When the Go-To Cliche's About Mountains Don't Work: Bike Guiding Pacific Northwest

Hurricane Ridge Road, Port Angeles, Washington

”Nothing would make this worth it.” He said for at least the third time already, “Literally, nothing.” He insisted. Every half mile, or about three passes over steep hills, I would stop, “Hey Ralph, come check this out,” I would say. I’d point out a waterfall trickling down the cliff to the right of us, “Let’s put our head under and cool off for a minute.”

The next half-mile ascent would come, there would be a turnout to a breathtaking view, all the hills we’ve climbed, civilization like tiny villages miles beneath us, the close proximity to the snow-capped ridge ahead of us. “Ralph, come see this view!” I would say.

He came, mostly silent, he observed. This 5,242 foot climb was relentless. Unlike other major inclines we had experienced up until now, this one wouldn’t level out until the mountain pass. There was no break. We rode 5 miles up, got rid of our panniers at the campsite, and continued the 12 miles left in the 17 mile, 7% grade ascent.

These miles took hours of disciplined pursuit, a mindset willing to embrace uncomfortability for a long period of time.

If I could show Ralph some of the perks, the experience found in the journey, maybe he would understand why this was worth it.

“Why do we even have to get to the top?” He would say. “ Why can’t we just turn back now and go downhill already?”

The waterfalls, the views, seeing how far we’ve come... wasn’t I answering his why? Why is he not buying it?

Stints of steady struggle stirred a purposefully distracted mind. If it’s not the views, not the experiences along the way, not the seeing how far you’ve come- than maybe he is on to something, what is it all for? Is it worth it? Or could we turn back now and it would all just be the same in the end? Why is a good question.

After four days wandering around Vancouver and Victoria, BC, we returned to the United States through Port Angeles and made our way southeast towards Seattle, via Olympic National Park. In the mountainous region of the park is Hurricane Ridge, the physical peak of the trip, the big completion, the scenic pinnacle of an 18-day journey, the day all feared in anticipation.

Hurricane Ridge was the mountain twelve bikers were enslaved to on this Thursday afternoon. Hours of incline and what felt like a lifetime of internal battle, where ten teenagers and two adults wrestled with their own personal “Why” to enable them to keep pushing forward.

As the leader, managing itinerary, safety and overall moral of the group, the kids experience on this mountain was important to me, it was a significant moment in this journey and a what could be, a memorable lifetime accomplishment for everyone. But as I tripped over every cliche when it came to conquering mountains, I was forced to figure out my own sense of why before I could convince Ralph of anything.

Why does this trip matter, for me or any of these kids, why are any of us here? We’re taking a roundtrip from Seattle around the San Juan Islands, up to Vancouver and back to Seattle... why didn't we just stay in Seattle, better yet, never come? And this mountain- we didn't have to go this way, this is literally an up and back trip, it's not even on our route... why are we doing this?

The past two weeks, continuously surrounded by eleven other individuals, at times, in testing environments, displayed all facets of human nature- the highs, the lows, and all the revelations in between. By nature, spending every waking moment with a large group, being hungry, tired, in need of personal comforts and desires inevitably leads to external conflict, at times revealing the worst part of selves.

The compelling nature of Hunger came on strong after a long day of biking. About ten hours in the beaming sun, with a series of bike flats, navigational mishaps and practicing patience with others- it piled up, building tension. Finally, when dinner was being served, hands stacked upon each other, all reaching for the same serving spoon, the same pot of noodles, all equally hungry. But each hunger within feels stronger than the other. So strong it can only listen to and respond to the intense craving within.

Need, the inner-ache to satisfy the most basic physical and emotional groans, this force arose as we inched, one pedal at a time, up a steep hill, sometimes without much of a forgiving shoulder. Momentum was necessary, a cadence was necessary. If the biker in front of you causes you to break that cadence or lose momentum, every part of you wants to pass, needs to pass. With the cars close enough to send wind across your ear, and you can not pass, and the level of self-entitlement rises as you realize your need can not be fulfilled. 

And then there was Desire, a compulsion seen with the eyes and longed to be tangibly reached. Leaving the campgrounds and backroads, and entering the hostels and big cities- through busy streets, attractive shops, tourist traps. Teenagers became like buzzing mosquitos, mesmerized and drawn forward into the appealing lights. The competing desire for restaurants, shops, ways to fill suppressed personal preferences and instant pleasure changed the moral of the group. The team aspect, working together to plan, prep and create a meal seen in the woods changed to fighting over which restaurant, which activities to do, and who deserved prerogative to choose.

​My co-leader, Tyler and I broke up a fight just days before this mountain, we've reprimanded hurtful comments, and have had serious discussions about respect. We've talked about how to learn to read internal health in the midst of a group atmosphere and encouraged each member to find their own personal space. We've wrestled with the how to be good leaders, how to create a positive atmosphere and which universal morals to promote. 

While the intention is a bike trip, there is something else at work in a excursion like this. Ultimately, Tyler and I are trying to figure out how to be better leaders through the daily challenges placed in front of us. And in the coaching, redirection and conversations with the teens, we are also trying, and hoping to help them leave this trip not just better bikers, but better human beings. 

On this mountain, we are hungry. And though we stop every so often for roadside food and fuel, it never seems to counterbalance the effort our bodies are putting forth. We are in need. We need more water, we need our bikes to cooperate, we need to fixate our minds on anything but this mountain. We are full of desire. We want the top, we want the downhill already, we want to finally rest. But we can't, because forward is the direction of the group and continuously, we must die to self-gratification and comfortability for all foreseeable time. We can't even think about the when, because that would just lead to unmet expectation. We must just be. Present, in this internal state, whether its pessimistic or, the opposite, we must reckon with this place in time. 

At the end of this trip, yes, I want this kids to have strong travel skills, and yes, I want them to see the joy of bike touring, and I hope that these times will shape how they see the world, how they interact with people, and how they choose to live. But ultimately, what I want, my why, is for this journey to help them become better people. People who respect the creatures, environment and beings around them. People who have an awareness of the other, and will continue to learn how to live in acknowledgement to a universe unique and varying to what they know, or have yet to learn. I want them to tiptoe forward, not expecting to know anything, but grateful for what they learn. I want them to also be bold, not afraid of the unknown, not afraid to step forward, explore, discover something new and different. I want their hearts to be wide open, to the echoes of creation, to the groaning of humanity and to a vast mystery of the undiscovered questions and wonderings within. I want them to love. To really learn the trials that come with love and the why that makes it continuously worth it. I want them to wrestle, in relationship, in spirituality, in self-discovery... I want them to never stop wrestling with the complexities life brings. 

And just maybe, on this mountain, we are wrestling with self. In the reckoning, somewhere, we are recognizing the overwhelming hunger, that visceral need and the piercing desires. But somewhere in the 17 mies of incline and hours in our heads, we move on from the bulging aches of our innate selves, and we create enough space of peace to allow self to continue forward. 
​

We all made it to the top. Somewhere, on the way to that beautifully, snow-capped mountain view, ten kids found a place in their minds or hearts to wrestle the debilitating needs and embrace the humble uncomfortability. 

In the end, I asked Ralph if any of the mountain experience was worth it. Overcoming the incline, seeing the views from the top, or the 40 mph speed we reached on the way down? He said no. It just wasn't. And as all remaining cliches crumbled, I too realized, through all my stubborn rationalization, maybe it doesn't have to feel worth it. The truth about parts of life is, sometimes you climb and climb, but never reach that mountain-top experience. You may never see the views, never have the perspective of the journey, and may never get that easy coast down-hill. And though we may become stronger, and maybe through it all, a better person, we may never see past the wrestling. We might just be stuck in the why, which, in an of itself, can be a debilitating question. ​​