Senses, Memory, and Building Metaphor

In our universe, there is an infinite number of possibilities, some filled with mystery, others well known, and again some to remain finite.   However, our five senses are majestic in their power to drive our emotions far beyond what is just a simple mindset.  As a writer, I often have to dwell on emotions in order to convey them in metaphor, thus what is written becomes a complete memory and not just a simple fragmented thought.

A dear friend and fellow writer sent me an audio recording yesterday of him talking in his slow southern drawl, about the sound of a slow rain across a tin roof and how it invoked past memories of his mother Pearl and her once notoriety as a singer in early radio.   As he continued, he made a metaphor of the sound alone "is like the crackling of a campfire".  Anyone who has been camping in their life knows that sound, late at night, when there is the dead silence, where it's only you, the sounds of the forest, and that crackling of a campfire; those who are city dwellers-- or those from the north may not have heard the sound of a slow rain across a tin roof.   It is a mesmerizing sound; so loud that it will overwhelm the senses.  "A man can get plain lost in that sound" as my dear friend had so eloquently expressed.

As a young child, I remember my mother taking me across the deep south, across Alabama, into Mississippi, and eventually ending up near Biloxi, on the Delta.  We were visiting her old friends, and family members that I haven't seen since.  Most of whom, when I was a child were already in their 70's and lived in old Southern, rural homes.   I have fond memories of those times, but alas the only sound I truly remember is the amazing sound of rain on the tin roofs.  The soft, slow, and steady rain wraps your mind around a peacefulness, and a hard storm, creates a drowning roar, that can consume every worldly thought.

As a teenager, once moving formally to the Deep South to live with my father and my beloved step mother MK.  I had already come to realize how music was more than a dream that I wanted to play professionally, but I deeply loved how the sound of a particular song could evoke deeply held emotions, and a resonating longing toward almost any kind of personal nostalgia.  However, at this age is where moving from the city to a new place in the south, I became aware of another sense that became one almost as captivating.

During the summer in central Georgia, the dusk is an amazing time.  It releases all the smells from the heat of the day, as if the long grass were a type of pie in an oven, and just as sweet.   It permeates the air, consuming the mind and body, and still to this day, when I return there, the smells instantly fill my mind of that happy youthful time when riding in the back of a truck wasn't considered dangerous, driving tractors (as I grew up on a horse ranch) was a daily occurrence, and sitting on the porch playing blues on my guitar with my next door neighbors in my first apartment I had at 17.  I mention that time, because my first apartment was in a poverty stricken area in Warner Robins, Georgia. I was the minority in this predominantly African-American neighborhood, but as people sat on their front porches, I would bring my guitar outside, play some 12 bar blues, and this old man, probably in his mid 70's would play harmonica.   We kept our neighbors consumed, singing & dancing, and it was probably one of my most memorable times at that age.  Even now, thinking of that smell of the grass deep in my nose reveals so many memories, I wouldn't be able to capture them all here if I tried, but it warms my heart with a whirlwind of all that was at that time.

It is phenomenal to me that how the slightest sense of one immediately becomes the sense of another.  For me, the smells and sounds instantly bring back visual memories of a time that was much more simple, less the digital and wireless leashes that tie us to our occupations.

In 1991, traveling back to Virginia Beach after being away in Georgia for a little over a year and a half.  As I entered the state and began getting closer to the mouth of the James River; I could smell the salt of the ocean as if I were a long time mariner pining for the calm of the still waters, but still weeping the emotions of the amazing power that is the sea.

It was during this time I had had a deeper longing for my first true love, one that would play a true game of attrition with me over the next 20 plus years of my life.  Many people hold dear to their passions for the past, or the people whom have helped shape their life.  She was absolutely no exception to this rule.  In later years it would prove fatal to many other relationships of mine, mostly due to the jealous nature of others and their propensity in belief that everyone is at heart dishonest.  Sadly, that is untrue and jealousy simply distorts reality.

In the late summer of 1994, I returned to Georgia where I had went to high school, and reconnected with my first love.  Her touch was as soft as the autumn winds, caressing each leaf, whispering on the air in a careless flow of acrobatics, and then at last returning to the ground to become stable with only the memory of a time when life was more carefree. Moment to moment we live on the touch of others in our lives.   I was fortunate that she impacted my life in such an amazing way in those formative years.  Perhaps it was the innocence of the time, but moreover it allowed me to appreciate the other people I have had in my life since and possibly in a more equitable way.

Love and hope are two of the most under estimated emotions.  They both miraculously have the ability to make, or break a persons spirit.  We can easily wrap our entire consciousness in our 5 senses.  Just like the taste sugar or salt on our lips; our memories glide back and forth swinging from memory to heartbreak like Newtons cradle, exhibiting the 3rd law of physics as if each memory was as physical as the neurons that shift from receptor to receptor in our brain.

Not every memory we carry is one filled with pleasant nostalgia, but often many memories can swing us to the darker times when mourning the loss of a relationship or loved one is as devastating as the initial grief that created the memory.  We are a complicated species after all, but the only one on this planet capable of deeper reasoning.

Your life is an amazing story, one you control with each of your five senses, even being born with or now living without, another skill will always present itself, and bind your passions into a physical manifestation of neurons in a wisp inside your brain.  It will, after all leave an indelible mark on your life.  If all the time you had left on this planet was today, would your last thoughts be a memory worth dying for? You have at least 5 senses-- don't waste them or the small amount of time you get to experience what they are capable of.

The most terrible mistake one can make is to delay what you want to do in your life with the presumption you'll have time to do it later.

©2013 Christian's Theory

The Trap

After a brief conversation I had today, I was instantly reminded of a post I made 3 years ago, after a dear friend of mine, Mattias, shared a book with me.  

Every single one of us lives inside of our own self-made trap.  Our walls can have an indeterminable number of sides, some may even have windows looking into the world we wish to see, or a life we would rather have.  The only reality we actually own is the one inside, or outside of "The Trap".  

Instead of my regular Tuesday blog post, Today I will concede to Wilhelm Reich:

"It IS possible to get out of a trap. However, in order to break out of a prison, one first must confess to being in a prison. The trap is wo/man's emotional structure, her/his character structure. There is little use in devising systems of thought about the nature of the trap if the only thing to do in order to get out of the trap is to know the trap and to find the exit. Everything else is utterly useless: Singing hymns about the suffering in the trap, as the enslaved Negro does; or making poems about the beauty of freedom outside of the trap, dreamed of within the trap; or promising a life outside the trap after death, as Catholicism promises its congregations; or confessing a semper ignorabimus as do the resigned philosophers; or building a philosophic system around the despair of life within the trap, as did Schopenhauer; or dreaming up a superman who would be so much different from the man in the trap, as Nietzsche did, until, trapped in a lunatic asylum, he wrote, finally, the full truth about himself—too late. . . 

The first thing to do is to find the exit out of the trap. The nature of the trap has no interest whatsoever beyond this one crucial point: WHERE IS THE EXIT OUT OF THE TRAP?

One can decorate a trap to make life more comfortable in it. This is done by the Michelangelos and the Shakespeares and the Goethes. One can invent makeshift contraptions to secure longer life in the trap. This is done by the great scientists and physicians, the Meyers and the Pasteurs and the Flemings. One can devise great art in healing broken bones when one falls into the trap. The crucial point still is and remains: to find the exit out of the trap. WHERE IS THE EXIT INTO THE ENDLESS OPEN SPACE? The exit remains hidden. It is the greatest riddle of all. The most ridiculous as well as tragic thing is this:THE EXIT IS CLEARLY VISIBLE TO ALL TRAPPED IN THE HOLE. YET NOBODY SEEMS TO SEE IT. EVERYBODY KNOWS WHERE THE EXIT IS. YET NOBODY SEEMS TO MAKE A MOVE TOWARD IT. MORE: WHOEVER MOVES TOWARD THE EXIT, OR WHOEVER POINTS TOWARD IT IS DECLARED CRAZY OR A CRIMINAL OR A SINNER TO BURN IN HELL.

It turns out that the trouble is not with the trap or even with finding the exit. The trouble is WITHIN THE TRAPPED ONES.

All this is, seen from outside the trap, incomprehensible to a simple mind. It is even somehow insane. Why don't they see and move toward the clearly visible exit? As soon as they get close to the exit they start screaming and run away from it. As soon as anyone among them tries to get out, they kill her/him. Only a very few slip out of the trap in the dark night when everybody is asleep."

From The Murder of Christ, (1953) by Wilhelm Reich. 

Leaving the US and moving to Costa Rica

“Your mom has Dengue”.  A set of sobering words from my father via Skype in Costa Rica; I had already been well aware of the flu she had previous, but now suddenly the situation was more serious as she was already sick before, with a now crippled immune system.  In less than 3 weeks time, I would be sitting on a plane to give my parents a much needed hand in what many people see outwardly as a 3^rd world country. 

My parents had moved to Costa Rica 3 years prior to live a bit easier as permanent resident “pensioners”.  That said, Costa Rica has some of the most consistent weather patterns in the world, beautiful beaches, socialized and for profit medicine, and most definitely there is no shortage of North American expatriates living out the remainder of their lives here abroad.  The medical systems in Costa Rica are more than adequate, but if you’re from anywhere in the Western World, as with nearly everything here, much of it operates significantly differently, and learning the ropes is better done in advance vs. learning by necessity. 

After arriving here in early October, which is the last month of the “rainy season”, my longing for the dry days ahead in November through April is now slowly becoming a reality, and the North American & European tourists are now arriving in droves to the province of Guanacaste; the North Western Coast line that follows the Pan American Highway all the way up to the Nicaraguan boarder.

North Western Costa Rica

I found out quickly, that securing a long term residence here in Costa Rica literally gets harder by the day (if you plan to rent close to November).  As the tourists arrive, the thousands of rental properties that remain empty all year, which can normally be rented for a few hundred dollars a month (depending on the size & need of course) in the off-season, can command upwards of a few thousand a week based on location & size.  I personally went from searching for a place, finding a rental, and it being already rented by the time I drove 15 minutes up the road to view the property!  Needless to say, once I found a place (a small studio apartment across the street from the beach) that was actually available; I immediately decided to go back to the rental office to discuss price.  This small studio apartment (less than 500sqft), rents for $500 USD a month + utilities long term, or if you’re willing to spend the cash up front (I do mean CASH literally), you can get a smoking deal as everything rentable can be negotiated easily, but during the high season the rates are not so easily affordable for some.    

The flat I rented dropped down to only  $350 dollars a month if I paid the entire 6 months in advance in cash, plus the security deposit.  While to some this may seem like an exorbitant amount of money to pay out considering I don’t know how long I plan to be here, there are many who will pay 5x what I am paying total to stay only a few weeks in a similar space.  I certainly don’t have that kind of money as a writer, but I’m far from destitute, and still living on the cheap in one of the most popular beach towns in the world, Playas Del Coco.  Take into account, a North American version of “cheap” is considerably different than the local “Tico’s”.  My studio apartment maybe small, but it is fully furnished, pots, pans, dishes, sheets on the bed, cable TV, and is actually better than most of the efficiencies I’ve stayed in throughout Europe, or even on the eastern seaboard of the US.   Did I mention I am directly across the street from the beach and Pacific Ocean?

My new home in Playas Del Coco

I relocated here from right outside Washington DC, and I have previously been here to visit my family; so I had an idea of what to expect when I arrived, but I’ve only been here a month, and still have much more to learn!

The locals are polite and kind beyond measure compared to many other countries I’ve visited.  That said, I’m not entirely sure that “no” is even in their vocabulary.  They would rather bring you anything, but “no” as an answer… So you can completely expect random stuff occasionally.   Even at the local grocery store I came across this "complete" cooking seasoning.  Not only is it the only one you apparently need, but judging by the size of the container it's the only one you'll need FOREVER! 

Top Chef never had it so easy! 

One thing that stands out for me personally; I am constantly trying to better my Spanish and speak their language, but the locals at the same time desperately want to practice their English.  So, what happens is, even ordering a drink, or meal can turn out to be a mixture of English, Spanish, Spanglish, but however the majority of the young people in bars and restaurants speak FAR better English than my Spanish, and when you compliment them on how good their English is, they are always very flattered, say that their “English isn’t very good”, and then say “thank you for saying so”.  My 2^nd week here, I met a local “Nica” (slang for Nicaraguan) tour guide in a bar who prefaced his spontaneous conversation with me with, “I have a question for you, but please bear with me, as my English isn’t very good…” and then while I’m expecting some Spanglish; instead his vocabulary and correct grammar blew me away.  I have never met anyone in my life that says his or her English isn’t very good, and in that first sentence use the word “reciprocation”!

Needless to say, my adventure here in Costa Rica has only just begun. My mom is now mostly recovered from her Dengue Fever, and my father is back to being just as ornery as he’s always been.  Either way, I’m still around to help them out and enjoy a journey that is still very much my own to create.  I certainly have plenty to write about! 

Pura Vida!  

Escape to Alaska via Motorcyle

It’s June 3^rd, 2010 at 5 o’clock in the morning, my hands hovering over my keys as I take a moment to reconsider my actions.  At this exact moment, I am thinking about all of the emotionally catastrophic events over the previous 2 years, how they shaped my decision to escape.  To the average eye, I had a life most every American would want, but in reality it was all just a façade.  What most didn’t see was that I had just lost an almost 10 year career due to the recession, was bankrupt after 2 years of trying to save my home, my savings was nearly completely liquidated, a now failed marriage, and besides a few items I had tossed haphazardly into a storage shed, my life’s possessions now firmly resided between the two inline wheels of my Harley Davidson motorcycle. 

Preparing to leave

Have you ever heard the anecdote about the man who one day steps out to pick up a pack of cigarettes, and no one hears from him for years? In my mind, in less than 20 minuets this was about to be me.  Reaching down, I snatch up my keys, walk into my garage, press the button on the opener, and proceed to manually roll my bike into the driveway, as starting it is anything but quiet this early in the morning. 

I took a quick photo of my bags piled high on my bike, zipped up my leather coat, and I, in that very moment, chose an adventure I had only dreamed about since childhood, but never thought I’d have the “time”.  Now, in my choosing, all I had was time, an emotional emptiness that needed to be filled, a desire to be free of all the sadness that came with sitting amongst the possessions that now owned me, and starting from Chesapeake Virginia, I squeezed the clutch, pressed down into 1^st gear a new life as I headed off across North America without a map, later into Canada, the North West Territories, the Yukon, and then back into Alaska.  Alone.

However, at that precise moment I only felt REAL freedom, and while I thought I was leaving my past behind me, I had no idea how much of it was soon to become my very real future. 

I’ve always been what one might call a dreamer, most definitely an artist, musician, and writer.  I have always been rapt in my desire to travel, to see places, and marvel at things with childlike wonderment.  Though, I can place my first personal desire to travel back to 1984, and a conversation I had with my mother.  In 1984, I told my mother; ‘what an awesome trip it would be to drive to Alaska! I mean just to think about it… that long epic highway out there’, across the continental divide, and just like opening up a can of reverie, it was this conversation that fueled the beginning of what became my motorcycle journey. 

Just as most of us in life, myself included, feel like we wander from tragedy to tragedy.  Somewhere amidst this wandering we most often neglect to revere the good moments.  Why is that? I like to think it’s because of a tragedy's ability to make us change.  Change; some are more open to it than others, and then again, all of us will experience it whether we want it or not.  It’s in what we do with that change that makes our paths illuminated.  In my case my feet always carried me where the wind blew, back and forth, between safety nets, and thus old habits. 

I have always sought out the extraordinary things in life. The only times in my life that I have stood still, accepted the ordinary, or wasn’t constantly fighting to see something new was when I was “in love” or in love with the idea of success.  Otherwise, it would seem I spent my time running away from some kind of heartbreak.  However, these are only the things that shaped my way of thinking, and how when I was at my lowest is when I began my greatest of journeys.  I will say there is one person in my past that started me on this way of life, and how if it weren’t for her, good or bad, I may not have ever known all this beauty in my life, or the ability to appreciate it the way that I do.  I’ve learned that when people discuss love, they talk about heartbreak, or if they discuss desire, it’s only importance is that it remains simply a desire, because once we obtain the desired, that gold can quickly lose it’s beauty.

As I pulled out of my driveway and on to Quailshire Lane, every foot and turn I made had not one single plan.  Even before I left, I only had a loose idea of heading to Alaska, but even then I didn’t have a route plotted, no destinations set in stone, nor did I even know where I’d ultimately decide I’d be finished.  Though, I will say, this was the first time ever that I didn’t care about money, what people thought of me, my career that I just lost, or even my failed marriage – in that moment I stopped caring that my soon to be ex-wife ever even existed in my life.  That may sound cruel, but I had worried about her stability for many years, and I had a deep-seated fear I would come home to her having hurt herself, or gone, but now she was resolved to leaving me regardless. This left me free from the possibility of guilt and it began with the wind in my hair as I literally road off into the sunrise to begin the greatest change I could have ever anticipated. 

Many people choose to “run away” at different points in their life for different reasons, in the Western World be it because of fear, responsibility, over bearing parents, curiosity, but moreover I believe it’s our human consciousness that is apprised of the same emotions we all share and we all crave adventure.  However, it’s in how we deal with these emotions that makes us the people we are to become. 

When I was young, a teacher of mine; told me “that no matter where you run, or why, your problems will eventually catch up with you no matter where it is you go”.  Though, I can say with absolute certainty that that is true, but you can for a short while ignore the past and fill your life with such beautiful wonders that it is hard to dwell on former ails.  Make no mistake in this thought process, as it is only a matter of time before the past will come back and kick your door in. When this occurs we are seldom prepared for it.

Like many people in the US, November of 2008 was the beginning of the 2nd worst recession in US history, the first being “The Great Depression” in the 1930's, and for me it may as well have been called that again except add the number 2 after it and call it "The Sequel".  I, like many other people lost nearly everything, but my story isn’t really about the recession, but what I found along the way on this new road I began.  In that month, America elected the first black president amidst the beginning of a deeply burdened, war tanked, and declining economy.  A month after President Obama’s election, on December 5^th, my now estranged ex-wife lost her job.  A year and a half later,  I had a decent little stash of money in cash, (roughly 12K dollars which I had acquired by selling some of my music equipment). I then gave my ex-wife a 1/3 of it on June 2nd, 2010, a nearly paid for truck, and asked her to take whatever she wanted in our home—I emphasized I wasn’t sure I’d be back before the bank came to throw her out of our dream home I had had built 5 years prior.  She was still deciding where she wanted to go anyway. 

That morning of June 3^rd of 2010, just before I pulled out of my driveway, I had told a few people I was going to drive my motorcycle alone to Alaska on Facebook, but honestly…. I had no idea where I was about to go.  I only really knew that; I had just lost my marriage, my career, my home, 10 years worth of work, all my savings, and short of that small storage shed I had paid in full for 6 months with some of guitar equipment in it and I was beginning anew.

Although, I had no illusions of how dangerous my steps may become; within my first 24hrs of leaving my home, I wrote my last will and testament in a ramshackle hotel somewhere in West Virginia and I emailed it to my mother.  I sincerely believed in my mind, I probably wasn’t going to make it out of this alive, but as low as I was honestly feeling… I didn’t even care.  I truly felt completely, utterly alone, but I at last felt as free as the wind blows.  I learned quickly freedom often is accompanied by alienation between lifestyles.

A couple of friends I had made online, but I had never physically had met, saw that I was on Interstate 64 heading west, and they asked me if I was going to pass through Louisville, KY, and while I was reticent at first, I agreed I’d stop by and say “hello”.   I had a feeling they knew where my head was, but at this point what did I have to lose? 

I got some wood!

Several hundred miles later, I stopped and visited Jeremy & Misty there in Louisville. After I humped the Louisville slugger bat downtown, Jeremy & Misty asked me to come on over stay.

In fact, they practically begged me to stay awhile till I figured out what it was I doing.  At this point, I still had nothing plotted, only a vague destination in mind, and was so heartbroken I would just breakdown into tears if I studied on my situation long enough.  I agreed to stay 1 night. Jeremy (who had just returned from a stint in Iraq) had me bring all my stuff inside, and he began a very military process of “shaking down my gear”.   Admittedly, I was under prepared for my current journey, much less the journey I was about to embark on, so he gave me his United States Marines first aid kit, a Marine arctic sleeping bag, a LED flashlight, some eating utensils, and a real hunting knife.  I was blown away by their kindness and generosity, and they asked me to stay at least a 2^nd day, noting I still had not one defined route, or plan. I also think secretly Misty wanted to make sure I ate so well, I'd never eat another meal in my life!

Now, I need to interject here—That at this time in my life previous, I always tried to be a very generous person, so I was never good at receiving gifts or help from anyone (and I still suck at it).  Prior to this journey for many years, I was often told I was “the guy who had it all”, so I seldom would receive, or accept gifts, and if I did I would give them to someone who needed them immediately upon receiving it.   I am absolutely terrible at gracefully saying thank you, as I would rather say, “you’re welcome”.  As there is NO greater gift in this life than to give to others in need.  Jeremy KNEW I needed some things, but more importantly, he knew at the second he saw my eyes… what I needed at that precise moment was compassion, and maybe even a little hope. 

Everywhere I used my phone in 6 months during and shortly after Alaska.

 

The 2^nd evening I was there we began plotting a course on a road map, he asked me if there was anything in the US I wanted to see while driving toward Alaska.  I told him, that I had always had had rambling feet, and had already seen 46 out of the 50 states, and then I quickly interjected that I had never seen Mt. Rushmore.  So, we plotted a basic course that took me through St Louis to Kansas City, and then North to Sioux Falls, South Dakota before heading west again.  The next morning, I loaded up my bike at 4am, and drove off into the dark, feeling a little more grounded than before, and he asked me to make sure I continued to “Check-In on Facebook”, so they both could follow where I was online, and if I didn’t check in within a certain time frame he could call the authorities to look for me.  They clearly knew, I wasn’t stable in my current mindset.  I mean after all, I was a 37-year-old man running away from himself. 

I posted on Facebook again which direction I was heading, and sure enough, I got another private message.  This time it was from the wife of an old British friend of mine, who I had not seen since I was in London England in December of 2002. 

Kelvin, married an American girl and had moved to Jefferson City MO and she asked me if I would like to see them both in Columbia MO, a quaint college town in the middle of America, where when I had last been there was in 1992.  They put me up in a cheap hotel room, when I kept insisting I wanted to camp outside of town, and didn’t want to spend money frivolously as I didn’t know when I have any income again.  Here I was again, people being generous and kind to me, and I felt guilty for it.  They convinced me also that I should stay a few days and take it easy; after all, this will likely be the last time I see any friends till I get to Edmonton, Alberta, and see my boy, Jamie.

This was where someone had referred me to John Krakauer’s book “Into the Wild”.  I knew it was about a kid who ends up in Alaska, but that was about all I knew.  My 2^nd day in Columbia MO, I left my hotel once, I went to the book store, bought the book, and read the whole thing in 8 hours, before I did anything else.  I said my goodbyes, and hit the road again.  From here it took me 3 days to get to Rapid City SD due to weather, where I spent another 4 days stuck in a hotel. I’d venture out in between the spells of heavy rain. In my previous occupation prior to being a modern day adult runaway, I was a fulltime business traveler…. I had so many miles that once you go beyond Platinum… there’s Diamond status.  I never had to pay for hotel rooms while on my own travels, and this excursion was no exception.

Deadwood, South Dakota

In South Dakota, after being there for 4 days, I visited Deadwood, Sturgis, Mt. Rushmore, and the National Black Forrest, but one reality became clear.  There is a reason they call it the windswept plains.  On a motorcycle, wind gusts in excess of 20-30mph are not normal. 50mph gusts happen frequently in early June there, along with the rain.  For a biker, this is very fatiguing keeping the bike upright and yourself off of the pavement in one piece.  I decided I needed to continue my journey to get out of the constant rain, wind, and even hail.  So, I went to U-Haul, rented the smallest truck I could find, some ratchet straps, and decided to haul my bike for a little while till I could plain escape South Dakota.  Now, for the record, I have NEVER hauled my bike anywhere before, but this time I needed to keep moving North West, through Wyoming briefly, and on into the land of the Big Sky Montana.  I pretty much assumed I would ditch the U-Haul in Edmonton Alberta.  Which for the record-- I was wrong about that.  When I booked the truck, I told them I would drive it to Alaska, simply because I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t experience any further weather that would slow me down, and when I felt safe again I would just dump it off early.  Lets just say, if you book a truck to a Canadian city, no problem, book it to Alaska and change your mind.  They’re not too hip or cheap about it.

I stayed one night in Edmonton, Alberta, and the next morning I began my long haul to Dawson Creek.  Yes, it is really a place in British Columbia.  This is the beginning of the ALCAN Highway.  The ALCAN Highway, originally constructed during World War II is 1387 miles long (1700km) by itself. 

The ALCAN entry point

Everyone has a different reason for wanting to do this journey, be it the challenge, the desire, a running away, whatever you want to call it—there are no shortage of people who have childish romantic ideas and let me be 100% clear on one thing, this is not an easy drive for an experienced rider even though the road is completely paved the entire distance on a bike or in a vehicle.  Alaska holds a tremendous amount of mystery for many people, just like it did for me as a boy from the east coast wanting to REALLY see mountains, but Alaska seems to hold a gigantic allure for many people wanting to see the summer solstice, climb, live off the land, or whatever you can possibly imagine.  However if you’re on a motorcycle, first remember YOU are a meal on wheels!  The wildlife on this highway is everywhere.  It’s beautiful without a doubt, even more so in the North Country, but you are the minority on this road.  You WILL have moose run in front of you, mountain goats, bison, and there are no shortages of bear.  The small townships, or sometimes only gas stations are few and far between; occasionally even 180 miles apart.  Be prepared for that.  You will see signs that say 120km to the next stop, but you can get there, and the place is either closed, or closed down indefinitely.  There are a few inns to stay at along the way, you can grab a room key and pay in the morning, but I chose, once I started, to drive all the way through till I got to the ALCAN border port where the Yukon, and Alaska meet.

My adrenaline was pumping the whole drive.  At one point, around 1am I began running low on fuel, my spare gas can was already empty, but I was only about 50 miles or so from the Yukon border.  I decided to stop and take a quick nap, knowing, any gas station I arrived at would be closed anyway, and I found a beautiful spot to stop where a few other campers and RV’s were, I balled up my leather coat as a pillow, and I took a brief 3 hour nap.  After all, I had already been driving since Edmonton Alberta (an additional 360+ miles or 590km)! I was awoken by a heard of passing mountain goats, and it took me a moment to scramble for phone to snap a quick photo, but they were un-phased by my presence; so close I could easily touch them. 

The 1 am midnight sun and my nap location in the rocks.

It was about 5am, and I headed off into the Yukon Territory searching desperately for fuel.  Once I crossed over the border into the Yukon that was an early easy find.  The man running the station was jovial and polite, he gave me a free cup of coffee, and also told me of another station almost 200 miles away where he knew the owner, and he’d give me a deal on fuel if I mentioned his name.  This is what I most certainly did.   

The Yukon, was breath taking, gorgeous views in any direction, although this is where I began having my first introduction to “Frost Heaves”.  Frost heaves are places under the tarmac where the permafrost has melted, the asphalt has unraveled, but is generally patched quite quickly.  Making the road drivable, but just barely.  The road is so bumpy that 35-45 mph is about the best one can handle in any vehicle, and it only gets worse after the town of Whitehorse.  

At this point I was somewhere around 4700 miles from where I had begun in Virginia, and at every corner I parsed, I waited longingly, and lustfully for just a view of that border crossing.  In my minds eye, while constantly searching for the ALCAN port guards, the mountains were surrounded by lakes of snow runoff of crystalline clear waters that just made the sky seem to sing of the lightest pure blue I’d ever known, and then—after climbing a small hill, I saw it; the brightly painted “Welcome to Alaska” sign.  I had driven nearly 2000 miles on merely a 3-hour nap to get to that damn sign and I wanted my photo taken with it.  When I first made it to the sign I wept.  I sobbed like a small child.  I told myself to buck up, and I stood there and patiently waited for 15min or so for someone else to stop, so I could ask them to take my photo.  Sadly no one had stopped, and personally I was a bit too excited so I didn’t even think of doing a “selfie”.  I took out my large SLR camera snapped a photo, and continued on.  I passed through border port, received an ALCAN stamp in my passport book, and continued my drive of the last few hundred miles into the Alaska interior.  Eventually arriving in Fairbanks.    Two Moose ran out in front of me on that section of road, and I even saw a Harley Roadking Motorcycle in a ditch, but the roads overall were much better in Alaska, having been recently repaved in entire sections.  

I made it!

All told, I spent approximately 45 days on this journey (although I spent well over a year traveling).  I stopped taking pictures (save a small few of me in Denali national park), because I decided that that beauty I saw there, I had earned EVERY single bit of, and I wanted to keep those memories for myself. 

Me w/ Denali National Park behind me

During this entire journey, I fought some very hard emotional battles within myself.  After all, running away certainly didn’t solve any of my real problems, but for 45 days I escaped a trap, that emotional prison that tells us we must conform, and follow some sort of daily routine that others do.  On this journey I never felt as free than I had been in my life.  I received encouragement, from the most unlikely of places, even when I didn’t think I could continue; as there were a few times I considered giving up.  I found myself in Alaska, in more ways than one, but most importantly I found strength I never knew I had. 

"I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love. I felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life".  -Leo Tolstoy

 

©2013 Christian's Theory

www.christianstheory.com

Machetes galore! Costa Rica prepares for 5 months of Beach Tourism!

Machetes galore! And no... That's not a euphemism for Halloween! 

In North America winter is on your heels, but toward the end of October here in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, it means that the rainy season is coming to a swift close.  The locals, who call themselves “Ticos” are wielding their machetes and cutting away the excess long palms, loose coconuts, and clearing fields that will soon begin to dry and wither way. 

Looking out over Playas Del Coco

Within the first few days of November, the rain will come to a complete halt for the next 5 months; The sun & sand will become a soft haven of sun worshipers, those looking to enjoy a location filled with local western ex-pats, cheap drinks, a different outlook on long term vacationing, and for a few, the opportunity to consider a new home, escape from the typical “western life”,  and put some paradise in their pockets. 

Myself, a recent ex-pat import who came here on a slightly different mission initially to help a sick family member, but also I’ve been here before & am enamored by the culture, the dry season, and all the joyous things the weather this time year affords us.  For local expats it’s a time to see your friends return south from the north, for the local businesses it’s time for the tourist dollars to return the scales into the black, and for the surfers, the waves & winds don’t get much better than this time of year in Costa Rica. 

“Pura Vida!” A common chant touted by almost all locals and westerners alike.  The direct translation as you may have guessed means “Pure Life”, although it has a more fundamental meaning to the locals.  The local Ticos and Ticas are most often joyous and happy, huge smiles on their faces amidst almost rife poverty and most live in shanties hidden amongst the western style condos & hotels.  The local people are gracious, kind, and full of gratitude at nearly every step.  Being a westerner myself I can say with certainty our first world problems wouldn’t even be a concern to them, but I could write another article on that topic alone!  “Pura Vida” means more than I could ever fit into one page, but a short summary would be that everything happens at it’s own pace, be happy in the now, be gracious for what you have, and most importantly live free of worry.  Stress, after all,  is a huge killer in western culture, and it's no wonder why Costa Rican's have the 2nd highest life expectancy.  

Sunset over Playa Hermosa

The beaches here on the west coast of Costa Rica are clean, the food is a mixture of Latin, and Caribbean styles, although American & Canadian fare is easily found as well, not to mention the sunsets so beautiful that they’ll take your breath away.  The weather is warm, humidity is low, and the country in general has some of the most consistent temperatures in the world.  There is absolutely a reason so many westerners flock here to consider a new life abroad.

There are plenty of bars and nightlife if one so desires, and overt crime is nearly non-existent, however that doesn’t mean be foolish and leave your iPhone siting on the bar while you go to the bathroom. 

Cocanutz Bar & Grill in Playas Del Coco

Common sense goes along way anywhere in this world, and Costa Rica is no different in that regard. 

This year, if you are looking for beautiful place to vacation alone or with your family, where beautiful people, and the charm of the area melt into your hands & heart, consider Guanacaste, Costa Rica near the Gulfo de Papagayo.  Playas Del Coco & Tamarindo are calling your name.  There are daily flights to Liberia (LIR), Costa Rica on Delta, American, and Lufthansa. 


If you're looking for a cheaper ticket, Spirit Airlines out of Florida can get you to the capital of San Jose, but you'll need to take a bus west to Guanacaste for about $10. 

After you arrive, feel free to look me up, we'll get a beer! 

Pura Vida!!

©2013 Christian’s Theory

christian@christianstheory.com

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