and purpose of today's blogs is to share.  I'm writing for you, even more than for myself.  Writing and photographing for me has become a way of expressing my worldview, sharing my thoughts, feelings, insights, and adventures.  The format and structure of this site and those like it allow for the sharing of ideas and following of readership.  You can comment, subscribe, or share it with your own friends and families.

This is a journal, and I usually treat it as so, my entries flowing mostly from a stream of consciousness that receive little or no editing.  But this is a journal of purpose, and while I often get lost in the web world of climbing, the hopes and dreams of a kid who loves mountains, I'd like to take this moment to remind myself, and you, why I created this space, why I'm still here writing, and the direction I hope to be going.

Mountains, Mobility, and The Nature of Motion

Who remembers their first time riding a bike?  Although most of my childhood memories exist as snapshots and short films in my mind, I can pretty well recall my first experiences of two wheeled ecstasy.  While my trike and training wheel days might be lost in the haze, that first time I managed to balance and pedal my way across the front lawn has stuck with me to this day.  The sheer delight of those few moments being pushed between my mother and father, and eventually learning to roam around under my own body's power are powerful memories that I'll be hard pressed to forget.

The bicycle is nothing new, and it's anything but unpopular, everyone from the homeless to the most affluent, the cyclist riding purely for transportation to that of the racer riding for physical achievement, everyone who's ever ridden a bike has experienced this ultimate, and simple, childlike happiness.

Riding a bicycle can give you the sensation you are flying, it is an experience filled with joy.

Yes, slogging up steep mountain roads in blazing heat with no wind can be an unforgiving experience, and riding alongside speeding traffic has lead to many a near-death experience, but the satisfaction of moving under your own power, and the knowledge that at some point you'll be cruising downhill with the wind on your face, trees and scenery whizzing by, is enough to keep you pushing to the top.

Not many people learn to ride a bicycle after they're 10 years old, it's something they learn to do as a kid, and it'll stick with you for life.  I haven't heard of anyone learning to ride a bicycle purely for it's efficiency and mobility, in fact, when I ask most people why they ride their bikes, the most popular answer I get is "for fun".  For many folks, the choice to ride a bicycle for commuting and transportation is less about why you want to ride your bike then about why you don't want to drive a car.  A life choice so seemingly at odds with the ease and independence of the modern world is likely to spark discussion and debate about our many different world views. For myself, as for many others, this choice came about as more of an evolution than a decision.  Today I'm writing to give some insight into what the Nature of Motion is all about, why I no longer want to own a car, and more importantly why I think the bicycle is such a simple solution and amazing means of transportation.  Basically, here are some words about why I'm so happy to forgo the car, ride a bike, and climb mountains.

ramblings.....

Shadows pass underneath me, move into the distance, and dissolve into darkness.  As I glide along, the street lamps pass above me, replaying this motion over and over.  Riding my bike home from a late night trip to water the garden, this dance played out around me.  I was overcome with appreciation for this simple scene, the part I played, their interconnection, and the consciousness that made it all possible.  These are the moments when the world seems to fall away, all worries, hopes and cares, all thoughts turn into a cloud that is blown away by the breeze of pure awareness.