Dave, Gibraltar Rd., and The Alchemist

"And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it."

-Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

This started out as a post about parks and wilderness.  I had been forced to go to Yosemite by my friend Dave in January because he couldn't believe a tree-hugger such as myself had been in California for 2.5 years but hadn't ventured to one of the most beautiful parks in the United States.  I went, I loved, so I started to write about it.  As I began writing this post a few weeks ago a technician at work was reading "The Alchemist" on his break and we started discussing it.  I have been told several times that it's a life changing book but had never read it myself and honestly didn't know anything about it.  I did know, though, that Macklemore recommends in his love song to his child that he read it... so naturally, in my mind, it's already one of the greatest books of all-time.  I literally had no idea what it was actually about but was eager to find out how it would change my life as I flipped the first page...

...So the world works out in mysterious ways.  As I was getting through the beginning pages of the book I was finding that it was about a boy's journey for treasure.  Simultaneously, my friend Dave was in his first 2 weeks of what will likely be a 4+ month journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).  So as I was reading this book I not only had my own personal journey in mind but reflected on the more literal journey that Dave is going through (of course projecting my own perceptions of what he must be going through without any first hand experience or conversations with him :) ).  So this post is an update on my week as well as a continued "wish you well" letter to him on his journey since I wasn't be able to be at his friend pit stop in Big Bear this past weekend.

Dave's going away party in San Diego.  March '16.  He's the one blurred out in red because he can't sit still.

The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho
Dave, this book was given to me but I think it's all for you.  For the rest of you out there that haven't read it I recommend it highly.  We are all on journey's within some aspect of our lives.  It may not be a full on existential crisis we are dealing with, maybe only within our career, decisions with our family unit, or working our way through our grocery list on a Sunday night.  But make no mistake about it we are on a journey through life.  This book is an ode to the journey, and our perceived goal of these journeys.  While the writing through translation (Paulo Coelho is Brazilian) comes through in English as rudimentary the clear and simple message resonates.  Follow your heart, listen to the "Language of the World", and stay true to your personal legend.  That's all I'm going to say about it since most people are firmly in one of two camps; either they really love it and find it to be life changing or they think it's too simplistic and full of cliches.  Books that polarizing are worth it no matter where you fall on the spectrum of enjoyment in philosophical literature.  It's also a super quick read so you won't have felt like you wasted too much time if you don't like it.  So I'll leave it at that and allow this to be a book that opens up discussion between us at a later time.

Dave.

"The boy went back to contemplating the silence of the desert, and the sand raised by the animals. “Everyone has his or her own way of learning things,” he said to himself. “His way isn’t the same as mine, nor mine as his. But we’re both in search of our Personal Legends, and I respect him for that.”"

-Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

I feel like I'm on a journey of sorts.  I mean, we are all on a journey right? But certain periods in our life maybe seem a bit more formative and this is one of those periods for me.  A period of discovery I suppose.  This friend of mine, Dave, he's soul searching too.  But the way his soul searching manifests it looks like he's searching HARD right now (or I assume so based on his nomadic movement around the country over the past year and a half).  I met him in LA in the summer of 2015 and since then he has lived in LA, Denver, Boston, Charleston, LA, San Diego, and now for the next four or so months on the PCT.  This sort of seemingly by the seat of your pants wandering is fun, interesting, and sometimes terrifying to be around especially for someone like me as I pride myself in stability.

This guy's got a lot of nicknames but I think he prefers not to be called by them so I'll just refer to him as Dave.  As I mentioned above he's the one that forced me into my first Yosemite trip so for that I owe him a ton! For the record he's also the person that wholeheartedly thinks there is no way I should be living in LA and that I should immediately pack my bags and move to Portland... maybe Denver.  It makes sense I suppose.  I wear flannel whenever possible, love craft beer and coffee, and want to live forever as a bicycle commuter.  I just haven't ever been there so it's hard for me to completely agree... and also, I'm super happy with what I have here... for now.  Dave always pushes hard for me to think of the final destination (whether intentionally or not) and that can make me feel uncomfortable.  I on the other hand push for (or at least TRY to push for) paying more attention to the process and not worrying about the outcome or goal.  The best way to live is probably some where in the middle, right?  Discussions with Dave are fun and intense, fun because we have such similar ideas and ideals but intense because I think we have different ways of approaching how to live within our similar value systems.  Life is too short to have friends that are exactly the same as you and always agreeable.  I'd much rather be in a discussion a friend with a differing Religious view, that I can debate and compromise with who cares about me despite our differences, than be an off the handle radical (left or right) that surrounds themselves in a bubble of like-minded people.  Dave and I aren't that different, really... just trying to illustrate a point here.

Dave (right) showing me and Joe around Yosemite for the 1st time.  Photo from the Tunnel View of Yosemite Valley, CA.

The PCT:
I'm not going to comment on this too much since I've never done it.  The basics are that it's a 2659 mile hike that takes you over mountains, through deserts, and likely into the deepest depths of your soul.  Many have tried and many have failed.  I have hiked parts of it while spending weekends in Big Bear, CA and the hiking is no joke.  In order to complete the entire trail you need to walk a marathon per day for 102 days...

...Of course this marathon is with everything you need to survive attached to your back and without a Gatorade station and medics every 4 miles.  Weather, injuries, and equipment malfunction can easily turn this into a 6-month ordeal.  Some of you know that I spent 6-weeks living in the wilderness of the boundary waters canoe area and wilderness (BWCAW).  I thought that was a wild time and intense adventure.  Looking back, though, I was with an experienced professor, had a 5 classmates to rely on for teamwork and sharing camp duties, and we had a field station to return to every 1-2 weeks to re-supply.  Wilderness experiences are fascinating to me.  These are the times, in isolation, with no outside communication when we find out what it truly means to be human.  I mean they are the basis of how we survived as a species for centuries and the nomadic version of survival that Dave is doing is truly inspirational to me.  To dive deeper into what Dave is going through start here:

Pacific Crest Trail Association

Also, for some amazing pics follow him on instagram (@pibbs or search for Dave Peabody)

My Journey... this week

Course Map for L'Etape California 2016

I had mentioned a month ago in my post about cycling in LA that I would be doing L'Etape California.  "L'etape" means "the stage" and is a known cycling term for the organized amateur preview of the Queen Stage of a professional cycling event.  The Tour de France previews their Queen Stage yearly and the Tour of California (America's largest stage race) has in recent years hopped on the bandwagon.  Well it happened this past Sunday.  So, I had been a bit stressed out (and also sick) over the past few weeks leading up to the ride/race because I knew that I hadn't necessarily prepared the way in which I would've liked... so that stress and anxiety led to me not posting for a few weeks.  During that time I would sit in front of my computer after work knowing I should be writing so I could post some stuff about my life, but I was too distracted by the feeling inside that I should be out on my bike that I couldn't type, and I was too tired from a cold or allergies to actually get out on my bike on a daily basis.  First world problems are the absolute worst!

Anyway, I like to think of my journey as a constant as well as recurring thing theme, every decision I make (or don't make) has infinite unknown consequences and life path re-corrections.  One pattern that has popped up through my adult life has been an almost yearly decision to sign up for some sort of race.  I don't really like going to the gym and I suppose these races keep me honest with my activity level and keep me moving towards a goal.  The races themselves and the training leading up to the deadline become little microcosmic journeys that create their own obstacles that I have to conquer.  The races also place my memories in space and time which I have found becomes much more difficult as I get older.  Oh yeah, and torture.  I enjoy torture.

So, out of shape (in the bicycle racing sense) I took to the start line with 600 other cyclists at 7:30am and stared down the barrel of a 106 mile race crossing 3 mountain passes, 40 miles of coastal winds, and the knowledge that I had never ridden my bike for more than 77 miles at one time.  "Why The Face" was I thinking?  The first climb out of Thousand Oaks over the Santa Monica Mountains and down through the Malibu Canyons was a quick and amazing reminder why.  Having a fear or anxiety, pressing through, and the feeling of coming out on the other side to me is one of my most favorite and exhilarating emotions.  As I descended down the canyon in a warm breeze with the Pacific Ocean in site I realized that no matter how long and difficult this day would be it would be done with a smile on my face.  This isolation in the mountains quickly turned into social hour on the first flat section as I scoped out riders of similar strength along the coastal highway to work with in order to reduce the wind burden along the coast.  Group selection was going to make or break my day.  Too slow a paceline and I would end up being stuck in my saddle for far too many hours on the day but too fast a paceline would prove much worse as I would likely burn all my matches less than half way through the day and risk not making it to the end.  I got lucky and met up with a group at the first feed station and we worked well together for the next 25 miles to deliver me safely to the turn inland where I separated from the group in order to enjoy in solitude and silence the rolling fields and greenery that is lacking in LA.   Once I got over Casitas Pass I had 23 miles of rolling terrain to mentally prepare for Gibraltar Rd which is an Hors Categorie (also referred to as HC or "beyond categorization") climb meaning it's too difficult to even fit on a ratings scale.  This particular road, that climbs to the top of the Santa Ynez Mountain Range, is 7.4 miles long at an 8% average incline.  As a frame of reference the biggest road climb in Duluth is 40th West (Haines Rd.) which is 1.8 miles at 6.5%.

Course Profile for L'Etape California 2016

Long story short, I made it to the top.  I had set goals for the climb prior to the day which of course all went out the window when I realized what it would take just to get to the base of the climb.  This ride for me was another reminder in a long line or reminders throughout my life that it's not the goal that is the most important it is the savoring of every inch of road along the way.

With my weekend journey (and month long training/stress journey) complete I was happy to spend the next 4 hours enjoying my treasure of cold beer and barbecue exactly where I should be after a Californian century.  At the Beach...

50 ft. from the official finish line of L'Etape California, Leadbetter Beach, Santa Barbara, CA

Dave, if you are reading this I wish you all the safety and peace of mind over the next several months and I'm sorry if I've projected anything about you inappropriately.  Please forgive me.  We, all of your SoCal friends, are proud of your journey no matter where it takes you.  (But I'm going to continue to ignore your texts because I wholeheartedly believe that to have the full experience you shouldn't be using technology to communicate with the outside world... that is, until your time through Oregon approaches and I need to start looking for flights to meet up with you).

My personal treasure will be found I'm sure.  I'll get there someday, and through reading The Alchemist, I've become certain that I'd never be able to get there without being here.  How can I be so sure you ask?  Because here is where I am and that means there's no other place I was supposed to be.

"...and when each day is the same as the next, it’s because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises. I left my father, my mother, and the town castle behind. They have gotten used to my being away, and so have I. The sheep will get used to my not being there, too, the boy thought."

-Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

I stopped playing hockey until I moved to LA

I'm pretty surprised as I type these next 2 very unexpected sentences.  I'm at a bar watching a hockey game.  I'm watching a hockey game because I'm not at one getting ready to play in my men's league championship game.  Not odd things if you've known me over the course of my life but supremely odd if you live in my brain over the past 5 years.  Hockey.  It's what people I know talk about, especially people that know and assume things about me, and I like to be able to talk to people so I watch.  I suppose growing up as a hockey playing Minnesotan you just kind of expect hockey to be a part of your life... always.  On the flip side people expect you to care about hockey and I suppose I kind of do.  I have a tendency to ask myself often, though, why do we care about anything?  Religion, sports, politics, etc.  Most often we care because we are told to and are surrounded by a cloud of ignorance.  I'm not here to hate on ignorance I'm just saying.

My earliest memories are of hockey.  Video and pictures show me playing hockey from the age of 3 until I graduated college when I was 24...

The only thing I cared about at this moment in my life was the game and how cool each one of the Varsity players was.  New Ulm, MN, Winter 1989

... Twenty-one years of year 'round training.  That shit cray.  By the time I was done playing at St. Olaf I was DONE.  I'm not sure when it happened to me but I think it was in Juniors (two years I spent ONLY playing hockey between high school and college for those of you not in the know) when I stopped caring.  There was something about living my life on a bus playing a game and not really living by any rules that didn't sit well with me.  It turned out I liked school more than I thought.  At the time it seemed like a necessary evil in order to move on to college hockey and everyone else at my talent level was doing it, so I did it.  I tried hard and loved the competition but the continued indoctrination of hockey culture drove me absolutely insane.

When I received a call from a coach recruiting me to St. Olaf College I officially started my detachment from hockey.  The reason why/how a recruiting call could detach me from the sport I was being recruited for and simultaneously attract me to that same school was because of how little they talked about hockey and how much they hyped up the nerdery of the school.  I'm not sure if they got the memo on me or if they were just aware that they were a .500 team with a shitty rink and facilities, but I was finally happy that a college that wasn't feeding kids to the pros was honest with themselves and the kids they recruit about the actual reason they exist, academics.  I was ready for the full experience.  I was about to enter the real world and it would be best if I picked a school that prepared me for it, not just extended the illusion of a professional hockey career.

Following my last game as a collegiate hockey player (2008) I would skate only once a year if at all.  One year it was the pond hockey championships on Lake Nokomis another it was on the outdoor rink near my grandparents house in Duluth.  Some summers I would even fill in for a random team's league if they were desperate for a player.  I found my peace on the ice on my time... but I surely did not belong to any men's leagues.  I had taken the time to find other loves and hobbies like cycling and cross-country skiing and with this new awareness of "other" there was no looking back.

When I moved to Los Angeles in 2013 the last thing on my mind was packing my hockey equipment into my car.  I already had my bikes on top and besides clothes I thought nothing else mattered.

#nadaworry and surely not one about hockey.

It was a big space saver and obvious leave behind as I packed my Subaru for the trip out west.  The entire reason I moved out here was because back home I had a path laid in front of me that I wanted to veer off from.  I was offered jobs in Minneapolis and Wisconsin, but they were what I knew.  They were jobs I was told I would do well in, in places I would do well in.  But I didn't know about other places and other things.  I had begun in my adult life to venture off course with purpose and LA was one more opportunity.  Hockey in my mind was something that needed to be left in MN, there were way too many new experiences to be had in this sunny new land.

Even with all this anti-establishment nonsense I built into my thought patterns, when I got out here I couldn't help but listen to my grandpa when he would continually ask me about hockey every time we would talk.  He would tell me that I need to find a rink and go meet some people... you know... good people... hockey people (even though I had already found a solid community of co-workers and friends of my girlfriend at the time).  I pushed back but eventually had my parents ship my gear out.  Next thing I know I'm sitting at a rink in Culver City asking random dudes if they'll let me play on their team.  I made the cut at the Culver City league.  In the locker room after a few games one of the guys said they had another team in a little bit more competitive league and were wondering if I would join that too.  2 games in one week?  Seemed a bit excessive but I said I'd be happy to try it out and then decide later on which one I would stick with...

This other league was a bit of a drive from Hollywood (15 miles and 45 minutes if there was traffic) but it was at the Toyota Sports Center which is the practice rink of the LA Kings.  It's located right by LAX and very close to Manhattan Beach which was super convenient for 9 months of my 2015.  It's one of the nicer rinks I've skated in and has a bar/restaurant between the NHL and Olympic rinks which makes post-game pop's and socializing quite convenient.

Toyota Sports Center.  Every Wednesday.  Puck drop 10:15 p.m.  

...On the night of the first game I showed up early to meet the guys.  As I was getting ready to exit the locker room and hit the ice a familiar face walked in and caught me WAY off guard.  The straggler that the guys were sure was going to show up but were sure he might be late was none other than my teammate and carpool mate for 2 years while playing Juniors in Billings, MT, Matt Charbonneau.

The Carpool, L to R: Matt, Brian Kaufman, and Me.  Billings, MT 2002.

Matt and I hadn't seen each other since May 11, 2004.  I know the date well because he, 2 other buddies, and I decided on that night (my 20th birthday) to drive from his house to a casino after having a few brews.  Our sober cab got us down there but before we could even hit the tables he and I were busted with minor consumption tickets (certain parties not to be named "forgot" their ID in the car and managed to escape the night with their record unscathed).  The next morning we had some breakfast, chatted about how we each were going to have to deal with this "minor" setback and then I went on my way.  That was it, somehow we had managed to completely lose track of each other's lives, then 10 years later we walk into the same hockey locker room in LA.  Turns out that early in the summer he was at his neighborhood bar in Hermosa Beach when some drunk goalie noticed he had a hockey hat on and was wondering if Matt was any good because his team needed a few extra skaters.  So that's how it happened, neither one of us knew anyone on the team.  Pretty wild.

At this moment probably thinking (falsely) that "I've still got it"

After 5 full seasons of men's league hockey in LA I've come almost full circle (okay maybe just partial circle).  I pay attention to how the MN Wild are doing and I even conceded a trip home this year to watch the NCHC championships at the Target Center to cheer on the University of North Dakota for the Klava household.  That's about as far as I've fallen back into the world of hockey but it's enough to keep me afloat in the conversation of the clan.

Hockey as a weekly activity in LA has turned out to be a surprise blessing.  I have a fairly big but very established group of people to call on outside of work when I feel I need to, it helps me blow off some steam in a way that men need to from time to time, and has reconnected me with a good friend.  Now that my original Cali-family (Mol, JJ, and Fran) has split up and moved on I feel comfort and at home in SoCal with my new one.  I don't tend to pay attention to holidays or milestones anymore but it's nice to have the Charbonneau's around for such occasions.  Looking back over the past 2 years at least I think I've spent every holiday with them.  That has been supremely comforting considering I'm not sure who else I would be spending those with, but whoever they are I probably wouldn't feel as comfortable around.  There's something about being around people that grew up in the same community of competition and that knows parts of your past that others don't that adds some level of comfort to your life.  I think this is understandable only if you've ever found yourself without family where you live for a long period of time.  We all need a clan and we come to it in different ways.

Here's the California Holiday clan on Easter... Ivonne, Duke, and Matt... with Trip and Molly not giving an F about the picture.

So, in the end I hold no grudges for the amount of time that I dedicated to hockey growing up.  It taught me a lot of valuable life lessons that I believe I'm able to translate to everyday life.  I think all competitive sports can teach you certain skills and all in all I'm happy with the people I've become connected with as a result of hockey being my main sport.  I just like to be a little "anti-" from time to time, okay!?!  I've learned through my re-connection with a sport, though, that what you think really matters just doesn't.  What I think matters for sure does not.  And in the end, what I think doesn't matter probably will.  The circle of life.