In the last month I have had ample opportunity to face up to my reality. Whether it was the winter weather and roads I faced as I made my way to Portland, or the hurricane my tent and I survived on the Oregon coast, I was constantly aware of my self-inflicted situation. When I was huddled in my damp tent, swathed in feelings of isolation and loneliness, for 12 hours a night, every night, it was then that I most wanted to cast blame on something or someone. The reality is that I could only blame myself. Every compounding decision I have made over the last few months of the trip, or the year or two leading up to it, had set me down with the very reality I was encountering. There was nothing I could do but sit in the dark and feel bad about myself and my decisions. How unfortunate because those same decisions involved great highlights of the trip, like tremendous weather in Alaska, a great side trip to Jasper and Banff National Parks, and some time with friends in Seattle. This adventure was dreamed up to involve a balance of hardship and excitement, self-discovery and earthly discoveries; constantly keeping me intrigued to see what would come next. Traveling by bike started as one of the most liberating experiences I have ever had. Each day and destination is flexible, nothing is binding me to commitments aside from my own desire to move on down the road. How then could that freedom to be the only one in control of my life and decisions be so overwhelming? Why was I huddled in my tent furious at the world for bashing me with the worst coastal weather of recent memory when it was my decision, or consequence of decisions, to be there? And most oppressive, how was I making all the decisions and still finding myself involved in something I couldn’t understand or predict?

As a response to these newly freeing experiences I went about setting up habits and routines that could narrow down the number of free decisions I had to make. My budget, my lifestyle, my interests, all allowed me to regiment the kind of trip that was possible and it became one that was singularly my own. Furthermore, my daily routine and expected destinations continued to narrow the flexibility of the trip, with each day like the last and next. If every day is executed the same, rain or shine, then how will a day in Alaska ultimately distinguish itself from a day in Guatemala or Argentina. As a result, I felt like I was being swept up in a flash flood, getting bashed around, and hopefully being spit out in Argentina. I spent the last month looking for the lifeline to get me out of the situation, aware only of my desperation, floundering and slapping at the water instead of lying back and floating along with it.

During this time, I was constantly thinking about how all I wanted was something to come along and take me away from my self-inflicted reality. The situations I had found myself in, and the pressures I was putting myself under in the name of the trip, were so tremendously overwhelming that I totally lost sight of the freedom I had allowed myself by undertaking this trip in the first place. I realized that for most of us, myself included, we set up our life to be a series of free choices, coupled with an array of dictated procedures. We have the ultimate choice over everything we do, but we are able to narrow the number of choices by relying on jobs, families, and community influences to dictate much of what we actually do. Being free from all of those authors on my life, meant that I couldn’t be frustrated at a boss, or parents, or a spouse for placing me in my predicament. It became apparent that it wasn’t the freedom to make my decisions that was so overwhelming, but the responsibility to deal with their consequences that was so troubling.

I guess more to the point, I was trying to walk, or pedal, through my expected motions of the trip without actually experiencing the reality I had set out to find. I was biking to get away from things, weather mostly, but also my naive notions about the trip and how it would play out. Soon I found myself only pedaling. It had become my life, instead of a means to a life that would pleasurably take me through all the wonderful places, environments and communities along my route. I was starting to see the trip as about the bike, the transportation. As I look back now, from the comforts of my childhood-adolescent home in Colorado, it was playing out exactly like the kind of trip I had wanted to avoid. If I had traveled by car or bus to any of these places along the west coast it would have introduced me to just as much as I had experienced on my bike (with the obvious exception to being constantly soaked and miserable). I was so closed-off, concentrating on the effort of southward progress, that it didn’t matter that I was using such a uniquely engaging mode of transportation; one especially suited, and chosen for this trip, to break down the barriers that blur our interactions with the places we are visiting.

A few decisions have been made, or are still being made, as a result of this last difficult month of the trip. There is nothing more I want in this world, from this world, than to travel all the way down through the length of the Americas. I want to see the changing landscapes and the remnants of the great Mayan civilization, taste the local delicacies along the coast of Baja California or the central foothills of Argentina, smell the damp Central American rainforests and salty beaches, hear the political messages blasted from loudspeekers and the dance music wafting from clubs, and feel the life and cultures of these places become a part of me. I want to capture this experience in photos and words as a means to make sense of the constantly shifting scene before me, and to share this experience with others unable to make the journey with me. I want to complete this trip by bike because, even after all the struggle, it still is the best way to casually travel the world. I am free to make these decisions, and so I am again doing so. I will make this trip happen by whatever means necessary, and under whatever circumstances or timeline is necessary. The biggest restraint towards my unassailable freedom on this matter is my dwindling budget, which was poignantly made clear with a fortuitous meeting of another long distance bike tourer in San Francisco. I am looking into some options that would allow me a few months break from the trauma I found myself in, to take a deep breath and recommit myself to the trip, and also a chance to make enough money to take away the stress of budget and time from the remainder of my adventure. Whatever I do, it is my solid commitment that I will remount my bike and find the fun that I have pictured for this trip; in food and culture and history and environment and most importantly, people. Ultimately, to find the freedom and flexibility the trip represents to set out and find what makes me happy, curious, and passionate.

It has been said before that my decision to enter into the Alaskan wilderness without a weapon to fend off aggressive Polar Bears, hungry Wolves, or protective Moose was foolish and risky. “There is danger around every corner”, I was told, “a danger that can kill and eat you.” If I had heeded those warnings then I would not have witnessed calm arctic evenings spent with a book, a pen, and wide open expanses. I would not have leaned my bike against the sign marking the Arctic Circle, elated in my progress south. And, I would not have come face to face with a docile Lynx. If I had heeded those hyped up warnings, which came from within Alaska as much as not, I would not have started my bike trip in Alaska. Was my adventure into the Arctic overly risky? In retrospect, I hardly think so. I was 1,500 miles south and well out of Alaska before I saw my first bear of the trip. Every touring cyclist traveling through Alaska and Canada has received the same advice and almost all have brushed aside the warnings and fallen in love with those wild and dangerous landscapes.

What is the appropriate level of risk? Or, because risk is subjective, what is the perfect ratio between risk and reward? Some risks are excessive but are lessened by an individual’s preparation or experience, while other risks are minor but are enhanced by an individual’s fear. For instance, a first time river runner will look at an inflated raft next to a rushing river and think that the risk is insurmountable, the danger too great. If that person falls out of the raft they are not only battling just the river but also their fear of the water and the situation. They are in the belly of the beast, so to speak. All instructions will slip out of their minds and panic will set in. An experienced outdoor instructor, guide, or rescuer will tell you that a person’s fear is the greatest inhibitor to their rational thinking. As a result, you can take a relatively un-risky situation (a river that is repeatedly run at similar water levels) and turn it into a high risk situation as soon as fear paralyzes the body. So, is their something inherently riskier about a backcountry trip in the lands of wild animals, like Yellowstone, Denali, or the Arctic, if you do so without the protection of a gun? Or is the greater risk the preparedness of the individual embarking on the trip?

Risk can also be analyzed by the frequency of accidents; bear attacks, blizzards and bullets. In adventure travel I believe there are three distinct circumstances or settings involving risk, all of which are interconnected. The first involves wildlife encounters, the second, mother nature, and the third, people. Being face to face with a bear and her cubs is more risk than many of us will every face, yet encounters with bears rarely lead to an attack. In facing risk, there are scores of people who are continually pushing the limits of human endurance in the face of mother nature. True arctic travel, when the temps are never above zero and the sun never shines, is always one mistake away from disaster. Also, attempting to climb Mt. Everest or other high altitude peaks where the risk is not about wildlife encounters but about the forces of nature. Then there are the risks associated with people; traveling in war zones, late night trips through shady neighborhoods, or putting yourself in a drug cartel’s backyard.

In my opinion, risk is always greater when it involves mother nature. The experienced mountaineer is always at her mercy. Understanding the risk and adequately preparing for the challenge can only get one so far. So, perhaps the greater of my risks was venturing into the arctic with a goose-down sleeping bag rated to 32 degrees and ineffective if wet. The probability of a nasty, and bitterly cold summer storm was probably greater than the likelihood of me stumbling upon a hungry Polar Bear or a Grizzly with her cubs. Weighing all the options, and their risks, I decided to carry goose-down equipment into the great arctic wilderness.

So, what is the reward from exposing yourself to risk? Often-times it is selfish; an invigorating rush of endorphins that makes you feel alive, alert and awake. Other times it is in service of science or national pride, or simply to expose people to the experience and possibilities that are out there. Adventure travel has always straddled the line between the two; think Magellan or Columbus, Amundsen and Scott, Hillary and Mallory. Now that exploration has discovered most of the nooks and crannies of the world, the nation-backed adventures no longer occur (unless we look to the sea and the sky). As a result, people are dreaming up their own brand of unique exploration, and looking to find private funding and support for their risky adventures. Media has filled the role of the nation. The possibilities are endless, but the new media powers are constantly on the lookout for ground-breaking adventures. Consequently, the adventure seekers interested in an international audience are being forced to pursue more dangerous and riskier situations to secure funding. Has this separated the proper notion of reward from the risk-reward ratio? If it no longer is a selfish pursuit to push the boundaries and make discoveries, to learn more about yourself and your potential, then what is the reward?

Nathan touched upon the risk and reward of adventure travel in an earlier post of his, which can be read here. It discusses two friends we met just south of Jasper who were in the process of planning and promoting a big adventure. Both were young, skinny and youthful. They were dreaming up an adventure with rigid guidelines and lofty ambitions. If all went according to plan, this duo would depart in two years time and expose themselves not just to the wild Canadian wilderness, but also to the skeptical television public. Walking in a straight line from Edmonton to Vancouver they plan to live strictly off the land and teach the world of the potential of minimal, sustainable living. The caveat, and in my view the reason they have set themselves up to fail, is that they will not eat any meat or wild game, including fish. Subsisting on pine needle broth and fungi as they haul their wiry frames and 80lb packs over the Rockies has got to be impossible, not to mention risky. If they envision the reward to be greater than themselves, indicated by their dreamed of television coverage, then what message are they actually sending? If the audience’s new understanding of a self-sustaining life is the reward for their risk, then why tarnish the reward with a message that is inaccurate? It would appear, to Nathan and I at least, that their decision to turn their backs on the traditions and practices of the Natives, who have always subsisted on the areas plentitude of fish and game, is an effort to make the adventure greater than the message. It could very well be possible for these two young men to make the journey, and therefor prove Nathan and I wrong, but how would their endeavor represent a sustainable lifestyle? If there is anything to learn about wilderness life, then it should be learned from the people that have already come before you and adapted to that very environment. None of these cultures live solely on foraging, but instead subsist on a balance of meat, fish, and produce. A certain level of preparation can overcome many obstacles, but what if it misses the target of their perceived reward? Did their desire to be on tv supersede their crafting of the message, and therefore manipulate the scope of risk and danger necessary to make it onto reality television?

When considering risk and reward in my own life, I must consider that in six weeks time I will find myself facing the border to Mexico. The risk associated with travel in Mexico, or all of Latin America, is well documented, but is it overhyped? I recently read the account of a couple who biked/hitch-hiked from Alaska to Mexico and decided the risk was too great. Their trip to the bottom of South America ended, for now, in San Diego. This isn’t the first time I know of touring cyclists abandoning plans to go south as soon as the looming Mexican border comes into view. How much of their decision is based on accurate risk, how much hype, and how much fear? Having survived travel in bear country, I look at the situation with a new perspective. I also know that for every person that stops their trip at the border, there are many more that continue on, have a safe trip, and fall in love with the people and cultures south of the border. While I am fearful of dangerous encounters in Latin America, I am equally aware that the probability is actually quite small.

What concerns me more is how to convey that my reward will be greater than the risks I will likely encounter. The media translation of the danger will always overshadow the actual risk; they are in the business of hype and fear. However, when it involves killer sharks, I listen. I have an inappropriate level of fear regarding the fact that all sharks want to eat me. But, when it expresses the view that the world is full of murderers and drug gangs, I tend to take it with a grain of salt. So, what is my reward for exposing myself to this risk? First, it is a physical challenge that will result in new found confidence in myself and my abilities. Second, the diverse cultures and landscapes of the Americas will unwind before me, and as a result, it will unmask the hype that surrounds most of the regions. Third, this message will be spread in my photos and words to influence the world-view of my audience. Is my view of the risk subdued in order to make the reward worth it? Well, if I could accurately calculate all of the influencing factors, then it wouldn’t be an adventure any more, would it? The adventure comes as much from the physical struggle of the trip as from the knowledge that you are acting contrary to popular opinion and hype; that you are out at the edge testing the boundaries.