Damned Cutting Boards

I have decided so many times, that one of the foundational issues in the world, is emotional immaturity. I stand by that. To demonstrate: Here I am, pissed off again, being immature I'm sure, about my emotions. What are you supposed to do with them?

For the first time in my life...I am exactly where I am...and will never be here again.

What I mean is, I am excited about my life, in so many ways. However, I am different to myself and to people that I love, in more ways than I sometimes know how to deal with. Furthermore, I'm not always sure that the 'changed' me is honestly me. Other times I'm not so sure the 'me' I've grown up being, is who I truly am or want to be.

I have an impatience with people and with life, that I didn't use to have. I have an intense amount of energy an urgent need to put it to use. Lately, I want to ski every minute of my day, or run or bike or hike, anything that has me outside, using my body. I don't want to sit at the table and talk politics with my family. I don't want to argue over stupid decisions or details like what cutting board I use or how to make burgers (recently encountered topics). I am tired of being micro managed by my mother, and yet sooooooooo sick of being annoyed by her...so what the fuck? What does a girl do with all this energy? What does a person do with all this emotion? I don't want to be a mom, but I find myself feeling guilty for not being available to my nieces. I don't want to be an emotional support or peer to my parents or any other person of their generation, yet I find myself repeatedly confided of information I do not care to know, that lands me in just such a position.

I may be just a Princess, with too many demands on the world. I may be burning bridges as I write this. I may be a selfish little shit with no sense of family or community or the little things that make the world go round. Fine...maybe. I hope that my friends and family can forgive for that. However, I maintain that I want clearer boundaries. I want people to have integrity in their drippy, gooey shit. I want good friends to go play hard with, every moment of my life. I want the rest of my life to play hard, push every boundary of personal limits and seek the life that makes my soul soar.

I am happy. I am in love with my life. I am in love with the people in it. But I feel impatient. I want people to get the fuck out of my way, or climb on and come with me. Whatever, but for the love of god, who gives a shit about the onion on the cutting board? No, really, to everyone who's just devoured and entire meal, caked in onion, I am so sorry that your carrots taste like them too.

oh the anguish

I've been watching my 4yr old niece for days now, as she demonstrates time and again an almost perfect void of emotional editing. When things are exciting, they are THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET. When things are frustrating, they are worthy of being thrown, growled at, kicked, yelled about, etc. When things are not quite as she would like them to be, there is a general, overall meltdown. The possibility of things being any different, EVER with the use of communication and a little help to adjust the situation, do not occur to her yet...why does this feel so familiar?

It amazes me that to this day, I act like a 4yr old. Better yet, that I can see myself doing it, and can't always (if ever) stop it. I am the queen of crisis mode to the point that my cohorts harass me for being a stress queen and it dawns on me slowly, with the utmost self control, that I am rarely trapped in the situations I think I'm stuck in. Ha! I think the only thing age has taught me, is that silence is an amazing tool and power. People think the world of someone who can walk in and be quiet. They will cast upon this silence, all of their worst fears and greatest aspirations. Meanwhile the silent observer could be (and usually is) just wondering what in the holy hell is going on, but a good poker face will fool the best of them.

Whatever people. I can barely keep a grip on y 28yrs of psychosis. Don't give me the silent treatment to add to it.

tidbits and end caps

Just the little bits of weird shit that make their way into my life...here's a poem from a boy who will likely never confirm if it was written to me, but will nonchalantly send it in a pile of others just to see what ignites...
_________________________________________
Kiss drunk

When I find my body in your arms in waking dream am I
Not the kind with elephants or the ones that make me fly.
Rather this dream without slumber
Comes on me like thunder
My body trembles and shakes
For in this little time
I’m out of my mind
And I am forced to wake
I know that I love you,
as strong as my will
But that is a painful pill
___________________________________________
I on the other hand am not so subtle, and this is my 'poetic' response. I do not pretend to be a poet, but I can make words rhyme and occasionally do somersaults...
__________________
lay down

what the fuck is this
these dreams that you whisper
this tortured iron will
and this body that trembles

don’t tell me your dreams
when you won’t press upon them
the weight of my touch
that you won’t meet beyond them

i have kissed your tremble
i have touched your melt
held your shudders
and known what i felt

here’s my heart
here’s my head
here’s my faults
here’s my dread
here’s my hopes of a life i’m afraid to believe in
here’s my fears of a love i’m not sure i’d be leaving

my hearts bursting open
with words from your lips
my will is worn ragged
on misconceived tips

you’re not speaking to me
and perhaps never were
your’re a ghost in your own head
your own knot, your own bur

so go, fight your own fight
on your own battle field
i’m so sick of the glory
for this sword and this shield

i want real
i want truth
i want ground
i want proof

to be looked at and seen
not imagined otherwise
to be met in the middle
not the outskirts of lies

give me courage and longing
the fierce pursuit of my being
give me rugged whole truth
not a fool who’s been dreaming

No Bowl Cuts or Mullets

"You'd be amazed at how easily they succumb to bowl cuts and mullets." My sister confides in me, as though the latest conspiracy overturning the world is directly linked to the favorite hair-do's of our youth. It's my nieces day to get her hair cut, and the instructions given to the patiently awaiting hair dresser, go something like this: "Yeah, just trim it up a bit here and there, take off some shagginess or whatever, just no bowl cuts or mullets."

Ah life in big sky country...where the buffalo roam, and mullets are an honest to god, fear instilling obstacle that must be reckoned with if you intend to raise your children without damaging their psyche in the same manner as your own. Besides, it's always far more entertaining to conceive original torture techniques for ones spawn. I dream of the day when I can repay my children with the humiliations of parental attendance. In the meantime, I take it upon myself to torment my nieces.

Lucky for them, they're too consumed by their own innocence, unknowingly condemning their future pubescent social life, by supplying me and their parents and sooooo many others, with endless incriminating stories to share their middle school and high school crushes. All I have to do is stand by and take note. Mwaaahaaahaaa. Perhaps I sound mean, but rest assured their daddy is already loading his shot gun for the poor, unsuspecting young fools who make the mistake of looking twice at his little girls. I might as well find ways to amuse myself with their inevitable evil teenagerhood, since they won't likely be escaping the house without a chaperon, and I'm likely to be that chaperon.

Grandmas and Grandpas, Aunties and Uncles, siblings and cousins--blood and adopted alike--clear your mantels. Clear your coffee tables and book shelves of my generations bad hair cuts and embarrassing fashion accessories. There's a new circus in town and I am sooooooo glad to be on the wagon that thinks it's all funny and finally off the one that finds it a life or death matter.

boys boys boys

Boys, boys, boys...when a girl goes out of her way to tell you how she feels, two things are VERY important:

1. Don't leave her hanging. You are in no way obligated to fake having the same feelings in return. In fact please, don't fake anything. However, no response and vague response, are really lame options that technically, shouldn't even be options.

2. Don't set her up--uninformed--to watch you fawn over another girl, or watch other girls fawn over you. It's not cool...at all...ever. Be honest and respectful. Everyone deserves a FULLY INFORMED, OPTION TO CHOOSE whether or not they want to be involved in such a situation.

Who knows, maybe it'll work out in your favor. Maybe it won't. Regardless, it'll save everyone a lot of heartache and unnecessary emotional drama. It's lame to lie, omit or mislead in any way. Get a clue and a backbone, and a little integrity. I promise, it'll get you a lot further than your creepy Casenova act--which by the way, is impressing you a lot more that it's impressing her.

La la la la la la la la la

Ah, the holidays...so easy to blow off w/ a big red stamp of "HELL ON EARTH". Unless you are one of those who truly enjoys this time of year, in which case you visit an entirely different scrap-booking store, for your stamp and ink pad color of choice. I personally find it amusing to play the Grinch while desparately poking about the house and liquor cabinet for the quickest way to make myself laugh.

I don't actually hate the holidays. What I hate, are the overwhelming levels of pure, exhausting emotion that accompany the season and in truth, every family gathering in this here little orchard. I attribute this multifaceted gem adornment, to two things. One: My family alone, maybe responsible for the very existence and financial fueling of psychotherapy as a practice. Two: In large part due to this close knit relationship with shrinkage, my family firmly believes that e-v-e-r-y single confrontation in life--be that with a door knob, your next door neighbor or your next of kin--deserves your undivided emotional and spiritual attention, to seek out the lesson awaiting to enlighten your soul.

Example: My niece has been on a roll lately, exercising her 4yr old right to Sass. She was mid-exertion of some offensive act, when my mother turns to her and asks "Now, how does that make you feel inside?"

Don't get me wrong, as a member of this family if nothing else, I am a huge advocate of self awareness and self betterment...WHEN YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO SEE YOURSELF. As a 4yr old at heart however, I am an even bigger advocate of exercising ones right to Sass, and furthermore, spreading that love whenever and where ever possible. Word to my neicie...and I'm pretty sure I've secured my place in parenting HELL, should I ever make the mistake of going down that road.

Oh and Three: (This one sneaks up on you. It even snuck past being made reference to before hand.) MICRO MANAGING.

Basically, what I'm saying, is that holidays are awesome and I am surrounded by therapists who all know how to process each others shit better than the person it belongs to, and don't drink enough. And the best part is my own attempts to pretend I'm not part of it! Yippeeeee!

This is awesome

I am quite possibly going to hell for my pet-auntie skills. Currently directing anger at an ex-boyfriend, occasional bootie call and idiot, for being stupid. House boiler is screwed, so it's freezing while I write and 13 degrees outside. Top it off with the fact that it's Friday night "and I ain't got nobody" and there is nothing to do in this town. But the cat loves me, and that's what counts. Did I mention I hate cats?

Had the first real conversation w/ my mom tonight in what feels like years, spurred in large part by my trying NOT to talk about the incredibly lame situation I was dragging myself from after Thanksgiving with afore mentioned ex (dumb), which unfortunately involved Mom (dumber). Good to talk to Mom. Bad to eat turkey w/ stupid boys. Good to clear up the fact that some boys are just dumb and I have an amazing propensity toward the majority of them...which is awesome (dumbest).

Holidays are awesome...why do I insist on writing a public diary?

Cyclo-what?

So...finding the luke-warm, mixed response to the cyclocross event amusing. Everything from heated encouragement and cheering to raised eyebrows and dismissal. Well, whatever you find yourself thinking...if it even inspired that much, know that it was a ridiculous BLAST, and nothing more. Which in truth, I think the whole single speed cyclocross crowd was designed for anyway.

My mom got mad at me today because I thought this picture...



was hilarious.

She thinks it "barbaric"--God bless her.

Oh, and...

...

http://velonews.com/race/cyc/articles/13665.0.html

and

http://www.cyclingnews.com/cross.php?id=/photos/2007/nov07/singlespeedcx07/20071111_sscxwc-01590

and

http://www.howtoavoidthebummerlife.com/weblog/archives/2007/11/skating_t
hrough_life_on_a_wing.html

so much so much...and so oh little time

God, what a summer. What a job. What a weekend. What a life...holy hill. There are so many people I want to thank for so many things. So many events and things I want to mention. So many weird ass experiences I am itching to expose and exploit. So much, so much, and oh so little time!!!

This tour season has been amazing. Intense. Bizarre. Overwhelming. Rewarding and downright fucking frustrating to the point of tears. Had one guest get hit by a car, another send himself over his handlebars and take out three front teeth. One endo'd headfirst into a rocky creek bottom and wound up w/ an airlift out of a national park. Someone else had to receive the horrible news from our office, of a baby nephew being hit and killed by a car..and that's just the guests! Entire town water pump systems quit working, trailer brakes locked up, motorcyclists collided w/ company vehicles while I was driving them...I mean seriously! What the f*%@?

How-eva, I truly believe this last weekend alone, set all planets and Universal imbalance, back into alignment. Please view: http://www.dmroth.com/cycling/kiss_krew/index.html for your personal comprehension. I just want to add: I actually gave myself a blister ringing my cow bell...and that is almost as good as double clicking a mouse.

This was a two day event: day one has the boys in blue, grease monkey suits, and day two in KISS makeup and yes, those are leather pants. We all crawled out of bed Saturday, to make the three hour drive to Estacada, just southeast of Portland, where the first annual Cyclocross World Championships were held. Pictures tell the story so much better than words, but suffice it to say we walked away w/ a pile of hand-made cowbells (which are an entire mass-email story and prayer session in themselves), a carbon crank set, at least half a dozen lovely pint glasses, countless kisses, cycle shwag and a fan club to make your heart melt. I think I have found my calling in life: groupie and cheerleader extraordinaire...though I may have to shed a few layers and show some T&A, if I want to get serious about this. I didn't sleep the night before heading down, due to a painting job I had agreed to. Needless to say, I was high on fumes and sleep deprivation BEFORE partying all day, all night and all day again. SO. MUCH. FUN.

This easily ranks as one of the best events I have ever attended, and further more, wreaked havoc upon. I am so sad to say that I am now leaving some of the most incredible people I have come to know and proudly call my friends and family, to play in Montana for the winter. Montana is where my immediate family resides, and while I so look forward to actually spending time with them again, I am sad to be leaving this incredibly brilliant, juvenile lifestyle and the pack of instigators I call my friends. These people fuel my love of mischief, adventure and life in general.

Then, I sign onto a severely neglected blog, only to find more amazing friends and family members have been tending to the madness that is my life, in the form of late night ranting sessions and verbal explosions of momentary frustration a.k.a. my blog. I LOVE YOU ALL.

A La Carp

Damn this nonsense I tell you. Damn this nonsense of people and projects not operating the way I think they should. I am trying very hard to accomplish a ridiculously long list of company "honey do's", and damned if the system ain't workin' against me. Who the hell actually knows where the company ORIGINALS are of vehicular registration and insurance??? I seem to be able to locate a pathetic and useless combination of copies for 4 separate vans and/or trailers, and NOTHING that combined, will allow the good people of Hawaii to give me a damned safety check...which I need in order to register the van and trailer...which I need to drive...in order to run a tour...which is my job-albeit perhaps temporarily, at the rate of my bad mouthing beloved employers...which my Auntie has been quick to call me on and constructively criticize.

Allow me to defend: I speak rather candidly to the face of the very man I publicly harass. While I rant and ramble over the things that annoy me or put me off, I do in fact love my job, very much, and even more so, the people I work with. I tell them this at least as much as I tell them the rest. While verbal "puking" has certainly been a topic of concern to me in deciding to publish my thoughts on the internet-many of which could certainly be categorized as bodily functions or fluids-I find a certain level of interest in staying raw and true to experience. I suck at keeping my pains and opinions to myself. However, if I had never said a word of what I wrote, to the person I was targeting, I doubt that I'd have written it. I believe rather fiercely that honesty is the only policy...and that can kick a girl in the ass. Further more, I maintain a significant level of protectiveness toward the people in my world-after all, it is my world. I do not mention names, and I do not advertise company labels (not that it'd be hard to figure out and top it off with the fact that I'm a lousy liar, so you could likely just ask). I tell it the way I want to-like a spoiled, bratty child-and hopefully make it clear that this is my immature, self-centered, ridiculously opinionated rampage, not the bloody gospel. Mind you, the world would be a better place if you heathens would treat it as such.

Ah ha ha!

Ah ha ha people! You're going to let me get away with all of this? Come now, not a single critic in the audience? Not to antagonize, but I find the temptation almost too delicious. Could I possibly have the entire stage to myself and no one watching??? Almost too good to be true! How long can it last? How long 'til the silence is broken? Oh public diary...

Wormy little man in the corner...

Hidden muses...

Objects of attraction...

A-mercan

I work for a man who embodies the absolute American communication tactic (and would likely fire for saying that). "Maybe if I say it louder and slower, the heathens will better understand the important message I have to deliver."

I've just spent the last hour and a half weeding through a website he designed, and it's ever so much like having a conversation with the man himself. You walk away feeling pummeled with mass amounts of information, all of which is:

R-E-A-L-L-Y F-U-C-K-I-N-G I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T
AND MUST BE MEMORIZED, TATOOED AND BRANDED INTO YOUR PSYCHE OR YOU WILL FAIL AND BE A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT TO THE COMPANY

...Only to discover on the flip side of a 48 hr adrenaline rush and anxiety attack, that maybe a quarter of it was important enough to be worth mentioning...once, not three times, and all of it could be accomplished without the use of capital letters, exclamations or massive fonts. But hey, go team. I have to go take my blood pressure meds now so I can drink some more coffee later.

Good man, just f-ing intense. And yes, thank god I'm such a picinic.

Eeeeew, there's a little worm of a man strutting and boasting himself all over the coffee shop...and his little soccer shorts have made their way into his butt crack.

Uuuuuuh...

Or...I could just be an idiot for the rest of my life. Ignorance IS bliss people, don't let 'em tell you different. It's easier and a lot more fun, let's face it.

Title

I had a girlfriend tell me once that turning 30 was the greatest thing yet. She swore the angst and stress of being a teenager or twenty-something melted away and the burning questions of "who am I?" and "what the hell am I doing w/ my life?" became obsolete. I suppose we all do, but I place a lot of faith in those little things that imply some relief when, for instance, I have no idea what I'm doing w/ my life.

In truth, I am less concerned about the answers to that question at the moment, than when I am given a week off to obsess over it. For now, I revel in the blissful state of being employed beyond the free-time required to properly ponder my likely-upcoming-seasonal-unemployment...say that ten times fast. I say likely, because there is always the chance of spending my winter in Hawaii or New Zealand, running tours (yes, I get paid to do this, though arguably not enough). Anyway, too much to think about when faced w/ the immediate tasks of waking up, finding coffee, making lunch, washing dishes, filling water coolers, filling snack bins, fixing squeaks, emptying garbage, applying sunscreen, hiking, biking and chasing the current collection of spandex clad cyclists about the spectacular scenery of Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park.

Quiet

It's a quiet, lonely stage when no one knows you're on it. I kind of prefer it. Like a predawn event-no one knows you're up yet. Feels like you have the entire day to yourself. So much potential, so much space...and peace, quiet.

Writing this thing got overwhelming towards the end of being in Asia, and then just fell off the face of the planet when I returned to the States. I received amazing feedback from so many people and while it was exciting to know people were reading, I started stressing over writing (Alisa? Stress? Over self-imposed pressure? Surely not!) and further more, what to say. It 's never all sunshine and daffodils, but how much to include? How much time to spend wallowing in my own crap, how much time to spend pulling myself up by proverbial bootstraps to appear heroic and unflappable in my own cast role?

One friend in particular, has been influential in spurring me back to the blog (still a ridiculous name-where did it come from? Is it as ludicrous as G.O.R.P.? Boring Longwinded Online Geeks). While most of his "suggestions" inspire semi-hostile responses, there are a few that find their targets and are well received...oh okay, stroke my ego...but only the first 7,541,642 times, then I'll have to reign you in.

For anyone who doesn't know, I am a bicycle tour guide. I work for a bicycle and multi-sport tour company- whose website I may even attach a link to for viewing of absurd mug shot and "bio" that haunt me throughout tours. I mention this because, while it appears I have dropped into a void of cyber inactivity, I assure you my life is anything but, and I LOVE THAT. I love my job and I love my life and I want to tell you more about it all, but I can't right now because I am on back-to-back tours in Utah, and have to go prep for #2 of 2.

Do This

Do this. Do this thing. This blog thing. This life thing. This candid, honesty exposure thing. Do this writing thing where you shout at the invisible world all of your thoughts and opinions, at the risk of going completely unnoticed. Do this.

Set down black letters on white screen. Rattle thoughts incongruent w/ head. Argue self-appointed foes and sell the battles for public display. Sell this. Set this down. Rattle this. Argue this. Do this.

This is what I do. At the risk of going unnoticed. At the fear of being heard. Right here, right now, I do this...w/ great drama.
.............................................................................................

There's always this layer I'm trying to shed when I sit down to pick this thing up again. What to say, what not to say, how much to expose, how to treat this immense stage. I want to believe it's vast enough to absorb my crudest contributions w/out causing harm, but I do not trust that my words would not be taken out of context or manipulated...if they were even heard. How much responsibility do we owe the world to edit our thoughts, emotions and inner turmoils? How thorough do our disclaimers need to be in order to stay true to personal experience? This is what therapists are for right? So no one else has to listen to this crap.

I tell my stories and thoughts as a challenge to myself. To see if I can stay real in the face of disappointment or disapproval. To see if I can have my voice and not need to destroy another to maintain it. I am in awe of what the internet offers for both personal and public growth. My contribution is almost solely self-centered. This is my sounding board. My tool for reflection. My witness to things in my life that I do not always share or know how to put in the open. This is my disclaimer for the expressions in this blog. This is my life, not yours. Don't take this one personally. If you don't like what it says, well then, don't read the damn thing.

Welcome back to my blog...I'll be attempting to keep it up w/ my life for the next year, to see what sorts of trouble I can find myself in. Grandma, sorry about the cussing.

i'm a believer

While my friends and fellow cyclists back home are sending me links to great, well maintained, informative and entertaining blogs on the underground life of cycling in Seattle (observe new link "sally forth!")...I am busy disregarding all common sense, caution, upkeep and well, everything I have ever been taught about cycling and general courtesy.

If you've been following along on the life and times of yours truly, you may recall a previous entry making mention of a cycling event. I was recruited to head a project involving students from a local highschool and English speaking tourists to encourage pedals over petrol, and give the kids a venue to gain confidence speaking English...allow me to say here, that I have never prayed so hard for an event, as I prayed this morning for the uneventful outcome of this one...

What I am attempting to poetically state, is: HOLY SHIT! I JUST PLAYED A PRIMARY ROLE IN LEADING 21 KIDS FROM A LAOS PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL, ON EVERYTHING FROM A BMX TO A BEACH CRUISER, AND EVERY SIZE, SHAPE AND COLOR OF BAD CHINESE SUSPENSION, ON A 24KM RIDE WITHOUT A SINGLE HELMET, IN THE MIDDLE OF TRAFFIC, W/ NEXT TO NO 1ST AID, ONLY MY ATTACHED HAND PUMP, MULTI-TOOL, AND TWO SPARE TUBES, TWO (LITERAL) BUNCHES OF BANANAS, 100 LITERS OF WATER IN A TRUCK AND A PAPER ROSTER (NOT ROOSTER) OF NAMES...on a tour of Vientiene...with out a single scratch.

I do not know how to explain the number of times, in the last few hours, I have secured and re-secured my place in cycling hell. If for no other reason than the fact that I was making deals w/ the devil: my soul in exchange for these kids safely home at the end of the day. I swore if I survived this event, I would blog and purge my guts of the last week and a half, since I've been holding back. I have so many stories, so much to say, so many thoughts. It's been overwhelming to try and sit down to tell all.

The last week has been a brutal combination of my rediculous, over-active head, intense heat, no exercise, great friends, bad teaching skills, amazing ideas and oportunities for the future and an inability to focus on anything other than what's in front of my face. I have taken to reading the classics and decided the truth of my existence is that I, like the rest of humankind, demand to know the reason why I am here. Virginia Woolf is an amazing writer and I can only handle a few pages at a time. Robinson Crusoe, is as big an idiot about the world as I am and he's 200 plus years old. Shogun is a really big book, and a great story. Sticky rice is an amazing product. Jesus was Lao. Chelsea (football) Stadium, had to ban celery because fans kept throwing it at the refs and the "other" team, when they scored...and it made international news. They make pink toilet paper here, and I love that. I still can't believe there wasn't a single scratch on one of those kids by the end of that ride. George Bush is a fucking idiot and I keep having to explain to people here that we don't all agree w/ him, we aren't actually like what you see on Jerry Springer, and just because I look rich here, doesn't mean I can actually afford to live in America. The Lao people could but Subway out of business in a matter of hours w/ the rockin' "sub sandwich" on real french (freedom) loaves. The French know how to make ice cream! And croissants! And incredible, fatty, rich food! If it can be made out of rice, these people have made it...50,000 times, 100,000 different colors and 1,000,000 different textures. I know how to read that many zeros effortlessly because I have been dealing in Laos, Kip and I have to be that rediculous w/ my over exageration because there are in fact, a rivaling number of products made from rice. I've tried eating half of them in the last 2 weeks. Beer Lao is a beautiful thing. People are dumb. People are amazing. It's likely I am bi-polar. I have an offer to return here in 4 mos and stay for a year. My head can't decide which of 500 possible commitments available to be made, it should freak out over first...so we take turns. I miss the mountains. I love the people. My new friends from the school and the students alike, make it easy to want to return...knowing I am missing out on my nieces back home, makes it hard to want to stay away for long.

I am still in shock from the cycling. Can't conjure a big enough, loud enough or rediculous enough victory dance for the success of such an insane event. I don't even know how we got the permission from the school, much less the kids parents, to let us take them out! I think the school (the one I've been working for) director, just signed a piece of paper saying he'd be responsible for their safety, and away we went. Top it off with the fact that 3 local cycling teams showed up to accompany us, which then brought their own traffic controllers (men on motor bikes w/ bull horns for the front and back of the pack) who appeared out of nowhere, and we had a bloody parade! It was amazing! One girl nearly fainted at 6km, where we made a break for bananas and water. 12km was free coffee, compliments of a local coffee producer and a tour of the coffee roasting process for the kids. Jacked up on sugar and caffiene, and now w/o the love of our cycling teams (they took the coffee and ran...not thinking much of our rockin' 12km/hr pace), we shoved 'em all out for a back-track to start. It was (everyone sing along w/ me here) FU-CKING BRILL-IANT!!!!!!!

So, that's a start. I am still tromping around in my dorky bike gear, so I'm going to go ditch that for now and take a victory swim in the 100+ degree weather we're sporting here in Laos. I have to go recover my sense of sanity and promise to emerge refreshed w/ extensive interviews and opinions. Love love.

what about it

What I was trying to tell you, somewhere between my own self conscious editing and your girlfriends sweeping sabotages, is that I love the mountains. I love them because at least when there's a physical mountain in front of me, I can climb it. I can cuss at it. I can struggle and push and fight w/ it. When there's no mountain, I make one. I make them in my mind or in my heart...those mountains are far harder for me to summit.

I saw those pictures you took, of mountains in far away lands, and my heart cried. I know what I want, and I was momentarily distracted by an invisible view: I want to climb every mountain. I want that huge expanse of blue sky and sharp, fresh air shot in my face. I want the vertigo, looking out over a pass I just spent inumerable hours struggling to climb. I want the mountains, and I want the people who burn for the same. I want those people beside me so long as we seek the same path. Then, to not pretend we share something once we realize we've parted ways. I want my life, as big and open and undefined as those skies. As ever changing, unpredictable and unapologetic as the views. I want the mountains shouting vertical, holding adamant, solid indiference beneath my feet. I want the wind hollering at my chest, "Are you done fighting yet?!?!". I want to stand in the presence of others who can't sit still knowing there is something else in life that they seek to find, to experience, to know. I want to burn, to bask, to devour, absorb and inhale every moment of my life and rest in the moments of hysterical exhaustion, knowing I am not settling. Knowing I am being absurd. Knowing it's soley my insistance that drives me believing I can only find peace on a mountain top. I want to sleep knowing I am pursuing what I love, even when it takes the shape of 500 days rest and 1,000 consecutive feasts of shite filled, cream cookies. So long as it's what makes my soul soar, my heart full and my senses alive. I want my life. I want to live it fully...and, I do not want to fear the richness of being still, of being in love, and of being loved in return. I do not want to overlook the fact that mountains come in many forms and incredible, breathtaking views often appear in the most unexpected places. I do not want to be so focused on that peak and a fantasized view, that I forget the beauty that is standing right in front of me. I do not want to apologize for my reach. I do not want to beg forgiveness for my hunger. I want to be...and be okay with that...all that it entails...

Something like that anyway...that's roughly what I want (which I was not attempting to tell you). That is how I feel about mountains though, and approximately what I was trying to tell you before I caught and curbed myself from spilling dramatic, proverbial guts. As for your hawk-eyed friend, damn. You scored. I'm paying extra for the luxury of icey cold in my room. Only difference is mine has a button I can push to shut it off.

enter

House lights to half.
House lights out.
Curtain up.
Stage lights.
Enter: Clueless white girl w/ big, black eye.
Enter: Communication gap
Enter: Social misinterpretations translating as hostility and predjudice
Enter: Self consciousness and severe questioning of motives
Enter: Class of 7 Laos students ranging 10-14 yrs of age w/ attention span of 3 yr old and attitude to rival that of clueless white girl

...get the picture??? Ha. Ha ha. Ha...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I swear I'm coming home, moving my shit back to Montana, settling my ass into a construction business and getting a dog! Screw all this worldly perspective and broadening of horizons! What is this but another oportunity to clam up into the self inhibited shell and fear the world of collapsing sky? Why is it so hard for me to leave myself alone? So fucking difficult to imagine maybe the world doesn't want to kill me, cheat me, loathe me? What is it w/ people? That we're all so scared of each other, we can't make it out of our own stupid, spineless, narrow minded, conspiracy theory heads, long enough to see we're all doing the same damn thing?!?!? I know I'm being an idiot! I know I'm creating my own experience, and I STILL can't get my head out of my ass long enough to overcome my momentary defeat of being refused at a market stall! Two actually. I feel like an outsider. I look like an outsider. And hell if I know how to break the ice and quit finding it necessary to appologize for things I do automatically, that offend the hell out of the locals! Direct eye contact? Yep, "aggressive". Motioning w/ your hands, pointing or rapid motion? Uh huh, "aggressive". Inability to speak the language??? Can you say "DISADVANTAGE"? And that's the PC term.

Part of me puts my head down and starts getting ready to bulldoze. Part of me is reconcilled by the thought that I only have to do this for another couple of weeks and then I can go home. Part of me refuses to let this be my final note here, and stands back up to dust off and try again. The best part being, that I know I can and will go home, and do this same thing in my own country. I will inevitably find the "enemy" in my own back yard, and stand there yelling obscenities at it for days, only to realize I'm yelling at my own reflection. Did anybody get an owners manual w/ this life? Could you forward me a copy, because I am in desperate need of...of...I was going to say comprehension, but maybe what I really need is an enema. Squeeze tight honey, that's right. Now, just hold on, as tight as you can, to aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall the shit you can muster.

You know, I really think that blogs are the therapy of the future. Hell, the therapy of the now. What better venue to listen to yourself bitch and complain (for free! hello?) and then have the opportunity to go back and re-read your session, thereby given the chance to both vent and reflect. Vent and reflect. Vent and reflect. Sounds like a bad dance move or exercise to release...I'll stop there. Knowing all along, that you can then proceed to release your "expression" into the open, public forum of the internet, full of people...just like you. God bless 'em, me, you, whoever, whatever. Anybody have any good ideas for foreign language class activities?

Enter: Deep breath and gratitude.
Lights out.
Curtain.

shine on

Don't do it you little shit, I thought. I had watched the woman sweeping the sidewalk, shoo the dog away from her. There was plenty of grass to the right of the walk, and nothing but traffic on the left, including me, out for a morning bike cruise. Don't even think about it you flea-ridden mut. The dog took one look at me, paused, and then dove into my wheel. Awesome. My first Asia bike wreck. No helmet, and I didn't even get to keep the dog. I did however, get to slam my shoulder into the road, bounce my head off the pavement at appx 15mph and mess up my hair. Damn it.

Lucky for me, and everyone else involved, when I think I might actually be hurt, I get quiet. Then, I get pissed off. Wanted to kill the dog. He was long gone. Wanted to yell at the woman who had shoo'd him into my path, not even bothering to see if I was okay. Decided against it. Wanted to make sure my face was still attached. It was. Picked up my bike and water bottle that had escaped on impact and threw them at the side of the road, then stood on the sidewalk and well, cried.

A woman in a car and a man in a tuk-tuk, who had seen it all go down, pulled over to help me. I wasn't hurt so much as scared and I could see that a lump was forming under my right eye. Fucking dog. Of all things! Whatever. I couldn't stop crying and didn't quite know what to do. A few minutes of confusion, and I got in the car w/ the woman who was speaking English, bless her. I gave my bike to the guy in the tuk-tuk, to follow us, and half hoped he would disappear with the cursed thing. I'm thinking to myself that I know better than to be running around w/ useless break pads, but I'm not sure that would have made a difference. I would likely have just thrown mysef over the handlebars instead of run into the dog...I can't believe I got into a bike wreck w/ a dog.

The woman brought me to her house, the tuk-tuk dropped my bike off and I thanked and paid him 50 cents--still love this country. She, Pu, led me to the bathroom, gave me a towel and helped me clean my scratches, then put iodine on everything and sent me to the couch, "to help you relax".
"Thank you. Thank you so much." I said. I was fine, am fine. Still, I wanted a moment to freeze. Freeze and cry my heart out becuase I didn't know what else to do.
"I need to get back to the g.h. I am supposed to meet a man at 10:30 about a teaching job"...looking like I just made out w/ someone's fist. Sweet. For the moment, just breathe. Breathe through the momentary shock...of plowing into a dog. I can't help laughing and crying at mysef and the stupidity of the situation. I give it a few minutes before picking myself up, cussing the dog, my bike, my idiotic refusal to change brake pads, and now I'm ready to ride again.

Back at the guest house, I retreive my clean laundry. Looking the underwear-counting-laundry-man square in the eye, pretending like I don't appear to have just had my ass handed to me, puffy eye, dirt and torn fabric decorating my right side...becuse it's important to defend one's sense of pride regarding underwear. I need a cup of coffee and a shower.

All that and an interview later, I am here to tell you that I will begin teaching English at a small, Vientiene college, on Monday. In addition, I've been recruited to help brainstorm and organize a student cycling event. The goal: To encourage biking, over driving cars and motorbikes, while providing a venue to speak English.
"Bicycle to Speak English" he says, smiling.
Somehow, this is to fit w/in my three week, Vientiene window. And I now have an offer to stay for a year and be provided w/ a decent (for Laos) paying job and endless opportunities...dear god, when it rains it pours.

chopping block

I have memories of growing up, standing in the kitchen next to my mom as she peeled and hacked apart raw meat for family dinners. She would wrinkle her nose and pick away, saying things like "This makes me want to be a vegetarian." and "Anyone who wants to be a meat eater, should have to prepare it too."

Mom taught me that one should know where food really comes from, not just what shelf to find it on in the grocery store. I completely agree. This trip alone has inspired me to go home and raise my own food, in particular chickens...specifically roosters. I dream of the day when I can strangle one of the little buggers w/ my own two hands, or walk out my front door at 3 a.m., and apply a well aimed sling-shot projectile into it's cock-a-doodle-dooing-arse and not be commiting some horrible crime against another person in another country. Then, fry it up and enjoy the hell out of the fruits of my labor. Alas, this dreamy pleasure will have to wait, and I am straying from my point.
Point being: There is a lot to be said for knowing the intricate details of dirtywork. It makes a person greatful for finished products, even simple ones. Mom says it makes a person, "connected to the whole experience." And so it was, that I found myself feeling "connected" to my dirty laundry this morning.

Now, you have to understand, that it's almost rediculous NOT to have your laundry done here. It's not the Princess affair you might think, and I have done plenty of laundry in a variety of ways to prove that very point to myself on this trip. For a mere dollar, 80 cents if you are willing to walk a few blocks, you can have your clothes washed (a helluvalot better than the soapy-rinsing-in-the-shower that passes for "clean" on the road), dried, pressed and returned to you in a few hours. No drippy mess on your slick tile floors. No need to clean up drippy mess w/ single supplied towel that would serve better applied to clean backside. No luxury mosquito breeding ground created from hrs of wet clothes humidifying your concrete-cell-haven of a room...do I actually feel guilty enough to keep defending myself here? It makes sense. Furthermore, I have a deep appreciation for anyone who does my laundry, ever since I went to college, right Ma?

So, like any other day, I stuffed my little pile of laundry (may I say that I pride myself on just how little that pile is, and remains...James), into a plastic bag and brought it down to he "front desk"--in this case, a collapsable card table that indeed looks likely to collapse under any ill-placed weight. I fully intended to drop my little bag off, have it weighed, pay and walk away to retreive it later tonight. Oh no. Not today. Today I am to feel "connected."

"Laundry?" I ask the guy perched in an equally dodgey and likely to collapse, red plastic chair. I recognize him as one of the guest house attendants. He's about my age and speaks a little English. Thank god, because my Lao is useless.
"How many?" He asks me.
"I'm sorry? What?"
"How many?" He repeats, and opens the bag, pulling out my fisherman pants.
Oh god, please don't pull out my dirty laundry right here in the front entry, I'm thinking. And that's exactly what he does.

To my own, somewhat amused horror, I watch a man my own age, who I might share a 20 words of english w/, count my dirty underwear and well worn, inside out, bike shorts, in the g.h. lobby. Me, trying to maintain my composure as he made no delicate show of trying NOT to touch my underwear--we all know the thumb and forefinger "pick", complete w/ pinkie in air and look on face. It was an intimate affair, just the two of us...and a wall of silence as I tried not to run, hide or take over and slap his hands out of my increasingly exposing laundry bag.

Of course someone would eventually have had to do this, otherwise how would they keep all the laundry straight? I've just never had to stand there while someone did it. Nor did it occur to me that a man my age would be doing it. I just didn't think about it! Like having to answer to the trick of piling your dirties on the top of any bag you know will be searched by the airlines. "Bastards," I always giggle to myself when I'm doing it, but hope to god I am well out of sight when they get around to the digging. Much more amused by the fantasy of "sticking it to the man", than I am of answering for my mischief. But I never actually mean any mischief w/ my laundry here!

He got to the end and a sock, which had escaped the first sensus, fell on the floor. He started to pull everything out again and I couldn't bear it. I was actually getting pissed at this point. "I'll go find the sock and bring everything back" I said, grabbing the bag and it's contents.

I went back to my room, found the missing sock, carefully counted EVERY piece of laundry, and brought it back. "Thirteen" I said. "And, thank you." As I sprinted for the door.

Moral of story: Know the in's and out's of your own dirty laundry so someone else doesn't have to tell you.

it's in the little things...

I think that's the name of some sappy love song or bad chick flick, that I have likely cursed and watched a million times over. Regardless, it's true: it's in the little things. Direction of the wind. Watching every little kid in a tiny Laos village tear up to the road side to wave "Goodbye! Sayba dee!" throwing their hand out to slap a high five, as you pass through their streets. The strange yellow "sport drink" that finds it's way into every cooler in the country and quenches your thirst like none other. The sound of grinding gears when you momentarily forget which trigger to hit as you start to climb, watching a caged monkey suck his own dick...because really, what better way to pass the time? I still feel like i need a shower just for witnessing. The smell of curry, of coconut sticky rice, of squat toilets and raw meat. The four-set bowls at every seating in a noodle shop or restaurant full of chile, sugar and alternating versions of msg, salt and/or pickled peppers, fish sauce, peanuts etc. The truckloads of oranges available to buy on every corner of town, the ubiquitous (ooooh, big word) market places overflowing w/ fresh produce and countless new and bizarre edibles. The taste of coffee lao, first think in the morning as it strips the remaining 5 layers of enamel off your teeth and feeds it to you in a delicious shot of thick, black syrup.

I found myself bargaining for bananas w/ two Tribes women in a Sunday market in the middle of nowhere while an Asian looking man from Oakland, CA, stepped from his hired minivan, video recorder in hand, on record. The sound of roosters...no matter where I go and how many layers of insulation stand between us, little fuckers. The ridiculous ease of traveling w/ a stranger who often seems to know more about me than people I have known my entire life. The fact that we will soon part ways and I am once again looking at a map of Asia asking myself "if you could do anything here, what would it be?" The freedom and the limitations of cycling everywhere. The incredible people who are out doing their own version of the same. The amazing parallels I encounter everyday, between my world in America, and every other world I come in contact with. Of course. We are all human. Of course, we all face the same obstacles, endeavors and pleasures...of course. It's the little things though, that remind me, that stay w/ me, that paint the landscape of my travels and feed my soul. Where will I go from here? I have no idea.

It's in the little things. The fact that I have never seen such blatant, extensive obliteration of a landscape. Never breathed air so heavy and thick w/ smoke and pollution. Never felt so defeated by hills, so elated by simple interactions w/ people. Never before have I tasted the foods, encountered the smells, the sights. It's in the little things, that make this incredible "trip" so intense. A reservoir of water w/ a hand bucket for your personal & creative interpretation of toilet paper, sticky rice, bad music, drunk and loud tourists, bar girls, kindness in the form of a tip, distance in the form of a colored line, concern in the form of a reprimand, distraction in the form of electricity and all it's many applications.

I can't help seeing my life here. It annoys me that things like "where ever you go, there you are", stick in my head and prove themselves. Love it that I cannot seem to escape my head no matter where I go and find myself. Amused at the fact that it sometimes "occurs" to me that if I can't beat it, I might as well join it...as though this were an option and I could somehow sever my head from the rest of me to live a better, simpler life. Ha! Can't help digging for the ties that bind us as human beings, regardless of race, religion, sex, language, borders, the list goes on and on. I love it. I hate it. I revel in it. I soak it up and saturate my soul in it only to jump out screaming and hollering that I will have no part of it and that everyone should go to hell!...very effective. I highly recommend spastic rampage to any and all. A little hard headed independence mixed w/ a splash of masochism is always a good combo too. God, could I just take a moment to bear the inner workings of my head to the general public? Blaaaaaaaaah.

I wish so many times in a day that I could just wrap this shit up, throw it all in a box, pack it up nice and neat, slap a pretty bow on top and ship the fucker home. What is it with life experience?!?! What's with the constant discomfort of heady games and distractions? What's w/ the control freak and critical bitch and rigid fear of letting go and desperate longing to quit trying so hard only to find myself trying soooooo damned hard? What is it w/ being human?!?! Can't I just label the idiots I find in the street as "wrong" and myself as "right" so I can go on feeling superior to "other white tourists" and know I have found "the way?" Ha ha. No. Of course not. Did I mention the whole "no matter where I go..." thing?

Life is good. Damn good. I just want some fucking answers to it all. I want to know what I'll be doing in 10 yrs...so I can stubbornly refuse to do it. Want to know what I'll be doing when I get home so I can obsess over it while I bike through incredible countries, meeting amazing people, having experiences of a life time. I want to know what I will be doing in a week so I can decide to feel committed to my decision and then freak over how much I don't know and psych myself out of it only to bully myself into it. Mostly, I just want some candy for my monkey mind to occupy itself w/ so I don't have to deal w/ what's right here, right now. DISTRACT ME DAMN IT!!!

No. Of course not. Not really. But this is what it boils down to and then there is a moment of silence, of peace. I realize there is really no other place to be. No thing to do... except be another freak on the internet. Which, let's face it, is really where the world is headed anyway. At least I'm on the winning side. Ha! Stick that in your Vang Vieng opium pipe and smoke it!

the situation is a little unclear...

There's a phenomina in my life that I have come to love. It's a feeling I get when life, in any of many forms, finds a way to say "Alisa, I love you honey. Now quit yer bitching and get your ass in gear." Sometimes it's a horoscope in the paper, telling me to get over it and get on with it. Sometimes it's a "random" stranger in Thailand, who just listened to me fire off for the last half hr, asking me "So, what you are gaining from hanging onto and playing victim to a bad, old relationship?" Sometimes it is allowing myself to cross over a land border, into an new and unexplored country, only to have my unsuspecting ass handed to me. Idiotic, rookey-tourist mistakes abound, result in spending twice the money to accomplish half the goals in twice the time and a quarter of the comfort. It's an inevitable part of travel. You will make a handful of mistakes upon entering any new country, even your own, before you get your feet under you. Best you take it w/ a good laugh, a shake of your head, and follow up w/ thorough indulgence in the regions finest offerings for beer. Current Primary Advantage: Making these mistakes in Asia, will likely put you out only a small portion of the cash amount you would have lost in America.

The truth is, none of these thing are experiences I would omit. I love them at the same that I hate them. I find myself indulging in the delicious enthusiasm of cussing and swinging my way through it, pissed off that I am indeed playing the victim, paying the high price because I didn't look further, or losing out on a hot shower (and everything else that requires electricity) that I just paid DOUBLE the room fee to have, because the gerbals that run the town generator, fall off their wheels from an exhausting 2 hr sprint around 8:30 p.m. to be resumed... tomorrow evening. Awesome. I had no idea and I love this shit. I love life being handed out in blatant, unpadded doses of experience that have no regard for my opinions, complaints or concerns. Get in. Hold on. Sit down. Shut up. Oh and P.S. Here's paradise. Can you see it yet?

Welcome to Laos, land of...well, in two days, mass amounts of incredibly persistent, yet infuriatingly vague directions but great curry, expensive food but cheep beer, hrs I didn't know existed in a day, spent sitting on benches I didn't know could be made that fucking hard and uncomfortable, laughing, eating, cussing and wondering what in the hell we are doing and how in the hell are we getting there. Welcome to Laos...where the hell is my bike?

They call it the "Slow Boat to Luang Probang". A rockin' hit w/ the tourists...who never return to warn the next wave of lemmings. Swerve (for his personal approach to hill climbs) and I, we're not in Kansas any more. That little fact came crashing down on my head around 9 p.m. last night, after a solid 8 hr day of tailbone-splitting boat ride down the Mekong, ending in my mad dash for lodging, along side the other 200 recently released passengers, while James held back, fending for his theoretical rights to carry his own damned luggage and bikes up the 45 degree angle sand dune, that doubles as a loading dock. I returned from room scouting 20 min later, to find James in the pitch dark, perched precariously on the side of afore mentioned sand dune, refusing to move another step, while a family of 5 Loa hovered inches away.

"I can't make a move w/ the bikes w/out them following me up the hill w/ luggage and then insisting that I pay more. I told them my wife has all the money and haven't moved since."

Ha! While even joking about being married still makes me squirm, I revel in the fact that I am apparently the one who wears the financial pants in this relationship...at least for the next five minutes.

"30,000 Kip." Says one voice in the dark. Equivelant to appx. 3 USD.

"No. I will not give you 30,000 Kip. I give you 10,000 and no more help. Stop helping, okay?"

"Okay. Khap jai."

"Khap jai."

Great. One thing down, only an ever increasing number of new things to learn, to go. We take turns holding the torch, while the other shoves paniers onto anything that will hold them for the next 1 km climb out of the sand pit loading dock to the guest house, passing rows of candle lit shops and restaurants...should have been my first clue, CANDLES=NO ELECTRICITY. Whatever, all I can think about is how hot and sweaty I am, how good a shower will feel and how good Beer Lao-the new and fabulous discovery of huge, cheap bottles of icey cold goodness-will taste. Shower on hold, dinner and beer call. 20:45, we roll back to the g.h. and a black-out. Ha! The entire village is swamped w/ white tourists asking the same three questions: "what did you pay for a room?" "What happened to the lights?" and "What time does the boat leave in the morning?" We all know what we paid. The range is as broad as the selection of languages the questions are asked in. As for the lights and departure time? Well, the situation is a little unclear.

Somehow, we all make it to the boat in the morning, now sporting what appears to be twice the original number of passengers. Sweet. I find myself crawling into the lap of a 23 yr old Dutch girl everytime someone needs to use the stair I have claimed as my seat, en route to the increasingly stanky and soggy bathroom at the back of the boat. Beer Lao is flowing faster than the Mekong by half day, though a little less by a few partiers from day 1 who are looking like life hurts them...very badly at the moment. 10 hrs for the impatient fools looking to claim "real" seats, and 8 hrs for the fools who load last (because they insist on toting their bicycles around which require "official" boat crew members for roof loading), Luang Probang comes into focus. Yippppeeeeeeee!!!!

It's dark but we're in good spirits, every guest house w/ reasonable prices is full. Hmmmm. It takes us an hr, but we square one away and head out for internet, good food and good beer. Yes! This is a town aimed at the useless pleasantries of Western tourists...and I am enjoying the hell out of it at the moment. Swerve (who I have officially deemed my brother, as of coffee round 2 this morning) and I are reveling in the notion of wasting a little time, money and calories here for the next day or two, before setting out for Vientiene, riding S. through a nice chunk of N. Laos. Soooooooooooooo looking forward to being back on my bike. Little rides over the last few days make me miss the saddle and the feeling of travel on self-propelled wheels. I think I'm hooked.

I hear nothing but rave reviews of Laos for cycling and the people are proving to be a new level of quiet and friendly. In Thailand it feels like paper work and money issues are taken care of for you, before you have to think about it. Here, especially w/ the new confusion of Kip conversions and the fact that Baht and Kip are accepted in one place, only Kip in another and USD prices given in the next, money takes another level of patience. No one seems to mind though, as we bumble our way through the conversions they look on and smile shyly. I have no idea what is in store for us here, but looking forward to it, untimely generator hours and all.

Hope this finds you well.
Love love love.

Blog This

Sometimes, life is almost too good to be blogged. Honestly, wat (ha ha) a ridiculously dorky way to try and explain what happens in a day: oh, just read my blog, and you'll be right there beside me! Well maybe...but not really...but maybe.

We've made it to Chiang Khong, border town for Th/Laos. Sleeping in a guest house beside the Mekong River (the official border), where we watch life in Laos, taking place a few hundred meters away on the other side. Amazing. 5 days biking, 1 day rest and suddenly looking at the map again, as one goal is accomplished and new ones come into focus. "Last day in Thailand", James announces. No no, just nearing the first day in Laos.

Pardon me, while I wax poetic over my life and current state of existence. While there is the occasional pang of guilt at how incredibly cool I think my life is, I do my best to balance it w/ incredible gratitude and occasionally splurge for humility...oh right Alisa, like your ass on a bike seat for weeks on end hasn't taught you humility. How about those hills and learning how to pack a panier both on and off the bike? Or wait, maybe the new appreciation for what a bunch of bananas really weighs, when you strap it to your bike thinking you are being clever and "local"? No, humility has certainly made it's way into my vocabulary and made itself a fabulous little nest in my ego. We'll be picking out window treatments for my soul next week, stay tuned. But really, I think it's easier to breath this way...and I swear I'm not high.

The last few days of travel have been a continuation of hilarious and absurd adventure. James and I have a similar outlook on our travels, which makes for a mostly laughable experience, though we have nearly polar opposite philosophys when it comes to packing. We walked our way into a noon-time snack at a roadside store yesterday, that had us walking away w/ a little bag of what I think is the local equivelant to chewing tobacco. They pull out this wad of what looks like cow dung (and pert near smells like it). It's layers of some sort of leaf, preserved in a Stevia sweet/olivey brine. You peel off a couple of leaves and pack a pinch of rock salt into it, fold it up and stuff it into your cheek. You chew on it and I guess eventually swallow it, once your cheek has been pickled and you are feeling rather happy about life as a whole.

Being a good MT girl, I of course jumped at the chance to cram a wad of chew into my mouth, only to realize that it was more of a "guy thing". James salvaged my honor by stuffing BOTH of his cheeks then proceeded to flex and make rapid peddaling motions w/ his arms, demonstrating the super hero effects of our new found substance to abuse. The whole lot was in stitches, while I withstood another line of gentle chastising from the grandma in the bunch, regarding my skin in the sun and traveling as a female.
"Stay close to your man", she motions w/ her hands and rattles on in Thai.
I love that I can have an entire conversation w/ people and not understand a word of the language, but the point is undeniably clear.
"You two are together, yes?"
"Yes. Of course. This is my husband of 5 days. We're tight. Oh and very much in love, right Honey? Honey, umm, what was your name again?"
So yeah, never a dull moment.

Once we rolled into Chiang Khong, we were met w/ the fabulous fortune of having a bike club and team sponsor, at our finger tips. The guest hs where we crashed, is owned by one of a handful of avid cyclists in the area, who sponsors big, international cycling events ea. yr. He and his "brother" (family is an increasingly broad spectrum term), have turned out volumes of maps, rt. directions, lodging and play by play commentary on terrain and side trips for Laos. Once again reinforcing my deepening faith in not planning a damned thing. Why bother? Just aim straight at what you know you want to see and be in and let it happen! It's amazing to me how much I think I don't know what I want and then take 30 seconds to look at a map or think about my options, only to discover I know EXACTLY what it is I want to do. And here I am, doin' it! Yeeeeeeeehaaw! Giddeeeeup! Did I mention how cool I think my life is? How funny is it that I think that might come accross as arrogant? Yeah Lis, you really need to be thinking your life sucks. How dare you actually enjoy your existence. Oooooh, shame shame...yeah, shame this.
James informs me that he thinks I am one of the most irreverant people he knows. I think myself oh so mild compared to many of the people I know, but take great pleasure in the notion that I might rank so highly in a realm that I have so much appreciation for. Mind you, I think James is completely irreverent and absolutely juvenile in his private rebellions against society and accepted norms...did I have to pick a damned mirror to travel with? His favorite mantra is "They do NOT want to hit me", as he takes the entire road to weave his way up a mtn pass or even just play w/ the wind in his paniers...God help me as my inner tour guide erupts from deep within. Do I just kill him so I don't have to watch him get killed, or do I gently suggest that he pick a frickin' lane, maybe even recommend the LEFT HAND side of the white line (remember we ride reverse here, I'm not trying to recommend traffic). My preferred response: adjust my helmet so the sun visor blocks all sight of him, and then I don't have to watch. Brilliant. Just like my theory on politics...which isn't working.

Anyway, tomorrow, Laos. Two days and one night down the Mekong to Luang Probang. I can hardly wait, and it could could take all the time in the world. Life is good. Really good. And though I know it's inevitable that my contentment will turn to agiation and have me screaming back out onto the road, I am loving being here and that feels awesome. I have no idea what Laos has in store, and now China is looking possibile again, depending mostly on visas and time, etc. Who knows?

For now...Take me to the river! Wash me down! Won't you cleanse my soul! And put my feet back on the ground! That and Tina Turner's, Proud Mary are my soundtracks for the moment. I'll spare you the rest. Mmmmmmmchwa (that's a kiss) to you all.

P.S.
I had a great conversaton w/ a fellow traveler the other day about US politics. He turned me onto something called PNAC-Project for a New American Century. If the name alone doesn't give you the creeps...I am putting a link up for the home page. Wondering if anyone else has been looking at this??? I'm still wading through the main publication, but this guy made it sound like the Bush Admins, "Mein Kamf". Creepy? Oh that's an understatement. Let me know what you think.

Love love love.

At you own risk...

And now that I have refered you to James blog, I have taken a few moments to catch up on his most recent entries for myself. Proceed w/ caution, that is all I have to say. The man is an RN, and has mastered the art of abusing the vocabulary in flawless execution of a verbal rampage...thank God I am balanced, reverent and well mannered or this could get out of hand.

Partner in crime

Aaaah! So many things I keep meaning to write and so little time I want to take writing them and so ridiculously hyper sensitive to the idea of subjecting people to the lame monotony of meaningless details and aaaaaaah! Oh, and there's the teeny tiny matter of a recently consumed, rather large cup of Thai coffee...ha!

Okay, back track: Even on a.m., came from a ski trip right before I left the states. On a particularly lengthy chair lift ride, a buddy starts a game in which each person has a VW bus perched on the edge of a cliff. In the bus, you get to name the top 5, influential bands that you would strap into the seats, to shove over the edge.
I was concerned about the permanence of such a sentence, and so inquired after it's thoroughness. "Do we get to keep the music they have produced, but never have to endure another album, or is this complete obliteration?" My friend responded, "No. They will be pushed over the edge in entirety, never to be heard from ever again...not even on a.m."

When it came to naming the blog, "Not even on a.m." stuck in my head as the equivelent to the edge of the earth, except that it seemed more appropriate to be heard, even if only on a.m. And so it is, even on a.m., from the ends of the earth, that I write my little cyber novels and share my adventures w/ you.

On an even deeper (and perhaps more ridiculous) note, I fantasize about knowing my choices and beliefs in life so deeply that they would come through, "even on a.m." in a personal sense. Part of this trip has been wanting to know what I believe in on a core level, down to my toes, to the tips of my hair. What is it that I know and believe in, beyond all doubt? Or maybe, what is it I commit to believing in, because it's foundational to me? What comes through for me, even on a.m.?

Oddly enough, I believe at least part of that answer is humanity and human potential. We are a weird ass breed of beings, but I have a lot of faith in the incredible power of people and directed energy, be that mental, spiritual, physical, whatever, and ever more so as I travel.... are you still reading this??? Ha! Okay back to Thailand, stick w/ me now!

So, Mae Hong Son, right. Finished that last entry and was e-mailing James. James is the guy who's blog I stumbled on while googling "Bangkok bicycle", in a caffine inspired panic, two days off the plane from the states. (You can check his side of the story through the link to his blog on this pg-yep, go ahead and say it, I can't believe I just told you to read someone's blog either...geeeeeeek!) I sent him an e-mail at the time, excited to have found another cyclist and laughing out loud at his blog. A week later, we met over beer and curry and discovered a shared love for navel gazing and lint picking (terms I had not before been familiar w/, referencing mostly the ability to look waaaaaaaay to deeply into human nonsense), as well as a mutual non-existent tolerance for alcohol...which really just leads to more navel gazing.

Anyway, we chatted, he lent me his tent to be returned in the States (oh, and he's from Friday Harbor, WA!) and we went out separate ways, as his sister had just landed and he was to be touring w/ her for a couple of wks. I went to and returned from Myanmar, said goodbye to Crystal and Johnny then cycled off to climb some mountains. About the same time I was hitting headwinds in Mae Hong Son, James was in Chiang Mai, chomping at the bit for open road and the Laos border. I took a look at what I was up to, weighed my options, and bought a bus tkt to Chiang Mai.

I do not envy the poor fools who try to get in my way once I've set my head to something. The bus driver took one look at my bike and shook his head, telling me "No." and a few other things in Thai, I couldn't understand but could guess. While they pulled the bus around for passengers, I proceeded to disassemble my bike and cram it into any compartment available to be crammed...ha! Single white girl on a rampage! Not out to be rude, but damn it, don't just shake your head at me and think that's the end of the conversation! Oh no. Nine hrs and a LOAD of prayers for my bicycle being jarred, jammed and slammed in the under belly of a bus that felt more like a bad carnival ride, later, I arrived in Chiang Mai. As a side note, I noticed that I had likely been biking w/ a head wind for at least half of what I covered, and taking what appeared to be the most difficult rt. i.e. counter clockwise and against the favor of gravity in climbing. Of course it's easy to think that when you have an engine doing all the work for you.

Caught up w/ James in Chiang Mai, and crashed for the night. Next a.m., picked our route and headed out! Now we are 4 days into riding to the Laos border in Chiang Khong/Huai Xai, and I honestly could not have picked a cooler traveling partner. He's nuts, ridiculous, deep and juvenile all wrapped into one and we act like a couple of 12yr old idiot boys together. LOVE IT! I will try to get a few pics up soon. And NO, there is nothing even remotely romantic about any of it. Despite the fact that we have now spent countless hrs sleeping w/in inches of one another, cracking the stupidest jokes ever, discussing human idiosyncrasies, bowel movements, bodily functions and bonking. Somehow, we just click...and we are both leaving room to absolutely hate and want to kill one another, at any given moment. Ha! Brilliant! I am mildly disturbed but amused by the fact that it's often easier to just say we are married, then try to explain why we are sharing a room or traveling together, but more than anything, life is just a lot funnier when you have someone to laugh w/ over what a moron you are being. That and the countless misinterpretations, misdirections and mind boggling mishaps that take place in a day are now stages for jokes, songs, movie references or blatant name calling. Suddenly it doesn't feel quite so intensely necessary to find secure lodging by dark, or not find myrself alone w/ creepy strangers (other than James...). Just having someone to watch your stuff while you go pee for the love of Christ!

Anyway, needless to say, it's been a smashing success so far, and I am looking forward to Laos, though it is still a few days out. We took a completely roundabout way that has had us crashing on the floors of local village houses, camping out at hotsprings (w/ weird night noises that we still can't explain), crashing meals (actually I crashed, w/ my renewed enthusiasm for anything edible, oops) that have us laughing over language barriers while stuffing our faces w/ sticky rice and a line up of delicious dishes I couldn't explain if I tried, and making incredible connections w/ people and places alike as we scurry our way N. for a Feb 22 Thai visa deadline. Deep breath. Life is good. Really good. And I could never have planned it, but hoped for it, and here it is. Tada!

So glad I was in the mtns for initiating my legs..and backside. Glad to be lower now, except for the HEAT! The other thing I keep meaning to write, why N Thailand? I opened up a map of TH and took one look. The N, and especially the NW, is all that I wanted to see. It's covered in mountains, hotsprings, waterfalls, caves and Hilltribes. It seemed like a no-brainer to me, except that I didn't have a whole lot for guide or reference material for cycling...maybe because not many people want to bike a route whose nickname is "the loop of a thousand hairpin turns"? Sissys. Not that I would have read the guide if there is one...and there probably is.

For now, we are taking a days rest in Phrayao, a city that conveniently did NOT make it into LP! A whole new experience being in a city not geared toward western tourists...Thai anyone? I know how to say hello, thank you, mmmm good, beautiful, how much, a few numbers and I'm full. You'd be amazed at how much trouble I can cause w/ just that. Tomorrow, it's back in the saddle and headed for adventures unknown.

Holy hill, that's an entry for you. I hope this finds you all well and loving life. Pedals, paniers and mountain passes from Thailand, and a whole lotta LOVE!

MHS Loooooooop!

Oh my Gawd, Becky...
So here I am in Mae Hong Son, sitting at the computer waaaaay to late in the day to be feeling inspired for bike riding, but here's the best part: I'm staying in this dodgey little guest house, where my next door (and I do mean next door. the man sneezes and it sounds like he's in bed w/ me!) neighbor is Colin, from not Europe, but Britan, and don't confuse the two.

Colin, my very interested and enthusiastic 40 or 50 something bachelor, has a foot fetish...and WON'T quit staring at mine when we talk. If you've ever looked at my feet, you know I don't spend a whole lot of time on them. Yeah well, Colin has been making the same observations for me over the last 12 hrs. "Your heels need a bit of cream, and what's that you've done to the top of your foot?" refering to the constant rub-spot from my flip-flops. "How is it that you've just taken off your socks and shoes, but the bottoms of your feet are still dirty?" Well, Colin, it might be because I walk around barefoot all the damn time,and happen to be wearing the same pair of socks I've been wearing for the last three days, want to smell? Dirty, motor bike obsessed old man.

Anyway, Mae Hong Son, a.k.a GHETTO FUNK. So do not need to spend another night here, but hit a headwind yesterday pulling into town that cooled my enthusiasm for tackling the loop counter-clockwise. I had a feeling I might run into this. So, now, as always I am reconsidering my rt. My new favorite passtime ends up being a cup of coffee or a meal, while spilling over my maps and imagining the possibilities. Ultimately though, it's still just getting up and climbing on, pedaling away one stroke at a time. WoooooHoooooooo!

I made it to the other side of the mountaing chain I've been crawling in, yesterday. Made a side trip to Mae Lana, and oh my Lord, hills w/ grades my brain doesn't comprehend. But I rode em'! Yeah! Well, the first half anyway. Managed a taxi to get out and after the ride yesterday, so glad I did. I am nearly though my first set of break shoes in two wks of biking, if that says anything.

So, all is well. Can't seem to decide whether I want to make time and distance or take it easy and enjoy the inevitable adventures that unfold from being in a place for a few days. The N. is beautiful and they have great coffee. The Hilltribes are everywhere, both on tourist display and just livin' life. I prefer the latter, and get a lot out of just pedaling in the hills where they work and drive like bats out of hell, flying past me laughing or giving thumbs up to the crazy "fa-lang".

All in all, life is good and the adventure continues. Trying to catch up w/ fellow cyclist. James for a little Loas touing. We'll see how that plays out. Love to all.

Pai...squared

So here I am in Pai...where all the cool people & hipppies go. I have to say, the experience of getting to dodge elephant dung in the road, made the whole trip worth it. Although, the descent into town has to rank in the top 10, maybe top 5. It was awesome.

I keep finding myself w/ less and less to report, not because I don't encounter weird shit (ha ha, literally) everyday, but it's starting to feel normal I guess. That, and there are sooooo many details in a day of talking to myself, where's a girl to begin? Maybe it's bloggers block...you think they could medicate me for that? I'm rounding up a whole new line of ailments due to blogging that the world didn't see comin'. Yeah, that's right, cuz I'm supa sly.

Right, intelligent conversation. Focus. New pics from the last adventure. Still working on this one. This is going to be my third night in Pai, and as usual, what I really need to do is get on my bike and ride. Two nights of freezing my butt off in my new, fancy, USELESS sleeping bag, had me tucking tail and running from my little hotsprings haven, into town for a real bed. For anyone who doesn't know this, I am an amazing display for tortured and useless after two nights of no sleep. So, a perfectly good biking day down the drain. Damn. Guess I'll have to go eat some curry and suck it up.

I am biking my own version of a somewhat establised route known as the Mae Hong Son Loop. Between back roads and side trips, I plan to be on this rt for the next 10 days, landing back in Chiang Mai to catch a bus to the Laos border. There's a 5 day tour that Lonely Planet lays out from Vientiene to Luang Probang, that I want to ride and draw out again w/ a few side trips.

I feel like I am giving you a monotonous layout of what is a really cool trip...but my brain can't wrap itself around at the moment. Curry calls and I love you all. Promise to sound smarter in the morning, though I'll likely tell it to the road and not the blog. Ha!

Happy belated birthdays to Tebin and Dooyee! Smooches all around.

Have Sneaking Suspicion...

So, remember that time I thought it would be a load of fun to point myself at THE highest peak in Thailand and start peddaling? Only to find myself singing Janis Joplin renditions of Bobby McGee to a couple of fully-orange-robed Buddhist Monks, over a camp fire in the middle of nowhere? One of them (I later discovered) breaking his vows by touching me, to read my palm and tell me I would be successful at my work, then propositioning me for a set of electric clippers to instigate what sounded like world peace throught free haircuts for his village...and the whole mountain?

Yeah, me too. That was pretty funny. I still think the best part was the fact that it took me until the third night, on the verge of tears from exhaustion, to bother looking at the map key and discovering the purpose of that obnoxious red diamond w/ the #10, posted on the one road I really wanted to take: Doi Inthanon, Thailands highest peak. Rising over 7,000 ft, and I was shamelessly crawling around in it's foothills w/ a loaded mountain bike weighing at least as much as I do, like that's what all tourists should be doing. Indicative of my life??? I think so.

On the brighter side, it took me one day to decend what it took me three (and a day of rest so I wouldn't start crying) to climb, and it was absolutely beautiful. I am here to say they had good cause to make it a National Park. Thank God, they apparently weren't waiting for my approval.

Back tracking just a bit, allow me to further humble myself by saying it took me a rockin' 20 ft outside my hotel on the first day to discover that I had my paniers on backwards...I half kicked them off on the first rotation of my peddals. That was fun to re-pack on the streets of Chiang Mai. The first night out I spent camping accross from an elephant camp, drinking waaaaaaay too much Thai moonshine w/ the 25 & 26 yr old owners of a handful of bungalows on the riverside. They gave me an extra blanket and pillow and a hollowed out piece of bamboo w/ a stick as a noise-maker, in case I got scared or encountered Dracula in the night. Apparently there is a genuine fear of vampires/Dracula here, and they can't understand why I'm not afraid too. If they only knew what their intersections do to me. Dracula is incredibly far down on the list at this point.

I did however encounter one American woman on my layover night. I told here what I was doing and she took one look and exclaimed, "Aren't you afraid of getting raped and murdered?!?" Jesus lady, the thought honestly hadn't even crossed my mind until you just said that and no, I'm not. In fact I think I am currently more afraid of running into more of that outlook and American lust for horrendous drama, than anything else.

I have received plenty of odd looks, headshakes and prayers from the locals who don't understand why I am traveling on a bike, much less alone. On the other hand, I have received huge smiles, warm cheers and enthusiastic thumbs up as they pass me on hill climbs and I pass them on decents. Even on the highway, people constantly hang their heads out the window to holler hello and wave or give thumbs up. It's fun and encouraging and sometimes a little confusing when every person I talk to has a different version of the road I am heading for.

Anyway, that's that. I am back in Chiang Mai where I HAD to buy a sleeping bag. My one night camped at the "temple" (more like a run down school yard), w/o the love of extra bedding, froze my tush. Now, I am still debating on how to fit a loop to the NW of here and a loop through Laos into the picture w/ the minor inconvenience of my Thai visa expiring on the 22nd of Feb...blah blah blah. Whatever.

I did however, discover that the whole water splash or spray thing, has little to do w/ sanitation of availablility of paper. I does EVERYTHING to do w/ the fact that I am in a country that eats only the hottest chili peppers like candy, and the sprayer is the only hope I have of ever feeling certain portions of my anatomy ever again.

On that charming note, I take leave of you. I have to let these lovely people shut their doors and get their beauty rest. Hope you are all well. Found another great bike shop here in Chiang Mai and added them as a link. These guys also buy and sell used bikes, so I have a great spot to off load at the end of my adventuring. Aaaaaand, Mom, the owner gives a great shpieel on GPS. If you have the urge to sink another few hundred dollars into your daughter, I can send you exact coordinates of my location each day! Then you can throw them up on Google Earth and litterally watch my route! Oooooh!...I have so many things to say to this...I'm going to walk away. Love to all.

Pics on the web!

Hey everybody, finally threw an album together for your vewing pleasure. You should be able to roll your cursor over each image and see the written commentary for "person, place and thing."

I am in the throws of last minute prep here in Chiang Mai, having parted ways w/ the crew this afternoon. I plan to be on my bike tomorrow morning for the first "ohmygodwhatamIdoing?!?!"
It's gonna be great. Can't wait to have my ass handed to me w/ a pair of chopsticks, on a banana leaf plate, w/ a thick layer of sticky rice.

Keep my backside in your thoughts and prayers, it's going to need it. Especially in that ever so tender first week...or two. Love to all.

Oh, and P.S.

This is awesome. I keep finding computers whose script is in other languages and I have no idea how to change them back to English. Currently I am maneuvering the site in Portuguese. The other day I'm pretty sure it was Chinese, but really I have no idea.

Crystal, Johnny, little Ilan and I have emerged after a mere three days from Myanmar, greatful to be back in Thailand and feeling like we barely escaped. While I am glad we went, good Lord, they are in no hurry to invite independent tourists into the country for conveniences and pleasantries. It felt like more work to be there for a few days, than it takes to be anywhere in Thailand for a month. To begin w/the border crossing strips you of your passport and gives you this dodgey "temporary travel visa",which they promptly take from you and hand your pre-arranged bus driver, along w/ a mess of xerox copied forms containing all of your info, one copy for each check point over the following 6hr bus ride. I lost track of how many there were. Once you arrive in your location of choice, you are given your travel visa until you reach your hotel, where it is taken again and sent to god only knows where, to be held until you change hotels or leave. Meanwhile, hotels cost 3-5 times what we've been paying and preferrably paid in US$. The majority of the town we were in did not have electricity after dark and only had hot water during certain hrs in the a.m. The whole experience was a little surreal and I have a new found hostility that I harbor for birds in general, but especially pigeons and roosters.

I have a lot of deep thoughts about the whole two days we spent there, but the primary things that struck me were this: One, the world outside of America is void of insulation in soooooo many senses of the word. In truth, I think it is America that is so incredibly insulated, but coming from that insulation, it of course, feels opposite. From auto horns sounding as loud in the car as out, to muffler, walls, doors, floors, animals, people, dirt, stink, you name it, we are so sterilized and insulated from what life really is and what makes it all tick on a day to day basis. I was so mad in Myanmar by the second night of sleeplessness thanks to the damned neighborhood cock, crowing his head off at 3 a.m. and the pigeons that seemed to be roosting...and fighting...and mating...and pooping...and eating...and everything else pigeons, not the least of which is chorteling and cooing at ALL hours! Christ people, barbed wire! Glass! Freaking space between the ceiling and the roof of the building! ANYTHING! Just make them shut up! Then there's the neighborhood barking squad, the screaming kids, amazingly loud motorcycles and tuk-tuks, and wow, is that daylight streaming in through the slats in my walls? No wonder it's freezing in here and what is...oh it's just a gecko tearing out from behind the mirror in the bathroom. And the bathrooms...now that is a six-pack conversation. I have so many questions and they do not come close to stopping or starting at the Myanmar border. These questions are Asia-wide. Just, tell me what I am supposed to do with sink sprayer? I get the general idea, but...you know, nevermind.

Two: From everything I have read and come to understand about Myanmar, which is incredibly little, take your worst day of internalized oppression and self doubt, a day where you have yourself backed into a corner, paralyzed, and apply that to a nation. There is really just a whole lot of nothing going on where we went. Given, we were in a small, less tourist frequented area, but there just isn't much of anything happening. There are small stores and a market, but very little money gets exchanged. We stood out severely, but weren't necessarily targets. People were kind, but didn't go out of their way for us, which was nice. Instead, it felt like there was a heavy apathy in the air, and I think in many ways, the spirit has been beat out of the people and the country itself. It's dirty, but you don't see the poverty like India. Rumor has it, it's hidden, and you only see what the military government wants you to see. One thing that bugged me, was the fact that 90% of the residents didn't have electricity to read a book by, but there were incredible spotlights on the immense Buddah statue that overlooked the town. I have started to view temples (wats, as they call them) and Buddhism in a light similar to that of Catholisism and it's churches. The people starve, but the people in power have "God"on their side and give the best of the best to maintaining that. But that's another six-pack conversation that I don't need to have with myself right now.

So anyway, there you have it. We are on a layover day in Chiangrai and tomorrow we will part ways. I will catch a bus to Chiang Mai and start peddaling the next day...eeeeeeek! And, it somehow managed to escape me until today, that my travels here are for a total of 3 mos. not 4. Ooops. Suddenly time feels more prescious than it already did, but I will see where the next 2& 1/2 lead me and then decide if it's enough. For now, there are strangers to meet and crazy, incredible food to be digested.

Oh, and P.S.
Those little french fry looking things, really are fried maggots. They taste like peanut oil.

Peanut covered donuts

You know damn it, sometimes people are jerks. Sometimes they are incredibly cool too, but at the moment, the cool people are not my muse. The jerks are. Them, and a momentary bout of Henny Penny, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" outlook on the world.

It just came to my attention that I filled out a completely bogus bank "Account Review Alert!" on my e-mail the other day, asking me everything but my...actually, I think I even wrote that in there. Anyway, come to find out it was FRAUD. Luckily, there appears to be no suspicious activity on my account-they likely took one look at my balance and had a sudden stroke of conscience-but the very concept of fraud annoys me. Pricks. Anyway, don't respond to any Wells Fargo e-mails that want you to spell out e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g for them. I am here to tell you, they are bogus.

Now, on to the happier topics in my life. I AM OUT OF BANGKOK!!!! Yeeeeeeeeeehaaaaw! Despite 6 plus hrs of unsucessful, standby wait time at the airport (thanks to the biggest Horticulture Expo on the face of the planet taking place in the one town I am trying to escape to), ridiculous taxi fees (yes both ways), and to add insult to injury, the choice of a peanut covered doughnut to comfort my crumbling ego after hauling my boxed bike, backpack and stuffed-to-the-brim paniers through the (brilliant last resort supplied by Shanti-thank you!) local Thai bus depot at 10 o'clock p.m. Can you say "sore thumb?" That's right, against all odds, peanut freakin' whateverness too, give it up Bangkok, I'm running as fast as I can. And now, I write you from Chang Mai, surrounded by friends, Crystal, Johnny, baby Ilan and Auntie VJ. I seriously thought I might be waking up on Khoa San Rd again this morning. Whew.

I really can't begin to describe some of the things that go on here sometimes. I know the majority of life is laughable, but hell if I can see it when I'm in the middle of a communication melt down with the airline, telling me I do not have a seat on the last flight I've been waiting all day to take, for a ticket I purchased a week ago, from a guy who told me I had a reservation but then told me my visa/passport was delayed by day and therefore my airline tkt was too. Now apparently the reservation was for yesterday because I didn't call, but wait, the airline has a seat, but no room for my bike, or is it that the plane has already pulled away from the luggage loading area, or is it just that they don't want to deal w/ the freakin' huge box that the "fa-lang" (foriegner) is toting around like a suitcase? I really don't know. And the truth is, everytime I sit down somewhere, everybody is so kind and so helpful. But damned if the world wasn't plotting against me for a few hours there and it summed it all up with that donut. I was so looking forward to it too. Never before has Dunkin' Donuts represented comfort to me...and never again will I mistake it as such.

Children, take head of my mistakes. I would never wish you to suffer in the ways that I have.

I can't wait to get on my bike!!! Short jaunt to Burma, and then I am back here to take off. Yippeeeee!

Big hello to all my TX fam who are tuning in. My love to everyone.

Way too many nights in Bangkok

I swore off sugar today. That lasted almost 5 minutes. I bought a plane ticket out of here a week ago. I am still here. I bought a bike. I am not riding my bike. No no, instead I am flying high on Thai iced coffee, while surfing cyber waves en-slow-motion-route to the airport where I will...sit...some more...on stand-by. Grrr.

Although, there is a gentleman sitting next to me in the internet cafe who is trying desperately to delete his own e-mail account. He says he cannot control himself to not check it, but no longer wants to read the e-mails that it contains...hmmm. I feel oddly contented by the fact that I do not currently view my web accounts in the same light. Though I can't confidently say that I have never nor will ever again empathize. Damn the world of open communication, right? Ha. No, not really.

I have a line up of people on this end that I keep wanting to thank. While I dog paddle through a sea of screwy logistics, I have been blessed a million times over by the people around me, preparing me for the real journey. From simple encouragement to traveling tips, giving, loaning or selling of equipment, and tangible heart-to-hearts over coffee, beer or curry. I feel rejuvinated by the connections I have made with fellow travelers and locals alike. While I cannot wait to get out of Bangkok, I cannot leave w/out saying thank you. And that's my moment of Zen. Now, where the hell is my taxi? Tee hee.

I'm going to end every paragraph I write from now on w/ a written laugh sound. Not really, but it amuses me to consider. I sooooo neeeeeeeed to get out of heeeeeeeeeere. Now there is a man yelling in Spanish in the phone booth. The guy next to me deleting e-mail accounts was Cambodian and dispelled this information in a whisper. According to him, Thais do not like Cambodians. Last I checked, a lot of the world doesn't like American's, but so far I have not felt inclined to whisper it. I think I walk around a lot, having no clue just how blessed my life is.

I am going to go break down my bike now and cram it into a box to cram into some form of public transportation to get myself out of here. I hope this finds you all well and loving life. If not, then quit whatever you are doing and get over here. I need a touring partner. Big grin. Smooches.

Wooooohooooooooo!

I did it! I did it! I bought the bike! I bought the gear! I bought the whole damned store worth of touring and cycling shite, half of which I already have, but it's in Olympia...Washington...USA.
Nevermind, not worth fussing over and didn't I absolutely, perfectly, not plan it this way? Um, ye-ah.

I just rode home in BKK rush hour traffic, racing motorcycles and tuk-tuk's all the way home. I feel like a little kid. And, for all I know, I may have just purchased the biggest hunk o' junk on the face of the planet, but I am in HEAVEN. However, did I mention that traffic runs on the opposite sides of the street here??? Yeah. It does. And anyone who's ever bought new SPD peddals might have a sense of how tight they are when you first put them on...not really smooth or fast to get out of. Yeah. They are. So, me and my cocky little kid at Christmas, nearly smeared myself into oncoming traffic (oops, wrong side), and came close to kissing the sidewalk, all w/in 30 seconds of leaving the shop...but I bought the bright yellow helmet, so they can at least find my head when I've lost it. That's really not even a funny joke, considering what I am about to do. Any spare good thoughts and prayers will be greatfully accepted.

Anyway, $620 later, I have a bike and full gettup for the road. Don't ANYBODY tell me anything bad about ANYTHING just yet. Let me fly high on this one for a while. I am sure I will have plenty to say about it all before it's all said and done. For now, I CAN NOT WAIT to hit the road and it's looking like Burma/ Myanmar, might be a bit more expensive and difficult than expected. Who know, I might be on the trail tomorrow! Eeeeeek!

Okay, two novels in one day. Hope you aren't actually reading all of this! Mmmmmchwa!