Alive

I'm now sitting at 1,200 meters breathing the oxygen-filled air of Kathmandu. I am hereby the first person to ever write the words "oxygen-filled" and "Kathmandu" in the same sentence.

I made it back from Mt Everest-Advanced Base Camp without a scratch. There is going to be a lot of material about this coming up with pictures, video and {gulp) actual narrative. In short, it was breath-taking, literally and figuratively, inspiring, intense, slow, and the most demanding thing not physically, but mentally, that I've ever done. All of these things together produced the most difficult week I've ever undertaken in my life. I haven't had much time to digest everything yet, but the emotions of the week have me a bit choked up as I'm writing this because I'm realizing that it is over.

Anyway, for the good of the order, I'm in Kathmandu for a few more days and will be back in San Francisco on June 1st after a quick stay in Bangkok. Thanks for all the comments and emails that I've received from all of you. Please continue to send burnt offerings to to the gods because I think that walking/driving on the streets here in Kat is more dangerous than climbing Everest.

Talk more soon (with pictures).

A Post From 3,900 Meters

Hey everyone! I decided that instead of Mt. Everest, I would go to San Diego, so I'm posting from Mission Beach.

Only kidding. I'm in Gyantse after four days in Lhasa. Today we drove over a 4,900 meter pass, then took a one lane dirt road that dipped and dove from 3,000 to 4,000 meters for the next 6 hours. No guard-rail, just a nice canyon waiting at the bottom for any slip-ups.

But, going this way, we had to pass through many high mountain farming villages. They would stop whatever they were doing to smile and wave. Some woman actually dropped her baby into a yak pen (when I mean actually, I mean not really).

I had a great conversation with Tibetian guide today. After going over the 4,900 meter pass, I looked up at one of the most beautiful peaks I'd ever laid eyes on. In awe, I wanted to share this moment with him:

Me: That mountain is gorgeous! It has to be 6,000 meters at least. What is it's name?

Him: It doesn't have a name. There are so many that look like that.

Me: Oh.

Him: Sorry, let's go eat a yak burger.

And that we did. One of the best parts of this trip has been eating yak burgers. Who knew that you could get an animal to carry your stuff and being able turn it into a very tasty treat too?

Everyone is safe and happy here today. We'll be at Everest Base Camp in four days and, although we are enjoying each step on the way there, we're getting anxious to get on the mountain.

Heading Into Thin Air

I'm outta here! I have a 1:20 am flight that will take us to Hong Kong, Bangkok and then Kathmandu. When George Mallory set sail from the UK in 1921, it took him several months to reach the Himalayas. Flying in coach might make it feel like a few months, but we should be in Kathmandu after 24-hours.

I have no idea what internet access will look like, but I'll try to post as often as I can. Let's hope for sporadic at best.

In the meantime, I wish everyone the best while I'm away!

I'm off for my last pounding workout until game time. Then a day full of errands and organizing until night time when Cinco de Mayo celebrations begin. Beer, friends and more women with loose morals and lowered inhibitions.

I love gringo holidays.

North Ridge Route - Mount Everest

Man, is it ever difficult to focus on work with this trip looming just a few days away. The good thing about being the boss is that, in an a-hole move of epic porportions, you can push all your work down on the good folks that work for you.

While my mind is racing, I thought I would show everyone the main route climbers take to summit Mount Everest from the North. This is the route that the 1921-1924 British expeditions with George Leigh Mallory took. There aren't too many other ways up this route that can be done by anyone other than the most insane and gifted of climbers or Superman.

This picture marks out the North Ridge route and how one would ascend Mt. Everest from the North Col. I came across a few narratives about how one would climb the mountain from this route, and although it is a more daunting, many claim that it is a better climb for those climbers that like to be more isolated and away from the massive crowds climbing the Southeast route that Edmund Hillary's team made famous and the 1996 Into Thin Air expeditions made infamous.

There is a lot of empty space on this route, so with the winds blowing from west to east, it extremely exposed. Added to this challenge, is that snow accumulates on the North Ridge and, due the monsoons dumping snow on the mountain from June to August, you would have to be, as guide Eric Simonson puts it, "brain dead to want to climb up to the Col in the autumn season. In fact there have been quite a number of deaths here from avalanches in the autumn season (and very few successful ascents from the North at all then)."

The highest I'm going, Camp III, sits about 500 vertical meters below. Camp III is marked ABC, or Advanced Base Camp, in this overhead picture. The Discovery Channel's "Beyond the Limits" site has a fantastic interactive map of this route, but I cannot embed it here, so click the link to see the vertical relationship between Base Camp and ABC.

Camp III is normally very windy. The winds whip right off of the North Col and pound the ledge 500 meters below. This concerns me greatly because I only weigh about 14.0 lbs. In fact, the tents may weigh more than me, so I'm thinking about wedging myself under a rock once I get there.

Enjoy the maps and follow along!

The Lure

I am certain that my passion for the mountains orginates somewhere in my DNA. I spent the majority of my high school years outside of Philadelphia and went to college at Indiana Univerisity in southern Indiana. Each of these areas were ripe with hills, but, with all due respect, regardless of their beauty, they weren't very inspiring or, more importantly, compelling.

During my final semester of college, I bucked the normal trend of beach goers, jumped in my Chrystler LeBaron (or, how I like to refer to it: my shitbox Babe Magnet) and drove 1,000 miles at the speed of summer lightening to visit my good friend, Kyle, as well as some other old college friends in Denver. A regular car such as a Honda, a Toyota or, God-forbid, a Ford, might get you there in under 17 hours. My baby was able to get me there in 27 minutes--plus or minus 15 hours.

To paraphrase Douglas Coupland's idea in his wonderful book, Life After God, driving alone in a car is forced meditation--you have a small portion of your brain focused on not driving the car off a cliff or into an 18-wheeler, but the rest of your brain needs to occupy itself while it is not being used at the task at hand. It's kind of like a long ride on the crapper without your legs falling asleep.

At that time, I was faced with a few dilemnas that all college kids face just before graduation: what in the heck am I going to do with my life and why is my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend driving me up the @&^$ing wall? Denver would provide me immediate refuge from the latter, but, more importantly, would help to point a way to my future.

My first day in Colorado was solo, since my friends had to work, and ended up cruising to Boulder to spent a 65-degree day on a solitary hike. Driving through the mountains, I could not help but feel the gravity they had on me. Eventually, I pulled the car over and climbed to the top of some nameless peak that I'm sure I could never find again in a million years. On a little rockpile on the summit, I sat there and just listened. It was odd how much pure joy I was experiencing at that moment looking into the Rockies; it wasn't a feeling of victory or of accomplishment, but a revelation of a childlike innocence that can only be the result of something incredibly awesome. Something came awake and it was something that I knew I always had in me.

Very rarely does a revelation of childlike innocense lead to someone moving to San Francisco, but in my case, I knew that I needed to be in a city with access to the mountains. Since this move, I've spent many, many legendary weekends roaming the Sierras and can always look back to that small rockpile as the moment it all started.

Soon, I hope to fullfill a recent dream of being able to sit in the shadow of the tallest mountain on earth. Many far greater than I have felt the same pull, albeit to varying degrees. George Leigh Mallory became obsessed with Mount Everest to the point where he abandoned his wife, children, and eventually his life. Mallory's desire for that mountain was not just a desire to conquer the summit; hundreds of letters he wrote demonstrated it was almost as if he was having a love affair with a ferocious beauty.

There won't be any mountain lovin' comin' from me. However, in a few short days I'll be on my way to fulfilling a longing that resides deep inside me. In the process, I hope to gain some clarity on just exactly what "that" is.

Maybe I just need some Pepto?

Update and Raison d'être

Training continues apace. No margs tonight, just a few hours on the wall. I'm meeting up with a great friend and my first real climbing partner, whom I haven't seen in almost two years. Ironically, he is moving to Central China on May 4th, four days before I leave for Tibet/China.

This reunion has helped to me articulate something very important in how I chose to live my life now. Many years of moving around a great deal as a kid, compounded by spending the last seven years living in a transient city, many people have come and gone in my life who, at one point, have had a significant impact on me. In this case, my climbing buddy J and I spent many moons camped out in the back of his van, only to wake at the butt crack of dawn to climb other kinds of cracks along the side of a mountain.

J and I had a great time pursuing a common passion and I was greatful that he was patient with me while I was learning to climb - this was no small task given that I'm pretty terrified of heights. Climbing is a great sport in that it not only reveals your physical limitations, but also exposes your personal character and there is no one who becomes more aware of them than your climbing partner. I am who I am today partly because of all these trips we took together; I learned how to push myself beyond what I could see and was comfortable with.

Partly, this adventure to Tibet is a personal journey of adventure, learning, experience and pushing myself outside of what I'm normally comfortable with. However many people who are very important to me have found out about this trip and are follow me along through this blog or elsewhere. You folks know who you are and I can't tell you how wonderful it is getting back in touch and talking to you again. I want everyone to know that I'm taking each one of you with me on this journey; I wouldn't exist without the impact you have had on me.

So, I'll do my best not to get run over by a yak...or a Yeti.

Personal Notes - Coachella

Training continues in regards to the big Himalayan trek, however, not within the normal conventions one associates when the word "training" is mentioned.

This weekend, I, as well as 11 of my good friends, embarked on an annual pilgrimage to the Coachella Music Festival in Indyo Valley, California. We continued the tradition of renting a house with a pool and jacuzzi in Palm Springs, which serves to prepare the path towards and afternoon and evening of sweat, broken ear drums, breast gazing and pure joy. Each morning, we'd awake to the birds singing and the sun blazing to spend a long hard morning and early afternoon pounding sipping Margs by the pool.

A Marg is similar to a margarita, but, as those who know Spanish, the diminutive suffix ita implies that the noun is something little or adds a description to make it sound less harsh. A night out at the local Chevy's will give you a margarita: crushed ice filled with processed "margarita mix" and a splash of tequila and triple sec.

A Marg is high octane: Patrón Añejo (50%), Cointreau, Grand Marnier, one or two whole limes squeezed to oblivion (in other words, real lime-juice that doesn't come from a bottle), a splash of oj to take some of the tartness away. This must be served on the rocks; crushed ice is for infidels. If you make this correctly, you will not only enjoy one of the most refreshing beverages ever, but you will also get a little more pep in your step. Some have experienced brief periods of aggression, but not enough to equal the full borne aggression an average Philadelphian experiences in their resting state.

The key to a good Coachella, is to hang by the pool all day, loading up on Margs while grilling out and telling jokes. Although the concert starts around 11-ish, we don't show up until 3:30 or 4:30. Walking around in a sea of 200,000 people takes a lot of energy and our group has found this strategy to be optimal if you want to keep going strong until midnight when the last acts are finishing up.

The review of the concert itself is mixed, but mostly good. I'm not one who abhors crowds, but there were just way too many people there. This being my third year, I'd say there were double of the people from my first year and at least another 25% more versus last year. I came to this conclusion based on a metric of data collected as follows: number of assholes encountered (A)/time in concert grounds(Tc) + number of port o potties (P)/time spent in bathroom lines (Tp)/ + number of middle fingers or caustic comments (m^m)/length of time spent getting out of parking lot (T__).

This equation needs some tweaking, because on Sunday night, the asshole factor was multiplied 78 times. I deduced that this number may be in inflated due to the increased assholery of the Rage Against the Machine crowd (like yelling and throwing bottles of water at Crowded House before Rage's appearance).

That being said, Rage Against the Machine was probably one of the best performances there, if you can look past Zach de la Roche calling for the assassination of the current "Nazi" President. But, I never listened to the lame-ass signing/preaching of this perpetual shit-for-brains anyway--I just listen to guitarist, Tommy Morello and drummer, Brad Wilk flat-out rock. The political nature of the members of this band belies the absolute devestation they cause when they're not running their mouths and are just playing their instruments. The ground actually shook when they started their set. I don't care what your totalitarian supporting political tendancies are, for any true rock fan, that universally kicks ass.

Other highlights: the Roots (the way hip-hop should sound), Decemberists, Manu Chao, Paul Van Dyke and, surprisingly, Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Some lowlights: the good folks who run the concert had better get a handle on crowd control, especially in the parking lot after the show. We were literally parked for two hours trying to get out on Friday night. This dreadful experience caused a handful of our team members to remain poolside and skip Saturday's line-up, but it was good for us who went because we had food waiting for us when we got home. Mmmmm, tacos...

Overall, my third year was another great one, and while utopian visions of endless pleasure melt under the 108-degree sun, the good and the bad combine make it more real. A true experience that cannot be devalued due the absence of having to endure something undesirable for it.

UPDATE: I had a bad tag that cut off a paragraph above. Fixed now.