Just 10 Days

In just ten days I was able to visit my first best friend, my sister in Wisconsin. I marvel at the beauty, I ride, I run and we boat across a lake, we build cozy fires, we drink Moscow Kicks, I take my midterm and pass, we laugh, we shop and we wonder at the beauty of our country; so diverse and varied. Every time they move I discover a new place to fall in love with, this time so much so that I even shop for homes and fantasize about being her neighbor.

In just ten days I read about the hurricane victims and wept as I discover a tweet that showed no compassion and found my friends and family united in our disappointment and sadness for so, so many victims.

In just ten days I texted my daughter's friend in Vegas just after she fled the concert and was waiting to see who was shooting, if they had stopped, and if she was safe. I marvel at her strength and am encouraged later when I find she is back with her students in the safety of her classroom and know that they will give her purpose and strength to carry on, to continue to move forward. I think of her often, daily.

In just ten days, I came to the comfort of my home and slept soundly and the winds picked up and awoke to inches of pine needles on my front lawn.

In just ten days I received numerous texts about our dear cousin Beth and her sweet family and have witnessed the fires through their eyes; evacuated and uncertain if their home stands. I've heard and seen, and realized, what is of most importance when devastation happens.  But I continue to watch and wait and to wonder about all of the thousands of others who have lost their homes or business or the hundreds missing or the 30 that did not escape and their families.

In just ten days, I had to have some very hard conversations with students I know, and had to decide how to help, how to support and always, how to listen as very real, very tough, very grown-up problems bleed into their childhood.

In just ten days, I get a photo from a child of mine via text that was of a leg, not broken but badly bruised, swollen and represented pain of a kind a mom simply can't protect.

In just ten days, I have two women take time from their very busy lives, drive through traffic, and to carve out time to share their life stories with a small handful of students at my school. They share their stories of struggle, of triumph, and about what matters most. They choose by their actions to show these student that they matter. To show them that they care. And they do, they care very much.

In just ten days I ride on BART and witness the very worst of humanity and the very best. First teens being teens, littering, horsing around only to have it escalate and have garbage thrown at me. Timidly I ask an Indian couple to escort me to the safety of the lobby near the police.

In just ten days I sit and listen to my child admit mistakes and witness growth and seeking understanding before my eyes and I am nearly breathless with the wonder.

In just ten days I wait for my BART train ride home, the same day, the same station and see a man fall on the tracks. The train is to arrive in one minute. We all moan collectively and some of us act by flagging down the tunnel in hopes that the train will see us and will stop in time. The hero, a black youth, jumps on the train and lifts the man to safety and we gasp and moan again because he is still on the tracks and can't quite get up. Luckily, thankfully, mercifully, we see other men reach down and grab his hands and pull him up to safety just as the train stops outside the entrance to where we are standing.

In just ten days I go to have a mini-celebration of sorts for the family that has had their home saved only to learn the winds and the fires have turned and the threat is on, off, on again, even today.

In just ten days I wake up from smoke, nauseated. With the aid of asthma pills, inhalers, nasal sprays and rinses I head to the safety over the hill where the air is clear and I feel better. But I wonder about the firefighters, the first responders and their families. I think of them and am thankful.

In just ten days, I celebrate a birthday with my friend who is sixty and am touched with the love shown to her by her children and family and friends.

In just ten days, I celebrate the life of a mom who left too soon for a daughter, my friend, and am touched again with the love shown to her by her children and family and friends.

All of this has happened in just ten days.

The Plastic Baggie

So I have a confession to make. 

Yesterday I drove down to Felton to spend the night at my dear friend Adria's house. She has a smart, savvy four year old girl, Ayla. Ayla was asleep when I arrived so Adria and I had several hours to catch up on various goals, dreams, aspirations, a few failures and in matters of the heart. 

Adria would tell you she lives pretty simply. I see she eats organic healthy foods and uses cloth napkins. She has a garden where she uses the compost she's made from her leftovers. She is strong and athletic and is a female firefighter. She is independent and smart and feminine and once again made me marvel at her maturity and wisdom despite being younger in years. Her healthy natural beauty is only surpassed by her lovely inner qualities. I see this demonstrated by how she patiently and tenderly cares for her daughter.  I hear this by how she reacted with another woman recently in a very trying situation. She let the amazing shared spirit of sisterhood take precedence over a wrong done to her. 

I love Adria and she is one of my favorite people. 

In the morning, Ayla and I played while Adria cooked breakfast. We played with wooden tangram puzzles and make-believe games of Beauty Parlor and Halloween. I was reminded with a tug of my heart how my own girls and son would play similarly when they were little. Many adventures with Barbies and Robinhood, Batman and princesses were created on Fairway Dr with my kids. We had tea parties and baking and coloring and painting and drawing, climbing, building and assembling. When my youngest daughter played Beauty Parlor with me my scalp hurt a lot more and her devilish laugh would coincide with the tight twists of the comb or the many clips. Ayla was a kinder, gentler beautician but still I remembered what it was like with fondness. 

It was much chillier than we had anticipated the day before so I put on all the layers of clothes I had packed wearing bike shorts with a skirt over it, a tank top, long-sleeved shirt and a vest. I wore a headband beneath my bike helmet and though it was not sunny I wore glasses as a shield for my eyes and my thickest pair of wool socks. Adria and Ayla were similarly dressed, but only after a little struggle as Ayla was asserting her independence by choosing what to wear. Adria was a master of negotiation and soon Ayla had on leggings and layers and a cozy coat. I then recalled how I teasingly used to say I wanted to market buttons to pin on my children that would read, "I dressed myself" as a disclaimer as they asserted their independence, just as Ayla was doing.

Adria assembled a tasty lunch and packed it along with all of the gear necessary to pull Ayla on her bike trailer called a Weehoo. It's a bigger endeavor than some would attempt but Ayla, Adria and I had gone on a similar ride last month and we all looked forward to our day. I followed in my own car with my bike and gear so I could go home directly after our riding. While we were driving I was remembering the children's seat I had attached to the back of a bike I owned when my children were babies. Later it was replaced by a Burley bike trailer which I used to pull two children at times, as well as swimsuits, towels and food for the day while we hung out at the nearby neighborhood swim club. I remembered sometimes passing golfers in a nearby private golf course a development over and they would comment that I must be the babysitter not the mommy. At the time I was too tired or happy to be outside and aware they were too old to be bothered by the comments. But for today I remembered a string of outings involving my children and bikes and realized this love I have for my two-wheeled friends is not a new love, it's simply a renewed one.  

Just before we started our pedaling, Ayla asked if she could eat a snack while riding. Adria complied and gave her a choice of apple slices or a healthy trail mix with nuts and a few tiny, dark chocolate squares. Ayla chose the trail mix. 

We pedaled across a bridge, along the river with a few shady characters, and then past the Santa Cruz Boardwalk until we reached the path along the ocean's edge where all of the surfers were gathered. It was not as crowded on the road as it had been last month and we were traveling at a steady clip.

That is the excuse I will use as to what I did next. 

The thing I did was nothing. 

I saw Ayla's plastic baggies blow out of the Weehoo and onto the road. Adria was ahead and I did not want to stop in the street to get the baggie and fall behind as we had just stopped to take off a layer of clothing.  There was a person walking and I reasoned with myself that they would pick up the baggie. 

Still, I felt guilty. I should have stopped but I didn't.

But then it got worse. 

We arrived at Wilder Ranch, now a state park. We parked our bikes and were unpacking the lunch and walking to the picnic table when Adria asked Ayla,  "Where  is your trail mix baggie?"

"I don't know, " Ayla said. 

 They discussed it further. 

"Have you seen the baggie?" Ayla asked.

"Yes, I saw it," I answered.  I avoided saying specifically that I had seen it blow out of the carrier and onto the pavement.  Ayla was concerned about the baggie but then joined her mommy at the table to begin eating lunch. I still felt guilty. 

We ate. Then we played. We climbed in the tree, walked in the magical bushes, sucked on the ends of the sour flowers and then fed the chickens. We got back on the bikes and visited the horses and saw a bobcat. 

Ayla wanted the rest of her apple slices, also in a baggie. She mentioned the missing baggie. Again. She looked right at me. "Did you see the baggie?" she asked innocently.

I avoided the question with a question, "Why don't we look for it on the way back? Maybe we can find it and pick it up?"

We headed up a big hill and then when we got to the top we realized Ayla had lost her water bottle. The one with a sippy spout and stickers from Trader Joe's on it. I volunteered to go back and re-ride our path at the ranch to find it. I zipped down the hill, I rode by the tree, the bushes, the barn, the port-a-potty, the chickens, the horses and darned if the bobcat hadn't appeared next to me again next to a group of quail. He was probably annoyed with me for thwarting his hunting twice that day. 

I could not find the bottle anywhere and headed up the small, steep hill toward the mother-daughter duo. And there was the water bottle, lying in the middle of the path. I stopped, picked it up and pedaled to my friends.

"Yay! I found it!" I smiled. "Now maybe we can find the baggie too!"

 Please God, I prayed.

We pedaled across the railroad tracks, down a street and along the ocean's path. All along I kept looking for that baggie.

Please let me find that baggie.

And then we pedaled around a curve and there along the edge of the curb, next to the path we had ridden earlier was the baggie. This time I was leading and stopped. "There it is! The baggie!" I exclaimed. 

Thank you, God, I prayed.

Now some will say it was a coincidence. Some would say it was a stupid baggie. Some would laugh, as my sister did when I told her this story over the phone tonight. 

Earlier I should have stopped but didn't. I should have said something but didn't. 

I've done that before in my life. Made mistakes.  

But here is the beautiful thing. I got a second chance to right the wrong. 

Sometimes we get a chance to right a wrong in a real, tangible way. Sometimes it is only through words. Or time. Or forgiveness, mainly to ourselves.

I got to remember today what it was like to play make-believe with my sister Laura. This time I got to remember all the good times, not the times I got angry and we fought. I got to remember what it was like as a young mommy and making lunches and snacks and packing up for adventures with a bike and Burley trailer with three kids or a giant red suburban filled with gear. I got to remember all the healthy things they ate and not the times when I let them eat something that was not organic before organic was the norm, or if I was tired or impatient, bored or cross. 

I'm going to remember today as a gift of memories of childhood, being a mommy and of second chances. 

Oh. And I have an empty baggie in my vest pocket that I'm going to throw away too. 

Maui Bike Tour-The End of The Road, Part 5

After our early morning exploring of the sea caves at the Waianapanapa State Park, it was time to continue on with our self-supported bicycle journey.

It was overcast as we departed from our campsite and headed toward the end of the road to Hana. We were on the downward slope of our trip, with just a few days left of travel. We headed in the direction on the island where tourists do not go, generally speaking. The end of the road to Hana.

Somehow the weather seemed to mirror my mood. I felt torn. I was having such a magical, meaningful trip I didn't want it to end. It was as if I were a bit like Wendy with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. In the peripheral recesses of my thinking, I felt a little bit like I would be re-entering society and normalcy of routine living. 

 We stopped to look at some hand-painted coconuts at a roadside stand, fill our water bottles and empty our bladders at a small store selling a few trinkets.  I was bestowed with a beautiful fragrant Hawaiian lei by one of my traveling companions. It's bouquet camouflaging the sweet smell of sweat.

How to describe this trip? Each day held breathtaking beauty, tests of my physical abilities and an ease of friendship with one another. Each turn of the road displayed an oceanside setting that defies description, waterfalls, pools, and ponds. There were many little stores or displays of fruit, souvenirs and friendly locals selling their wares. Each day I marveled at all that we had encountered and experienced. The last two days would prove no different and test me in new ways.

We biked and came upon some pools of water. Though it was overcast I had decided early on that I would jump in whenever the situation warranted it. As a few of us entered the water and laughter echoed the landscape two small boys decided to join in on the fun and show us how the locals live. 

From there we pedaled our way to the Seven Sacred Pools. We hiked into a bit more remote spot in time to cook our lunches and swim, climb and explore a few ot the tiny falls. That particular pool was my favorite of the trip. I was able to float on my back, swim underwater and even performed an impromptu solo complete with a ballet leg or two in a nod toward my childhood's synchronized swimming performances.

Reluctantly I packed up my belongings.

We soon had a decision to make. Some members in our group wanted to continue on to set up camp. On this particular day we did not have an end destination and would have to "free camp" along the route. In the past members had camped near the remote St. Joseph's Church in Kaupo. We had recently been informed we were no longer allowed to do that and to plan accordingly. We weren't exactly sure where we were going but we did know the direction to go. As I've said, I used to be a "planner" and noted I had easily adopted the "hang loose" or "go with the flow" attitude of the island.

Myself and two of the men, Ken Mirell and Taylor Flynn decided to hike to the Bamboo Forest and the Waimoku Falls, starting at the O'Heo Gulch (Seven Sacred Pools). We read it was a 2 mile hike, or so, and would be 4+ miles roundtrip. We were pressed for time and knew we would be racing the remaining sunlight in order to make it back to camp before dark. Earlier I had dumped some more of my gear in the car that Vanessa had driven because we were doing a lot of little side trips that day. I had planned to get back to camp early so I did not have my headlamp nor my night light on my bike's handlebars. It was a tad bit worrisome. Still, we decided we could do the hike, ride like the wind to join the others and set-up camp, all before nightfall.

The hike was both a bit more taxing than I had imagined because  I was wearing my Keen bicycle sandals. They were the perfect shoe for biking on the island of Maui. My tan lines, months later are still visible. However, they were not meant for hiking and exploring. They have a very stiff bottom so that there is plenty of support while pedaling. The downside to that when hiking is that there is no flexibility and my knees took the brunt of every step up or down on the paths and stairway leading to the falls. I had just completed my first marathon and my knees were still smarting with each step. I winced a little inside as we moved both toward and away from the falls. Even so, I am glad I went on the hike that day.

We hiked from the tropical forest into the bamboo forest.

 

The knocking of the tall towering bamboo, as the wind wrestled the enormous shoots, sounded like a mammoth wooden windchime symphony. If you have never gone to this place, go. Soon.

We wound our way through the bamboo and continued our climb, inside my wincing was continuing, step by step. We headed around a corner and facing us was the most majestic cascading mossy-lined waterfall one could imagine. The sound of the water tumbling down the wall was deafening.

Immediately I started toward it. I wanted to stand beneath the fall and feel the water pounding upon my head. 

After Ken and Taylor captured my jubilant moment on film we headed down the path to our bikes as quickly as our now-weary legs could carry us.

A great deal of time had passed as we headed toward our destination.

I was hungry and out of food, thirsty, and out of water. I had no light or lamps and I had run out of cash in my wallet so the mere fact that there were no stores along the road didn't seem to matter. My rear bike derailleur was not cooperating and my chain kept switching gears as I was going uphill. My pedaling had to be done while standing and my feet were slipping from the pedals, despite the cleats. I had more bruises than could be counted and eventually I knew my slow pace had separated me from my two companions. I was traveling alone. I ignored the catcalls of local teens driving by but was aware I might find it necessary to put up a fight, if need be. I pressed on. 

I eventually joined one of the men, Taylor,  at the Kaupo Store. Thank goodness. I was empty-handed staring at a shop filled with food and drink. By this time I was so hungry I wasn't thinking straight. My new friend offered to get me something and I grabbed the nearest sports drink and an Almond Joy. I both ate and drank them in no time flat. I hadn't realized how depleted my body was until that moment. I knew then that I needed more food and more drink and my only thought was to get to our campsite. Now.

I continued onward with my chain dropping every fifth pedal stroke or so. Thankfully one of the others, Rob Swain, from the big group came looking for us. The darkness was fast approaching and we didn't exactly know where we were headed. We followed him back to a large grassy field next to the ocean. I got off my bike and into the open arms of the group who enveloped us. They offered to set-up my tent but if one thing I have learned on this trip it's that each person has to do that on their own. It actually saves time. I had located my headlamp by now and assembled my home away from home.

I pooled my food resources with Rob and together we made quite a tasty feast. It was not enough. I ate more from others' stores and continued to eat and eat and eat. And if the truth be told, I did not feel full, despite the large quantity of food I had just inhaled. Water was scarce and so we drank it sparingly. As it showered rainfall upon our camp again later that night, the irony of not having enough to drink was not lost on any of us I think.

The next morning we packed quickly. We headed to the main road. The earlier portion of blacktop was smooth and not at all what I had remembered on my previous trip twenty-five years earlier. This particular stretch was much like the Road to Hana from long ago: it was bumpy, had potholes and ditches and patched throughout. We were all giddy to get to our next destination, the Ulupalakua Ranch Store and the Tedeschi Winery. 

When we reached the main road a rainbow greeted us. It was very picturesque and we all took it as a positive sign.

We soon separated, all pedaling at different paces. One of the men, Rob, noticed my rear derailleur giving me grief. We pulled to the side of the road and with a rock lying alongside the road he pounded the troublesome spot while using a nail to keep the chain from breaking. I nicknamed him MacGyver from the old t.v. show.

A bit further down the road my bike was not happy. I had traveled for nearly a week with a heavy laden bike and my chain was in need of lubricant. The others were ahead and my Ziplock baggie with the aforementioned article was not with me. I did, conveniently, have a bottle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar in it. Olive oil is a wonder for our health and it is an acceptable means to lubricate a bicycle while on a tour of Maui. Or so I now know thanks to the quick thinking of "MacGyver."

Thankfully the travel was easy after that and we made our way to the famous Ulupalakua Ranch Store. I ate a grilled chicken sandwich, Maui potato chips and drank nearly a liter of water. We were a bit scruffy looking at this point. I'm certain I had a layer of dirty grime on my face. I didn't mind. My belly was full and we were preparing to celebrate Vanessa's belated big birthday bash later that evening.

We were blessed, and I do not use that term lightly, by a gracious host and hostess named Roger and Paula Hegele, the owners of Tedeschi Winery and Vanessa's dear friends. They allowed us to stay at their home for the evening.

We were given clean towels, hot showers and a spot to relax and enjoy a new and altogether different scenery...that of a working Maui Ranch. Their restored home was beautiful, the food plentiful and the party was like something out of magazine. We tasted wine, we heard stories about the ranch turned winery and met their youngest son and sweet-natured dog. I actually cried when I stood in the hot shower, washing away the dirt. I appreciated the near-ending of the momentous journey. I was touched by the generous way the Hegele's cared for us, doing our laundry, and providing a spot to rest our weary heads. In point of fact, I slept on their porch on an outdoor sofa with cool breezes allowing me to bury beneath a thick sleeping bag.

As we departed from the winery the next and final day of our tour, we headed back down the Maui mountainside. We rode through pineapple plantations with wind so strong I was swept sideways an entire lane line and somehow did not fall. As strong as our headwind was going up the mountain earlier in the week, it was twice as strong heading down. We were flying, loaded pannier bags and all! Wheeeee!

Our Maui trip had come to it's conclusion. 

My road to Hana redo was over, in the most excellent of manners. I had survived one week post-marathon, a trip around the entire island, climbing up hills on my bicycle with loaded saddle bags. It was the most amazing experience of my life. I tapped into my younger, carefree self. The beauty was more amazing than I had imagined, the food more flavorful and the comaraderie formed amongst a small group of relative strangers is to be fondly remembered for years to come. 

On the road to Hana I also learned I am strong, in all definitions of the word.

Friends and family ask if I would consider doing a bicycle tour of such magnitude again?

The answer, enthusiastically, is yes.