Bellingham, WA
March 29, 2004
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Heather: Being on an expedition is the ultimate in simplicity. Your life is about food, shelter and physical fortitude. Removing yourself
from the rituals of daily life in the "real world" allows you to recognize what is important. Clutter quickly escapes from the mind and a
clarity moves in that is nearly impossible to achieve at home. It is out on the open sea or on a mountaintop that you find out who you are,
what you value, and how you want to live your life.
On our first expedition, Brandon and I mountain-biked the Great Divide from the Canadian border to the Mexican border, where we switched to sea
kayaks and paddled the Sea of Cortez. It was a six-month emotional roller coaster for me. The first month I felt the need to prove how tough I
was, and I rode as hard as I could. I never let Brandon help me with my 100-pound trailer, and we never strayed from the daily itinerary I had
created before we began. I fought feelings of guilt for spending half a year traveling, while the friends and family we left at home supported us
and cheered us on. It was like I believed part of life was about being stressed, so I sought out things to stress about.
But the miles melted away these ridiculous notions. By the time we reached the Sea of Cortez, I found myself spending hours just contemplating life.
I wished for storm days so I could find a spot on the beach, stare out into the deep blue sea and wait for a jolt of realization to hit me. I was
utterly addicted to the simplicity I had discovered in the expedition lifestyle, and I craved the clarity it gave me.
Your mind is razor sharp, your belly is full of fresh, warm fish tacos, the sand squishes between your toes, your body is tan, your lats are huge,
there is dirt under your fingernails, you haven't combed your hair in a month and you still have 500-miles to go. The question is: "Why not expedition?"
Brandon: Expeditions teach. Imagine practicing, training, or working at something all day, every day, for months on end. By the laws of nature, you
can't help but get good at it. Now imagine that it's not a job, a college course, or your folks' idea of the "perfect sport" for you. It's your passion,
your ultimate dream, and you've created every detail of how to bring it to life. It was your throw of the dart that picked the spot; it's your choice as
to how far, how light, and how long you can stay out; you decide if you'll film, photograph, record audio or paint watercolors; you decide if you're
going with a team, or if this a solo mission. It's all you.
That's the foundation. Now you decide if you'll build on it. Maybe you want your project to raise awareness for a cause, to set a world record, to be
broadcast on NPR, to collect research data, or to develop new technology. Each of these has its own hoops to jump through, all of them accomplished
every single day by normal people just like you. So you begin, you make a few phone calls. You flounder big time. You make some more calls, send a
few e-mails. Tiny sparks of promise start flashing here and there. It grows and grows, you push forward and, inevitably, you learn.
I remember saying to a friend of mine, a few days before we set out for 'Canada to Cabo', "This project has tested every skill I've acquired since
birth." And this was before we ever rode the first mile. Why go on an expedition? Because life is learning, and expeditions teach.
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