Bros, Souls, Family Adventures and Splitting Wedges

    "When it pours lemons, you just have to make lemonade!" my ever famous quote that I am yelling at my buddy Jeff in the rain as we are riding the soulful red peanut butter muddy roads of Stillwater, Oklahoma.  We are in the Mid South 100 and the rain started the night before completely saturating the area's country gravel roads.  The tires of the other bike riders in front of us are picking up the red clay and splattering it behind them for 15 yards covering Jeff and I from head to toe in the sticky mud.  The race had just started.  We had a 100 miles to ride that day and boy was it going to be an adventure!  We were going to cuss, it was going to break our souls, and we will probably sign up again the next year.

    I can remember another adventure, it was just my oldest brother Trevor and I and we were backpacking the Comanche Peak Wilderness in Northern Colorado.  We had just climbed up over a mountain pass with elevations of over 11,000 feet and a trail that climbed to the sky without a single switch back to give you relief.  We were on day two of a 20+ mile loop. For more than an hour, we couldn't see the top of the mountain nor the bottom.  You felt like you were climbing from the depths of Hell to the Heavens above.   The trail was more than strenuous.  We would stop, take our packs off, the sweat beading off our faces and stare at each other both wondering if the other one was going to break.  We would grab a few swigs of water and pant in the thin mountain air only to throw our packs back on and climb some more.  We finally summited the pass.  The views were extraordinary and we could see for miles with snow covered peaks all around us.  Our final destination was Brown Lake but unbeknownst to us this region was a "high use" area in the Wilderness with designated camp sites.  As we hiked by each site with tents sent up and other backpackers that had hiked in just a few miles from the opposite direction that we had came, we began to realize there may not be room for us.  With each occupied campsite, I could slowly see a splitting wedge being hammered into my brother Trevor's soul.  He began to describe the trail with four letter words, muttering to himself...  When we finally reached the last designated campsite on Brown Lake with tents setup and smiling, lazy backpackers that had an easy walk in from the trailhead, the wedge was hit with the last hammering blow breaking my brother's soul completely in half.  He was done and so was I.  We had hiked from the depths of Hell to the Heavens above and we were owed a campsite.  At this point, my brother began describing the trail, the weather, the Wilderness, the other backpackers with very elaborate and descriptive four letter words.  There was no stopping him.  He renamed every plant, every rock, every person, the wind, the weather in a fashion that could make a sailor blush.  I got out the map and laid it out...  Our best bet was to hike to Comanche Lake.  "How frickin far is that?!" Trevor demanded...his soul in pieces at this point from the long day on the trail.  "A little over two miles" I replied.  The ear burning descriptive rants continued...

    I am always looking at the next trip, the next adventure...  Trying to conjure a way to make something that could be so simple into an all day or multiple day affair.  I want something that feeds my soul and makes me hurt.  I want to sweat and feel like I ran a marathon when it is all done.  This is all fine when I talk my buddy Jeff into joining me or my brother Trevor into it.  At the end of the day or the end of the trip, I can give them a fist bump and a smile.."That was awesome man!".  They smile back, we joke and laugh at how miserable it was at times.  How the mud or the trail was seriously going to be the end of us.  We then get in our vehicles and go our separate ways and on to our separate lives..  It's different when you talk your family into it though.  At the end of the day, there is no separate vehicles and separate lives.  At the end of the trip, you have to hope that the adventure didn't become the wedge that split your family and not just someone's soul.  At the end of the trip you just hope your marriage survives and your kids still love you.  Planning a family adventure is different... at the end of the trip, you still have to live with these people.

    It was our first backpacking trip as a family.  Liz had taken a 13 year break since Addison was born.  We had done a few trips together, in our younger years as empty nesters.  It seemed to work well for us, maybe because we were still "honeymooners" in awe of each other and possibly still trying to make a positive impression on the other.  I usually went on at least a yearly trip after Addison was born with my brother Trevor and possibly my brother in laws.  Those trips kept me seasoned, gave me a true perspective and realistic expectations of the work involved in carrying several days worth of gear and food to the top of a mountain...  Over the years, Liz had become our Alpha.  I think it is the country bred deep into her ranching genes.  She isn't afraid to speak her mind..definitely isn't afraid of telling someone where they can put it and when you are married to her, well you definitely get the "non sugar coated" version of everything.  I knew she was nervous.  I was only expecting her to carry a heavy pack up endless switchbacks of relentless elevation gains to get to our destination only to be fed to swarms of mosquitoes for days on end and somehow believe it is to fill your soul with utter happiness..a simple expectation of all wives in America.  I had fretted, sweated and meticulously packed everyone's backpack.  I was bearing the heaviest load which would hopefully save on everyone else not just physically, but mentally too.  My biggest contemplation was where to put the second and largest bear canister.  I couldn't get it to fit in my backpack, so I put it in Liz's, reassuring her it wasn't heavy.  That bear canister...became our splitting wedge.

    "What the hell is in that bear canister?" Liz demanded after the first set of switchbacks and not even a mile on the trail.  "Food" I replied trying hard to not be rhetorical and answer the question as sincerely and truthfully as possible.  Her sunglasses were on but I could still read her eyes.  When you have been married to someone for over 15 years, you just know the "looks".  You know their smiles, when they are faking and when they are sincere.  You see certain expressions and your survival instincts kick in helping guide you through the situation.  With Liz, it is her eyes and her eyebrows.  I know the look well.  It is the look of pure demonic possession and it is only remedied by coffee in the morning.  This was past morning coffee and now, we were just going to have to get through this.  "Let me carry the canister." I said with as fake of a sincere smile I could muster.  "You touch my pack and I will hurt you!" Liz replied...her country pride not allowing her to show her fatigue.  When a ranch girl says "hurt", well a hurting is what they are going to do.  On we trudged.  The girls could feel the tension of the splitting wedge and knew that silence was their only hope.

    A few more wooded miles passed.  The climb was relentless and only four and a half miles I kept saying.  I could see the patience starting to fade in Liz.  She was beginning to swat at the flies irrationally.  It was about lunch time and the flies were hungry too biting through the thin clothes and any naked flesh exposed to the environment.  I knew the anger and anxiety was starting to build in her and burn at her chest.  Looking back, the bear canister and food was too much for her.  The pack was weighing on her lower back and the altitude was beginning to build in her stomach.  I should have known better, but Liz and I were trying to carry the extra weight for the girls.  The goal was the lake at the end of the trail and then we have four blissful days to enjoy our solitude.

    We finally made it to the crest of the climb.  It was four miles of continuous climbing and the last half mile looked to be an easy coast into the campsite.  Liz had her pack off and she was on the side of the trail taking deep breaths.  I knew the altitude was getting the best of her.  I hurried up and pushed through the next half mile or so with my pack, dropped it on the side of the trail and hurriedly walked back to Liz and the girls.  I grabbed Liz's pack and heaved it on my back and gave her the head nudge of "let's go, we are almost there".  Her pride no longer had feelings.  It was tired and now the altitude was making her stomach gurgle.  We made it the last little bit into camp as a group.  I instantly went to work setting up Liz's camp chair and "politely" asked her to sit down.  She was broken by this point having no fight left in her.  She sat and I silently went to work setting up camp.  The girls left to go explore the lake knowing that was their sanctuary for the time being.  I watched Liz, quietly, out of the corner of my eye as I worked on the tent, careful to not ask how she was.  Within a few minutes, she slowly got up, softly walked into the woods as to not get my attention and heaved everything she had in her stomach out.  Altitude sickness.  It's nothing new to her, she has worked through it before...and she didn't need me asking her and reminding her of her weak stomach.  We never spoke about it the rest of the trip.  Country pride....

    We were able to get some fishing in that evening before heading to bed.  Alani is my fisherman.  She can patiently sit on a rock watching the fly, slowly turning my reel into a birds nest as she lackadaisically cranks on the arm winding the line back in.  I quite often wonder what my purpose is in this life, but at that moment and that time, I knew I was supposed to be there, sorting out the mess she made and enjoying the mountain lake views right next to her.

     I would like to tell you that the rest of the weekend was perfect, in some senses it was, but we were still in the wild and still exposed to the elements.  We had a hike of some sort planned for each day.  A way to wander from camp and explore the wilderness that we decided to immerse ourselves in.  There were plenty of waterfalls to see, lakes to try to hike too, but most of all just enjoying our time as a family.  It's different when you are truly alone.  You wake when it is light, go to bed when it is dark and eat when you are hungry.  We were no longer a slave to time, dictating our day and lives.  We were only commanded by the elements... When it rained, we seeked shelter, when it was cold, we seeked warmth. Simplistic, sometimes the way I believe life was truly supposed to be.

    It was finally day 4 and our trip was done.  The girls had been planning their celebratory meal once we hiked off the mountain and back to civilization.  They had dreamed of fresh fruit and waffles with plenty of whip cream and syrup to drizzle over the top for a couple of days.  It was a fair trade, four days in the mountains eating handfuls of trail mix, granola and dehydrated meals cooked with a pot of boiling water.  Thankfully most of the food had been ate.  The splitting wedge of our first day was lighter.  I slipped it into Liz's backpack with a grin.  I smiled at her and asked, "Are you ready for the five day backpacking trip next month?!"  "Give me a week and we will talk about it." She replied with a smile.  We were happy, ours souls had been filled and we were ready for waffles and whip cream at the nearest Egg and I.  

"A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles"

-Edward Abbey