David Our Vanagon Liberator

'Are you sure this is the way to go?' Marci asked a reasonable enough question. We had spend the night by the side of the Snake River just above Hells Canyon in the scorching heat swimming, and gorging on the abundant wild blackberries and apricots that flanked the desert river. In the cool morning we sailed across the bridge into Idaho and powered up and out of the river canyon with the vanagon running cool and strong. Replacing the radiator in Ashland, Oregon had worked (thank you Zac at www.theshopinashland.com).
Feeling confident, enjoying the wind in our hair and drone of the jetta diesel engine, I decided that the conditions were perfect for a short cut to our destination for the day: Ketchum, Idaho. Short cut is an euphemism for going off the beaten path, often with limited information and always involves mountains, stream crossings and dirt roads. Most of the time it is shorter by mileage, but longer in time. Sure enough we soon found ourselves deep in the mountains on a gravel road with many unmarked forks in the road. I was feeling great - mountain springs, tall pines, clean air, a van with a new coolant system. Marci was wondering what we would do in the event of a breakdown. It was true, we hadn't seen many other vehicles, and we were often miles from little towns like Indian Valley, Pioneerville, and Crouch. All day long we drove over the Seven Devil Mountains, through Payette Range and finally over the 9000 ft Galena Summit flanked by the Sawtooth Mountains into Ketchum, Idaho.
At 7pm after crossing 3 major passes and driving 9 hours, we turned off the main road and drifted into the quiet mountain town. Downshifting at the first corner we heard a clunk, heard metal on metal and then lost power - the axle had come loose from the wheel. We coasted into a parking space across from the Moss Garden Center and called Dick Dorworth, the fastest man on skiis in 1963 (108 miles per hour on 220cm metal Head skiis and leather boots) and father of our friend Richard, now a 70 year old, fit, Buddhist writer, climber and skiier who had made Ketchum his home for the last 40 years. He was driving back from a weekend of 5.10 climbing at City of Rocks. "Call David" was Dick's immediate response, "he'll know what to do." Within 5 minutes, David arrived on the scene. It was immediately clear that we were in the presence of a true Vanagon fanatic: his rig was a buffed-out '87 4x4 vanagon with self-inflating tires, solar panel run freezer, hydrolic lifters for the pop top, and enough gadgets and gauges to satisfy the gnarliest of motorheads. "I like to go to the middle of the Utah desert for three weeks at a time." He instantly diagnosed the problem and dug deep into his spare parts and pulled out a new cv joint and a plethora of factory bolts and washers. "Never travel without the spare parts."
As a result of our breakdown we spent two days wonderful days in Ketchum - hiking mountains, learning about a really innovative local food distribution system, meeting eccentric and interesting people - before driving onto Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where we are today.
It is interesting - some would say lucky - that we broke down where we did instead of miles from nowhere. That said, a breakdown is still a breakdown - it triggers an emotional reaction that one tries to avoid. But in any case, you still need to play the hand you're dealt. 'It isn't an adventure until something goes wrong' Yvon Chouinard says. This suggests that the unexpected slowdown, the random wrong turn, the thwarted intention are the gateway into adventure, and one might say living. None of us learned to walk without quite a number of falls. Less than two weeks into our world tour, we're definitely already well into adventure. When I asked Dick Dorworth, who has traveled the world extensively, his advice for for our year, he said simply, "compassion, courage and humor." Seems like a good set of principles and smart strategy for getting the most out of our Odyssey particularly in the face of breakdowns. One hopes that the results of future breakdowns are as positive as meeting David and Dick and hanging in Ketchum.

Footprints in the Sand

We pulled off of route 84. “Mosier, isn’t this where Arlene Burns lives?” A phone call later and we were in Arlene’s house amid a pile of gear being compiled for an expedition to ANWR – the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve – to photograph an expedition of a man and his 12 year old daughter scaling a mountain peak. I’ve known Arlene since 1988 when she wrote me a letter from Nepal where she was living and then came as part of a team of 8 women to compete at the International Peace Rally on the banks of the still frozen Chuya River in central Siberia on May Day 1989. From then on, she became a fairly core part of a young team of idealists who guided a small non-profit cultural/sport exchange program called Project RAFT (Russians and Americans For Teamwork) kept it afloat for the next 5 years. It was an intense time, but suffice to say we haven’t spoken for years as both our lives – like so many old friendships – have drifted into different channels. I’m realizing that in addition to searching out pockets of positive deviance, adventure and new learning, that our year will also be a time for reflection, reconnection and refining relationships and experiences that like footprints in the sand have a way of washing away.

Star Thistle

Siskiyou Summit pushed the van – now named Bug-Z – to the boiling point. Just 300 vertical feet from the 4200’ pass, we pulled over to let the engine cool before making the final push. We waited in a loud and hot void between the steady crawling semis and a wall of Star Thistle as far as the eye could see in both directions. Star Thistle is a particularly hardy and aggressive plant that dominates roadsides throughout the West. It has a beautiful yellow flower that turns into a spiked star sharp enough to go through a rubber soled shoe. As the green antifreeze (green in this case, doesn't mean eco-friendly) vaporized into the atmosphere, it struck me that we chose an interesting entrance into our global tour: the van issues are kind of like a blunt instrument forcing us to slow down, get out of routine, lessen our need for control and trust that it will all work out. Sure enough, we made it over the pass and drifted red-lined into Zac’s Auto Shop in Ashland, OR. There are a sea of Vanagon corpses and a few on life support in his parking lot. Hopefully, Bug-Z will prevail. A new cooling system is on the menu. Tomorrow is supposed to be hotter.

Mission Control We've Got a Problem

109 degrees in Redding, CA. Its day one of the Ellison Odyssey and I watch the thermostat of our bio diesel converted ’84 Vanagon rise. Skye who has a ice water soaked bandana on her forehead, calls out from the back seat, ‘hey, I smell smoke!’ Sure enough the charcoaly smell of burning oil wafts from the vents. The semi trucks, including a well-driven, ultra-efficient Wal-Mart Always Low Prices Always trailer slide by shimmering in the heat. In the fracas, I’m distracted. When I glance at the dashboard again, the thermostat is suddenly pegged with lights blinking red. This isn’t good. We’re almost at the top of the pass. I know if I stop it will surely boil over, but if I keep going it will surely boil over. How lucky. One of life’s dilemmas presented on day one: darned if you do; darned if you don’t. Faced with this choice, we continue, pulling off at the Highway 89 exit making a short right into a shady spur. Throw ice water from the cooler on the radiator and then back on the road, gliding finally to rest at the serene home of our friends Richard and Erika, where I dunk in the crisp, spring fed tributary of the McCloud River that runs through their back yard, sharing stories, laughing and planning to meet them in Bali – where they now live – in December.
Beginning a year around the world with the family is one thing. Choosing to start by taking an old van, sans air conditioning, through California’s Central Valley on a hot July day as part of a cross-country road trip is another thing altogether. A shockingly appropriate start to our quest to experience our world – its people, its places – in all its glory. I can’t wait for today.