Here Be Monsters

Perhaps some of you find yourselves wondering about the purpose of this blog, and how it relates to my upcoming bike trip, and even the reasons for wanting to ride my bike day in, day out, for six weeks. Well, you're not alone. We're both taking a voyage into the mystery, the places on the map marked "here be monsters." I think that this all has to do with sushi, and flying on planes, and monsters.

See, I just watched a really incredible film, "First Ascent", which chronicles some of the hardest, most inspiring rock climbing routes in the world, and the climbers who achieve first ascents on these routes. The focus of the film is the emotional (and physical) battle between a young Swiss climber, Didier Berthod, and one of the hardest crack climbs in the world, Cobra Crack, which has since been rated 5.14b/c. (For those of you who aren't familiar with rock climbing ratings, this is really fucking hard). Though he misses tagging the first ascent of the Cobra due to an unexpected knee injury, Didier Berthod's parting commentary got under my skin (in the best possible way).

Berthod comes to a realization that the work he's put into climbing the Cobra for the past months has been motivated by an egotistical desire for the glory that comes with the first ascent of a landmark climb like Cobra Crack. A pair of crutches physically hobbles his body and mind, allowing Didier to realize the power his ego has had over him. As he packs up his gear and folds his tent in a rainy British Columbia forest at the base of Cobra Crack, he talks about how climbing has opened his eyes to what is possible in the world, and the importance of pure, unadulterated joy in everything we do.

When he was a boy, Didier says, he though flying on airplanes was reserved rich people, and that eating sushi was only for Japanese people (and rich people), but now he says, laughing, that he flies thousands of miles a year and eats sushi too, and more, besides. He's entered (or perhaps reentered) that mysterious place where monsters and the looming possibilities of tomorrow lurk, a place where a single, beautiful route which remains untouched on a gently overhanging sweep of coarse granite inspires a daily confrontation with pain, suffering and doubt.

What am I looking for as I spend three, four, five, (more?) hours a day pedaling my bike south along our country's west coast? I don't think I'll be dispelling any myths about my ability to eat uncooked yellow tail tuna, but I am hoping that this time spent with whatever I can cram on the back of my bike will be enlightening. Let's hope that my trip doesn't expose me to a daily confrontation with pain, suffering, and doubt.

Next time, I promise more details about my trip because, let's face it, I'm going to be hightailing it out west sooner than I think.

Be good to yourselves.