Motorcyle Ride Lesson - Can't See the Mountain

Mt. Rainier, Washington State

I adore exploring the northwest from the backseat of our Honda Shadow.

Now, don't get me wrong. The entire middle of my field of vision is blocked by someone's big head and helmet. But other than that, I have a wonderful view, ringside as they say, of the beauty we are so happy to explore.

On a recent trip, we took a rather long ride from Yakima over Highway 410 to Puyallup. We then came back to Yakima on Highway 12. If you count miles, it is way too many for one day of riding. I was feeling it. No, I was not feeling it, as certain body parts stayed continually numb.

But that wasn't the point. What was important was my view - gorgeous scenes of Mt. Rainier, forests, rivers and streams, Mt. St. Helens, farmlands, meadows, and more. The weather was slightly warm by mid-afternoon and completely heated our frozen bodies from the early morning going-over-the-pass cold temperatures.

As we aimed for home, headed up White Pass, I kept a keen gaze glued to the north side of our path. There are some pretty exceptional scenic views of Mt. Rainier from Highway 12, and I didn't want to miss them.

I looked and enjoyed. It seemed odd, but there didn't seem to be as many as I had thought. No, the mountain in all of it's snow capped glory had not moved. (Whew, right?) But the multiple views were just not happening. Clouds, traffic, trees, buildings, curving roads - all conspired against my efforts.

I knew Mt. Rainier was there. I knew it has not skipped town for colder spots unknown. It was there, stately, majestic, and awe-inspiring. I just couldn't see it.

And then it hit me.



Isn't my relationship with God sometimes like that?

I know He is there. I traipse along, bebopping with my busy life. Sometimes when I glance over, looking for the sight of Him where He has always been, I don't see Him. Where did He go? Why can't I see Him? Has He left, vacated the premises? I keep on traveling, glancing to the sides of my path, hoping to catch a glimpse.

In all of His glory, majesty, power, and beauty, He has not moved. He hasn't packed up and skipped town. Nor has He tired of my whining or forgetfulness or lack of faith. He is there, right where He has always been.

But me? I've let the trees and clouds and traffic of life put up filters and screens that block my view of my God. It's totally my fault.

Yet I don't need to fear or worry. God is not going anywhere. He will always be there, even when I can't see Him. I can rest, knowing that He is right there, just beyond the trees. Right where I know He is.


"It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed."  ~ Deuteronomy 31:8 (ESV)

Facing the Volcano

We camped the night before the climb so we could head up early. Mt. St. Helens looms behind base camp.

I've scaled 2 significant mountains in my life. Physically, not metaphorically. The metaphorical mountains number in the double digits. But that's not what this post is about.

In July 1993, Kevin and I bopped over White Pass to tackle Mt. St. Helens. That volcano.

True, true. It was a much shorter climb than before she blew. The trail led us clambering over boulders, squeezing between rocks, and sludging through deep silty sand.

We went with high hopes of summiting the historical mountain. After reading the warnings on the permit (watch out for unexpected steam vents, look for any steam vents, beware of thin crusty areas where you could break through, this is a live, active volcano, and so on and so forth) we almost didn't go. I am so glad we continued our journey to face the volcano.

Climbing included tons (literally) of rocks. Hard, sharp lava rocks. No shade.

It was mostly hot and sunny, though we occasionally (and cautiously) felt our way through clouds of steam (from above mentioned steam vents and the growing lava dome).

Steep slopes were handled by using a climbing stick. And good boots.

From the top crust, we could look down - very carefully, as per permit cautions - and see the very active dome.

Both of us at the top, enjoying some rest and snacks. The angles were such that one felt compelled to crawl or sit down firmly to avoid tipping off the edge.

The crusty edge at the top of Mt. St. Helens. Climbers were warned to not approach the edge as it could be thin. And then - volcano bait.

This girl after the hike. Hot, tired, and ready for real shoes. Dinner that night, whatever it was, tasted excellent.

We both loved the physical and mental challenges of scaling Mt. St. Helens. There was danger, yes, and excitement. Others whipped past us (us going up, them trotting down) in a race. Some moved at a slower pace and were so content. Beautiful views of surrounding mountains - Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. Hood - connected us to the entire mountain range. We felt the pride of accomplishment and the pain of success. Climbing mountains is hard work. But the rewards are immeasurable.

That reminds me of life. It's hard work. But worth every struggle.

Where Have All the Snowflakes Gone? Drought Year on Tap - What I'm Doing to Help Stretch Water Resources

It's absolutely true in the northwest. We are in a drought. The Evergreen State may not be so green this year. (But if you intend to visit, we have plenty of great activities, attractions, and adventures to enjoy. It will just be dry and hopefully not as many people will be watering lawns.)

On a recent motorcycle ride, we traveled up Chinook Pass. Usually Chinook Pass is open for summer travel by Memorial Day Weekend (this upcoming weekend at the end of May). This year the snowfall was so scant and light the road crews were able to clear the roads several weeks early.

The good news is the pass was open. Traffic was light. Snowbanks were minimal. Mosquitoes were not yet in force. It was a gorgeous day.

The bad news is . . . well, the snow was almost non-existent except at the top. And the snow at the top was barely a skiff. The hillsides and trees were mostly clear of snow and moisture. The music of multiple waterfalls did not chime in our ears as we rolled by. Actually, on the motorcycle, we can hear waterfalls and smell the wonderful fresh water cascading from both above and below the road. But not this trip. Few, weak, and far between were the rushing signs of spring.

If the snowpack was that invisible to my eyes, the bodings of a long, hot, dry summer sang ever louder in my ears.

What can we do?

Here are a few choices we are making and things we do to make the water stretch. Not extreme yet, but if we all adopted at least a few measures, maybe we won't get to extreme.

~ Prayer. Really. Who owns - controls - the water of a thousand hills? (I know, the Bible says cattle of a thousand hills, but God owns it all.) Prayer is the only guarantee.

~ Stop. Watering. Every. Day. My yard is on an as-needed basis. The lawn is last. The garden is first. We do not program the sprinklers to go off each day at 6 AM. I turn them on when necessary.

~ Spot water. I know the hotspots in my yard. I hit those first and let the rest wait until water is absolutely required.

~ Don't let water run off the yard into the gutters, streets, driveway, or other moisture wasting concrete features. Oh, this is one of my top irks. What a waste! I just read about it in the paper this morning. In our city, the act of overwatering and letting streams of water pour down the drains is illegal. Homeowners are liable and can be fined. Good to know, good to know.

~ Ditch some grass. I'm working on my honey about this. It's a slow process. But when we build our new small home, there will not be much lawn. If any.

~ Plant trees for shade and less water evaporation.

~ Recycle whatever slightly dirty water you can (gray or other used water) to water outdoor trees and plants. This might not work all the time, but even a little helps.

~ Wash clothes only when the machine is full. Wear outfits a few times instead of washing each and every time (unless you work, say, at the sewer plant or outside and sweat a lot). This will also extend the life of your clothes.

~ Take short showers. Very short.

~ Quickly do the dishes.

I don't mean to preach. But I am concerned. If we all paid attention, we could ease the water supply issues and help out the farmers. I do so love to eat, don't you?

What are you doing to conserve water? I would love to hear! Maybe I can add your strategies to our plan. Thanks!

Changing the Name

I'm changing the name of one of my favorite activities.

The hubster and I love to get away to the mountains and hit the trail, any trail, just give me a trail...Hiking is a wonderful relaxation for us.

Nature. Fresh air. New scenery (or familiar). Pines. Trees. Birds. Water features. Splashing fish. Bugs. Rain. Other noisy outdoors-persons (female in our most recent case, with their fighting in the water dogs). Stumps. Fallen trees. Roots. Dirt. Mud.

What a list! Regardless, we love getting out there to see God's Creation.

I'm also very good, lately, at implementing my own drama. Camera in hand, I creep carefully up and down the dirt and pine needle paths, sneaking down to the lake's edge - Cooper Lake in this instance - clicking pictures and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Until I found the log. It was thigh high for me, and had fallen over the trail. Sure, I can handle the camera AND climbing over the bark-free trunk.

Neither leg made it. It was a slow-mo two part classic fall and wished we had the video going event. My first leg going up and over slipped on the wet bark, throwing me half over the trunk, while the last leg scrambled to join the party on the other side of the tree. When the second leg made the leap, it came into contact with a slick rock and ground dust, sliding and bumping me face and knees first into a clump of shrubs.

But the camera was fine, although the lens cover fell into the dust. Mostly, I think, I kept the camera shoulder high (as opposed to doing anything to break the fall and personal one on one time with the ground and shrub).

The hubster, right behind me, grasped vacantly at my loose jacket, which was unzipped and provided nothing to grab. Neither could he leap in a single bound the tree trunk and beat me to the other side and catch me. He just watched the excitement, holding onto a piece of jacket shoulder, waiting for me to hit bottom so he could help me up. (He did feel really bad to not save me from myself...)

So I am renaming my hiking hobby to Falling. Whenever we go to the mountains I shall tell people we are going falling. This is not the first time. It seems to be happening more often.

On the list, new shoes with good tread and a longer camera strap so it can rest on my shoulders and not in my hand.

Falling, here we come.