The Start of a New Story

The book Wild, about a woman solo hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, is kind of my bible. So when I heard its author, Cheryl Strayed, give writing advice on a podcast recently, I gobbled up her every word. Believe it or not, her secret to getting uninterrupted quiet time to write is to literally check herself into a hotel down the street from her home and family. It made me feel less bad about my struggles to write blog posts, and how I have the best intentions to write every couple weeks but it always turns into every couple months. Now that that’s off my chest, on to the fun stuff: Owen and I are engaged!!

Many of you have already heard the story, but I’m going to tell it again anyway, because this kind of stuff only happens once. Back in March, Owen had been away at National Guard training for a couple weeks, and the mountains in California were getting hammered with snow. We planned a trip to go cross-country skiing as soon as he got back. Owen was chomping at the bit to go, but I didn’t suspect a thing. I was just happy he was as enthusiastic about the trip as I was. Last minute, he found out he had to work that Sunday, so I figured it would just be a quick, casual trip. I was expecting Owen to propose on this trip about as much as I was expecting him to break up with me, which is to say, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind for a second.

Celebrating at every overlook we drove by 

The fact that I wasn’t expecting it made the moment that much sweeter when, in the middle of our cross-country ski trek in Yosemite National Park, alone in a quiet meadow next to a frozen creek, Owen dropped down on one knee. As if on cue, snowflakes started falling from the sky. After I said yes, I think we were both kind of in shock, and it took us a couple seconds to realize I couldn’t put the ring on until I took my glove off (duh!). We made it back in time for Owen to go to work on Sunday, and I took it upon myself that day to take a mini photo shoot of the ring on my trail run in a nearby state park.

Our meadow

The past couple months, we’ve slowly started preparing for our motorcycle trip to Alaska this summer. Back in February, we went motorcycle camping in Death Valley National Park. If I’m being honest, the trip kind of kicked our asses. The ride down alone was an exercise in extreme mental and physical fortitude: nothing can really prepare you for sitting on a motorcycle, in the elements, for ten plus hours.

The approach to Death Valley

We were also in Death Valley almost a year ago, and we heard about this infamous place called the Racetrack which lay some 30 miles from the nearest paved road, and requires a high clearance vehicle, good tires, and “extreme caution” to reach. Our little Toyota Yaris didn’t quite fit the bill, and back then, Owen’s adventure motorcycle was still just a dream. Fast forward to now: we had the motorcycle, crash bars, and safety gear, and thus we had no excuse not to try it out! Ice cream and joshua trees powered us through the ride, and though it got pretty hairy at times, we made it there and back in one piece. The Racetrack is a dried up lake bed in the shape of a racetrack, complete with a “grandstand” of rocks in the center, and it did not disappoint. It’s hard for me to describe the landscape out there, because it felt otherworldly. Closest thing I can compare it to is probably the moon.  

Nothing beats dessert in the middle of the desert

The Racetrack

Death Valley can be a brutal place, and this trip was no exception. That night, a wind storm whipped through our campground, saturating sand into our tent, sleeping bags, essentially every crevice it could find. The wind persisted into the next morning, and temperatures hovered around freezing during our drive out of the park.  It’s worth noting that when we were in the park almost exactly a year ago, temperatures hit triple digits. Go figure. We hunkered down in a gas station for the better part of an hour, warming up, until we realized we couldn’t put off the inevitable forever. After a full day of driving in one of the only cold snaps that California experienced this year, we finally made it home and I promptly took the longest, hottest shower of my life.

It's hard to tell, but that's me!

Don’t get the wrong impression- we actually did enjoy ourselves, perhaps more than we have in a long time. For example, the night we arrived at the park, freezing cold and tired as hell after a full day of riding, I remember looking up at the night sky, freckled with stars, and a sense of peace washed over me. That same night, a group of nine people made room in their campsite for us because there were no open sites left at the campground. Maybe it was just coincidence, but it seemed like people went out of their way to help us because we were on a motorcycle. Maybe because they could tell we were more vulnerable, more exhausted, more reliant on the kindness of others. We got motivational pep talks about making it out to the Racetrack, offers of cold beverages, and when we arrived at yet another full campground, this time we didn’t even have to ask to share a site; someone approached us. One of my favorite parts of the trip was on the drive home. At one point, I looked to my left at a desert landscape dotted with joshua trees, then looked off to my right at the snow covered foothills of the Sierras. Riding at the confluence of those two, magical, wildly different landscapes was a treat I won’t forget any time soon.

Other than the Death Valley trip, between Owen banking lots of overtime and weekend work at his new job, and me training for a race and moonlighting at the running store every now and then, there hasn’t been much time for full blown adventures. Enter the concept of the microadventure. Introduced by Alastair Humphreys, it’s basically a small-scale, local adventure, and could be as simple as camping in your own backyard. A sampling of microadventures I’ve been on over the past couple months: a rock climbing class in a nearby state park, camping with a coworker on a Wednesday night, running up one of the highest peaks in the nearby Santa Cruz mountains, and mountain biking with a friend after work. It’s because of these microadventures that I stay sane at my desk job!

Sneaking in a post-work trail run before the sun sets

A day trip north of San Francisco, to the Marin Headlands

Marin Headlands

I returned to the motherland a.k.a New Jersey back in April for a short trip, and besides ticking off the usual eating checklist (thin crust pizza, a pork roll, egg, and cheese sandwich, and BAGELS), I attended my grandma’s 90th birthday party! It was all I could do not to cry tears of joy as I saw all her friends, from various walks of life, all together in one place, which she told me had never happened before.

90 years young

I also had to hold back tears at a recent work conference I attended. At River Rally, held in Lake Tahoe, I heard story after story of why people have made it their life’s work to protect America’s waterways and environment. One of my favorite stories is about a military veteran who struggled with PTSD, found solace on the river, and eventually started a non-profit organization that connects other veterans and at-risk youth on guided fly fishing trips. The conference was just last week, but Lake Tahoe did not get the memo that it’s spring. That meant I went for a run in the snow, my first and only run in the snow this season. I’m not complaining though: snow makes those mountains come alive.

Exploring in between seminars

The past couple weeks of being engaged have been pretty surreal. After dating for almost eight years, I still can’t believe we’re finally engaged. I kept a journal when Owen and I first started dating, and found a couple gem quotes.

From one of our first dates: “So basically, I still like Owen after today. Where do I go from here?”

My early thoughts on marriage: “It’s like, a shifty business talking about weddings.” Then a couple months later: “We were joking about it [getting married] and how our parents would kill us.”  We’ve come so far!

And lastly, I was writing about all the amazing qualities of Owen: “He loves running with me.” He kept up that act for a solid six months before the truth came out. Hey, nobody’s perfect :)