We are NOT lost!

Snowshoeing in Rocky Mountain National Park – that sounded adventurous and snowy and fun. And I had the most important job of all… I was the navigator!! I take my responsibility seriously and told my trusting snowshoeing partner Kathy that she could drive with full confidence that I would get us to the right place! Bear Lake was the destination and I had the maps and was watching the signs intently. Well, except as we passed through the park entrance because I was savoring a few dark chocolate minty balls because a good navigator needs his energy. At a fork in the road that kinda looked like the fork on the map (map makers obviously goofed a little), I pointed the way and we veered left and roared up the narrow, more and more snow-covered road. It was beautiful and we were enjoying the drive but things just didn’t seem to match the map as well as I was thinking they should. A backhoe was clearing a huge snow drift that had covered the road and I started to have serious doubts while waiting for our turn to get past. I had Kathy turn around and explained that the maps were obviously old and I was worried that the world was flat and we might fall off the edge. I think she bought it. We went back to the suspicious fork we had passed before and after looking at signs carefully and seeing that none of them said anything about Bear Lake, I made the command decision (I WAS the navigator after all!) to go back to the backhoe and beyond. After retracing our drive to, and then past, the snowdrift-clearing backhoe, we were finally on our way. Several miles of winding road later, we came to a closed and locked gate in the middle of the road. That was weird. We were supposed to come to a parking lot at the end of the road. The map showed an entirely different highway that was closed during the winter, far from where we currently were so it was clearly not correct. At the driver’s gentle suggestion (that’s what I’m calling it, even if she may have turned a little red in the face during the “suggesting” – probably from the cold), I asked the only other couple at the parking area if this was the trailhead to Bear Lake. The guy started cussing about people getting lost (I think he was mad at the map makers) and the rangers giving bad directions (This is so true! When they asked if we needed directions at the visitor center, I told them we knew where we were going. The rangers were clearly wrong in believing that and should have given me directions anyway!) and said a bunch of other stuff that I didn’t understand because of the thick Coloradoan accent but I think he was praising my success in keeping us from falling off the edge of the map. I got back in the car and told Kathy that the people were lost and/or dying and/or frostbitten and needed us to go back for help. She asked where they were going on their snowshoes, but I diverted her attention by telling her the story of when I tried out for the football team practice dummy and we headed down the mountain we had just climbed. We waved at the backhoe guy and went past the crooked little fork in the road and made it almost all the way back to the park entrance station when we found a little road with a very hard to decipher sign that said Bear Lake in huge letters that one would have to be a giant to read, and an arrow pointing who knows where! Curse those dark chocolate minty balls! I swore off the evil attention-diverting candy for almost 3 minutes while I tried various very believable stories to explain my ineptitude with the map…

The trailhead at Bear Lake was a beautiful snowy sight and after I kissed the snowy ground we grabbed our equipment and headed out, though Kathy asked if she could see the map for a second and then she put it in her pocket. I guess she forgot to give it back to me. Anyhow, we headed up the trail, keeping cadence with our poles and smoothly trekking through the beautiful snow. Well, my poles were too long or too short and the cadence was a little off and my borrowed snowshoes were hard to keep from clacking together and tripping me – I guess there’s just not much you can do when you’re stuck with faulty equipment.

The trail took us across 3 frozen lakes and lots of stunning scenery. The map said the trail was about 2 miles each way, but I counted steps in my head and even though I lost count a couple of times (I did NOT fall! I was making snow angels! Who knew you were supposed to make them while lying on your BACK!) and accounting for altitude sickness, I counted about 13,500 steps, which is somewhere around 13 Utah miles. And every stumbling step was wonderful! Just before we reached the second lake, we met up with a snowshoer in her 60’s who was also enjoying the majestic view. Whilst we chatted about the scene before us, she mentioned that her husband didn’t want to go any further so she had dropped him back on the trail. There was an awkward silence as we contemplated the nefarious phrasing of that sentence and we slowly moved away from the nice lady… I asked if he might theoretically still be alive, kinda hoping she would laugh... She looked surprised and then told us she needed to go clean up some mess and she was gone. You really meet some really interesting people in the wilderness.

Yeti?

As we were nearing the final lake, we asked a girl who was going the opposite direction how far it was to the last lake. She told us that her “friend” just ahead of us had a GPS and he would know. She seemed to say the word, friend, in an interesting way and we wondered if they were just friends, or if they were more like friend-friends. If she liked him, or if she like-liked him. We met the friend as foretold and we told him that the girl we passed said her friend would help us. There was clearly a sharp look that flashed across his face when we said, friend. The girl came back behind us and immediately began telling him that we were making it up and that she didn’t say friend in the way we were relating. We sensed this was a good time to exit and continued to hear behind us the dreaded “friend” discussion that did not seem to be headed in a good direction.

The white clad Emerald Lake was nestled at the base of some tremendous peaks and just inspired me to pure giddiness! Which is not unlike inebriation, I am told. That’s how I explain the picture that has been circulated that “seems” to show me pirouetting on the wind-swept ice… I have no memory of the incident. The wind was whipping hard and cold so we soon were headed back down the trail. Though we were reveling in the beauty of the day, we had one more magical moment before us. We stood at an overlook for pictures and while Kathy was setting the camera up, a couple of sparrows flitted around the tree branches only a foot or two from her face! We were entranced by their tameness. Kathy kept trying to take pictures of either one of them but they flitted too fast. Then the magic happened… I held the camera while Kathy (now known as Snow White) held her hand up and snapped her fingers and a sparrow flew to her finger and landed, chatting on and on about how little food tourists bring and other bird kind of things. It was like Kathy was the sparrow whisperer the way they both stood there, birdo a womano, sharing this moment and providing us some magical conversation fodder for the rest of the way down the path. It was so fun to be trusted by these wild birds who obviously knew they were in no danger. Made me wonder why NBA players and owners couldn’t just take a lesson from these sweet birds and give one-fourth of their salaries to the school teachers in their respective states… And how maybe world peace is truly possible.................

“Wake up, Huffyman!!! I got you some mint hot chocolate.” I woke to find we were at a little convenience store in Estes Park and felt peace indeed. Mostly because Kathy knew her way home and the navigator was off the hook!

Traditions, Moab style

I love traditions! Thanksgiving is normally shared with family and friends and since my kids were not home this year, my friend Kathy and I decided to share the holiday with a bunch of potential friends in Moab, UT. We didn’t even tell them we were coming – we just showed up! The folks at the Arches National Park and the Moab restaurants were all happy to see us and made us feel very welcome.

We all have many hopes and expectations leading up to holidays, and all of my favorite traditions were fulfilled wonderfully! For example…

My mom always made the most wonderful yams and marshmallows and we kids always thought we were getting away with something by having ‘dessert’ during dinner. For Thanksgiving this year, I had this same feeling of cheating as I was surrounded by the yam-colored red rock reaching into the sky, accentuated by the snow-covered La Sal Mountains to the south. Hiking around and through the amazing arches of the national park and in between and over giant sandstone fins left me feeling like I was having the dessert of life (in the desert, no less!). At some point the exclamations “Amazing” and “Beautiful” became repetitious but no less meaningful. On the other hand, the outbursts of “Ouch!” when I brushed against the cactus by Navajo Arch and “Ahhhh! (thump)” when I tripped going down the sandy hill near the end of the Devil’s Garden trail were, fortunately, more rare.

Traditionally, while dinner is being prepared as well as after it is cleared from the table by hungry eaters in a scene that reminds me of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, sports on the television is a big part of traditional activities. I had the chance to continue this tradition by sitting back in my seat and watching kayaking down the mighty Colorado River. The competition was intense, as was the taunting…

“Huffyman is chicken!”

I was NOT afraid to point my kayak into the rapids! It’s just that the current and my paddle were taking me the other, less scary, direction. Not wanting to endure any more teasing, I aimed for the biggest rapids where waves crashed 8 or 10 inches high in some places! The bow of the kayak bounced through the semi-white water and at one point actually dove into a bank of water that washed completely over me!! And when I say “completely over me”, I mean it washed over the bow and some water fell into my compartment, enough to make me a little wet. It was CRAZY! Kathy and I kayaked through this crazy and lazy section of river in the deep shadows of towering stained walls of Moab rock and enjoyed sharing the time and space with our new friends, the hawk and the crane. You know how sometimes at the end of a great Thanksgiving meal, you look around at the remains of the feast and the smiles on family and friends and you just think how good life is? That’s what it felt like on the peaceful river with a terrific friend surrounded by some of the most amazing scenery on Earth.

The holiday pies that come out of the oven bring wonderful aromas to the air and the sight of the myriad varieties can be overwhelming to the senses… That’s exactly the feeling after the 2.4 km hike (it was only 1 1/2 miles, but 2.4 km sounded more impressive) to Delicate Arch. We arrived as the sun was just contemplating falling below the horizon and were greeted by a view of the white La Sal range seen through the majestic Delicate Arch. Exploring a little, we found an impressive view of a rock face littered with nature-carved holes and patterns, as well as a rock bowl the size of a football field. Two jets created art in the multi-colored sky and the magnificent arch stood powerful and tall, soaking in the changing colors for photographers and entranced sightseers as if it knew and enjoyed the role natyrally bestowed up it. We sat overlooking the surrounding landscape and just like trying to identify one’s favorite pie, our eyes were drawn from one favorite vista to another. We breathed in deeply of all we could inhale in our surroundings and thought that pie never looked so good.

The turkey meal is a tradition we hold dear and one we look forward to and power through with gusto! Kathy and I had the opportunity to be part of a meal that brought out radiant smiles and heartfelt laughter and even a few wonderful tears. There is a special place in Grand Junction CO that makes sure hunger is satisfied every day of the year with not only gourmet food but with love and hope. We found ourselves chopping and slicing and opening and stirring and frying and following orders from Andy, the chef with the perpetual smile. At a time of reflecting on blessings, ours that day was to partake of the love and gratitude of countless angels who made us laugh and feel like our lives all had a shared purpose. We were served and taught and went away with tears in our eyes for the love and heartache of humanity. When I say there were tears, I meant tears from chopping onions – 26 cups of them! Huffyman would not have tears from anything else!

So, all in all, it was a very traditional Thanksgiving with all the expected trappings and adventures. I kinda missed Uncle Louie and his traditional knife juggling act and the traditional trip to the emergency room, but it’s good to mix things up a bit every once in a while, right? I hope all your holidays were wonderful as well!

p.s. to Bryan in Littlestown PA who is in the battle of his life… Tradition says Bull Dog Tough, just as tradition dictates a podium spot for the toughest guy I know in one of the toughest races on earth. We are ALL in this together.

Highlights

Mid-October brought an adventure that I did not at all expect. It’s not that I didn’t plan for it carefully and pack everything I needed for the Common Ground Adventures 4-day cabin camping trip to Bryce Canyon. And I sure had seen pictures of where I was going and was excited to finally stand in the presence of the red and white filigree towers of sandstone. In spite of my preparation for the scenic journey, it was the people I traveled with that created a long-weekend trip filled with so many highlights that I can’t remember anything else.

Highlights such as…

..Bathroom stops that were HUGE events. EVERY time! Wheelchairs, walkers and canes and braces needed to be retrieved and dispersed and kind strangers opening the doors and smiling at the strung out brood of wandering would-be campers. So many individual stories and snacks purchased with carefully handled bills and coins. I grew to love these breaks.

..Competitive Clancy, who would lurch forward, threatening to break my protective hold, whenever he thought that another person was walking faster than we were. And his feet spinning those pedals like crazy on the side by side tandem bike we shared if he saw anyone trying to pass us. He pedaled like a maniac even when the chain fell off his side, which it often did. My grease-blackened fingers didn’t bother me at all. They reminded me of the joy it was to put the chain back on and to have the privilege of riding beside this sweet man.

..Wordless but not soundless Jessie and her animation after finishing a short bike ride together. She was making loud sounds and large gestures with her hands but I didn’t know if she was upset or happy! I was finally told she was signing, “Thank you” and was happy and I was taught the sign for “you’re welcome”, which I used frequently after that. This sweet woman was so laughingly impatient with me when I didn’t clean my oranges fast enough, and took pictures of everyone in camp incessantly. She also performed any task she saw that needed done with undying devotion.  Jesse came and went in her defiantly independent manner and created a little nook in my heart.

..The sweet romance of Amanda and Wally… She used him. Probably not on purpose at all. He loved it and did all she asked for, and more. He was so proud to have her attention and she was so proud that she didn’t have to get her own meals. Finally, the break-up:

“I like you”

“I don’t like you”

“I got all your food for you”

“Well, I didn’t want you to get my food”

“You had a crush on me!”

“You had a crush on me first!”

And time to move on. No hard feelings.

“Besides, I have a girl in California!”

..The events shared by a man using a walker to get around, of an auto accident 6 years before that left him walking awkwardly and having to work every day at talking. He was 42 on the day he told me this story. 36 years healthy. Now all he wants is for others to see him as a productive member of society. Independent and smart, his outer appearance belies a heart that craves and deserves respect. Once healthy and deft, every movement and action now requires effort and often pain. 36 years healthy.

..The hunched over young man in the wheelchair teased the leaders and was teased back. And when a guitar was played around the campfire, a sweet voice rose in beautiful song from the man in the wheelchair, making you forget momentarily that his very life depended on help from others almost 24 hours a day. Music caused spontaneous dancing in some and joyful singing in several. Seemed that the guitar played by one of the leaders brought common reactions to the group – and always smiles for everyone.

..The puppy that was tied up by the family in the next cabin over found a way to get loose and came romping over to visit without realizing he had entered puppy heaven. Kind, sweet and loving hands tentatively touched and petted and were licked in puppy joy. When the family came to retrieve him, their apologies were met with such love for the puppy that they let the campers enjoy the furry company for a few more minutes. It was so fun to watch the joy in so many eyes when the escaped pup found its way to a camp of love.

..Awkward steps do not always go as planned. One minute I was being pushed into a tree by a mischievous Clancy and the next, he was falling to the ground against my desperate attempt to hold him up. We both went down and my heart cried out as I tried to find a way to take the blow myself and spare my friend. But the moment happened too fast and a head hit the ground and I scrambled up in an instant to sit beside Clancy and held his head to my chest like he was a small child while I kept asking him over and over if he was all right. I had neglected my responsibility and I let him fall! Fought back my pained tears… Of course, he was gracious and explained how his left foot got caught behind his right and how that happens sometimes. Later in the day, while playing around, I told Clancy that he’d better do what I said or I’d kick him and push him down again. To my joy, he said to me, with attitude, that he was going to kick ME and push ME down!  He repeated this many times in the trip and I laughed with love every time.

..After the last campfire on the last night, I went to head to bed and was met with a big surprise hug by my wordless friend. I was touched by the easy willingness to trust and love. I didn't feel like I did anything to deserve the tenderness shared with me. The surprise I felt by the hug was symbolic of the way I felt during the whole trip. Surprised at how quickly we all became friends. Surprised at what I didn't know about various handicaps and also how giving and kind their hearts were. There was no other place on earth I would rather have been during those 4 days of dawn to late night work. There was some amazing scenery in Bryce Canyon, that’s certain. But the views paled when compared with the tapestry of love painted on my heart by the heavenly paintbrushes of my new friends.

Geocaching in the valley of caches

The Saturday was supposed to be a hiking day and I had really been looking forward to it, but when a couple of hikers came equipped with GPS’s loaded with geocache data, it was clear a new adventure was afoot.  My son had gone geocaching a few times and had returned generally unharmed (not sure if the strange behavior was from geocaching or just expected from a teenager. Started about age 13… ), so I was interested to tag along and see what this was all about. 

We headed up the Wind Caves trail, a route that takes one to the Wind Caves, a set of caves in the rock that was formed by wind. One of the geocaches was named the Wind Caves Cache. Got some clever namers at work! Not long after we started, we stopped, and the 2 geocachers told us geomuggles that there was a cache nearby. But I knew that before she said anything… I could smell it!! (Later I learned it was a sandwich from my previous hiking trip in my backpack, but for now, it was the scent of a foe! A pretty disgusting foe…) I was handed a GPS and after being shown the basics, I jumped downhill from the trail in search of my first geocache!! The screen showed the distance from the cache and as long as the number was going down, it meant you were getting closer. I found a spot where the number was really small then would get larger and then smaller as I walked around a tree. Didn’t make any sense. One of the geocachers said that sometimes you just had to use your eyes. I looked up, and there it was!! A large military ammo box at the base of the tree! Gleefully… I mean, majestically, I opened the ammo box to discover the treasures hidden inside. Someone thought I was taking too long and told me to lift some latch over some catch and twist it backwards twice or something like that. I knew how to do it but was just savoring the moment. Savoring for a long time. Kind of like I’m doing now in this paragraph. Finally open (she didn’t need to do it. I would have got it eventually), I was ordered to hand over the log book, which I quickly did. Inside the box were children’s books mostly, and a few teen and adult books. I wanted to read them all!! This particular cache was called the Library but I didn’t see any tables or chairs so I grabbed a book and plopped down.

“On to the next one, Huffyboy!”

“HuffyMAN.” I reminded. “And what about reading?”

Someone pulled the book from my fingers and put the book back in the ammo box.

“Library’s closed, Huffyboy.”

Before putting the box back where we found it, I was shown where my name was listed as one of the discoverers in the log book. That was very cool. And one of the geocachers was doing this challenge where she had to bring 100 people with her to find caches. Turned out I was number 100!! I was pretty stoked about that, and she was too, I think, cause she kept trying to verify it with her friend…

“Are you POSITIVE I didn’t already get number 100? Can’t we lie and say it was someone els…”

The end of the sentence was drowned out by my loudly singing out the tune to “Taps” in excitement for the quest to the next cache up the trail!

We found the geocache near the Wind Caves after enjoying the beautiful scenery created by the unique features of the cave and the gorgeous colors of the foliage around us. Exultantly, we headed off to the next trail, where we found 3 more geocaches. We tried to find another but after fruitlessly searching for 15 minutes or so, we had to give up on it. It was pretty tough to walk away from the quest because there was the feeling of failure looking above. We finally all agreed that it just was not there and moved on up the trail, just like George Jefferson.

This second path was the Jardine Juniper Trail and the end was marked by the majestic yet creepy Jardine Juniper that has been alive for an estimated 1600 years – which is slightly longer than the Rolling Stones have been performing. After taking some pictures, we headed along the side of the hill for about 50 yards to the indicated area of the last geocache we would be searching for. We ended up at the base of a small rock outcropping and the GPS’s seemed to say it was right there. We searched all over and thought we were going to come up empty again. One of the others climbed the outcropping and was about to push some big rocks over the edge.

“Hey, Huffyboy! Come stand where I drew the X in the dirt down there!”

I was looking for the X when he shouted that he had found the cache! Turns out we were seeing 0 on the GPS because we were almost directly below the cache, which was at the top of the outcropping and not the bottom. We were elated! Though oddly, the same searcher kept asking me to go stand on the X at the base of the cliff anyway… He really looked sad when I told him we needed to go so we could get off the mountain before dark. He must really love the geocaching.

It was a great day of hiking (almost 14 miles!) with really fun friends and a new hobby discovered. I love finding those ammo boxes now. When I was in Smith and Edwards last week, they had to pull me away from a big display… I knew one of those ammo boxes had to be holding some treasures!!

Feet, don't fail me now...

Dancing has not been high on my list of “Must do” items, but when one has been single long enough, AND is as inept as me (Huffyman), the promise of being able to hold hands with a willing female is too much to pass up!

My friend Ruth roped me into this event by suggesting we go to a Halloween party, then after I made all the arrangements to get down to Salt Lake City, switched to dance lessons at the last minute. So much for my incredibly detailed Ironman costume with the working flying doodad - at least when I jumped. We arrived at BallroomUSA just before 7 pm to find what the evening had in store for us. Turns out there was an hour of ballroom dancing lessons, followed by 90 minutes of open dancing to beloved ballroom tunes that talented dancers dance beautifully to, and uncoordinated wannabe’s embarrass themselves to. Any guesses on where I fit in?!  Following that, there would be some salsa and then a live band until 2 am. There were chocolate chip cookies and punch on a table so I agreed to give it a go.

The ballroom dancing lesson was really cool. It was great to watch the teacher move so fluidly and he was very supportive and positive… until I started…, um…, moving my feet. I kept putting my foot in the same place that Ruth had hers and I tried to help her understand that she was doing something wrong, but that teacher dude kept throwing the blame on me! I think he liked Ruth and was trying to get me to run crying out the door!! After Ruth dragged me back in the door, I tried the foreign steps again. We did things called waltzes and tangos and la cucaracha and Macarena and other traditional ballroom dances. At least I did. Everyone else was doing unrecognizable steps that didn’t make any sense.  The instructor was obviously having an emotional day as he started crying several times while helping me. Kept saying something like, “Odio mi trabajo!” over and over… I tried to console him to no avail.

Following the lesson, the open dancing was really fun, though Ruth kept putting her foot in the wrong place again! The owner of the studio kept trying to show me something but I didn’t understand why he was talking to me. He was doing his feet all wrong, just like Ruth, and he should have been helping her instead!

Finally time for the salsa but it turned out it was more dancing and not more Mexican food! This was turning out to be a really confusing evening. After Ruth’s toes had received the proper first aid, we stepped onto the dance floor where they had us make two circles – guys on the outside and girls on the inside – and told us we were going to be switching partners. Ruth must have misunderstood cause she started laughing with what sounded like glee… I tried to help her understand that we wouldn’t be dancing together, but she was already gone. We did a dance called the Hakuna Bachata or something like that – One of my favorite songs from The Lion King, though they really changed up the music cause I didn’t recognize it at all. This dance was a workout! The guy has to do most of the work which included spinning slow, then spinning fast, then some behind the back, hand trick (which got me slapped a couple of times) and then some other indecipherable arm and body movements. After each time through, we guys would move to the next partner in the girls circle. I think I was doing pretty well, because almost every partner I had was smiling real big when it was time to move to the next guy. And the 2 with the twisted elbow and the sprained neck were not my fault. I was having a lot of fun even when they had me start a second circle… with just me in it.

Finally the Salsa band started and they were really good. The dancing was pretty cool and crazy and really fun to watch. After I found Ruth hiding behind the drummer, we danced the night away! Or at least for 2 songs. Well, until the bald, smooth-talking gentleman asked her to dance. I have to admit he was pretty good, though he still had room for improvement. He was spinning Ruth and making all these fancy moves that didn’t look at all like any of the dances we had been learning. The crowd noticed and made a circle around them, clapping and laughing, obviously trying to get the guy back on the right rhythm. When the song finished and the dude kissed her hand and let her keep the flower he had placed in her hair, I could see she was glad to be done cause she looked like she was gonna pass out. Someone called it swooning, I think. Must be a Salsa word for “glad to get out of there!” or something.

All in all, it was a really fun night. I wanted to go back and try to learn even more, but when I called for information the next day and told them who I was, they told me they had gone out of business and even if I saw people dancing through the window, it was just some friends getting together and to please not knock on the door ever again. These tough economic times are hitting everyone really hard. 

Sometimes, falls are a good thing...

I had once lived in Utah County for almost 10 years and never heard of the Alpine Sliding Rock. But over the last 6 months (now living over 100 miles away, of course!), I had read about it and seen pictures and even video of people sliding down it. And due to a friend’s birthday party in Provo, I was able to finally see it for myself. What a beautiful little treasure hidden up a nondescript canyon east of Alpine UT.

My friend Beth shared her 40^th birthday with her husband and friends and I was not going to miss any party where I was actually given an invitation! (I usually hear about events after the fact, though I’m almost positive I am just accidentally left off the invitee lists) So a Friday trip from Smithfield to Orem was in order for the birthday party. I figured I might as well find something fun to do the next day so I contacted Benet, and adventurer who always had good ideas. Out of this discussion came the idea to go to the sliding rock and Saturday afternoon found Benet, Saint (an adventuring friend I had not met before) and me walking past the “No Trespassing” sign that indicated the start of the trail… Friends who break laws together have the most fun!! For the sake of clarity, I had previously read that the sign is posted to keep people on the road/trail and as long as visitors are respectful and stay on the correct path, they will continue to be welcome to visit the sliding rock. We’ll have to be civilly disobedient another time…

After a short walk up a paved trail and then about 100 feet up a dirt trail, the falls came into sight. This is a beautiful section of stream with several cascading waterfalls visible and surrounded by smooth granite carved by centuries of spring runoff inviting playful feet to splash around. This is a popular place with groups of families and friends coming and going regularly the whole time we were there. Though there were lots of places to play in the water and explore upstream, the crown jewel was the waterfall with the natural water slide that was framed by the surprising beauty of this lush hidden canyon. 

After watching a few sliders go speedily into the pool at the bottom of the falls, I knew I had to get up there and take my turn. I scrambled up the trail that led to the top and as I was preparing to go down the last steep gravel trail section leading to the stream, a small child offered to help me down by pointing out the places to step… I told him I was a capable grown-up and I could make it down all by myself! He said he was a scout and he was supposed to help old people. I’d had enough and proved to him that I was capable by sliding down the dirt trail on my behind, right past the little tyke! I looked back up and told him I beat him down which makes me better!! He just stood there slowly shaking his head back and forth. Kids!

So, there I was at the top of the falls. There was quite a good sized place to sit and scoot toward the gentle slope that marked the beginning of the death-defying drop into the water far below. OK, so it was only 15 feet or so, but in dog feet, that’s over 100!! A little girl behind me sweetly asked if I was scared. I told her I was definitely NOT scared. She started to tell me she was a girl scout and was supposed to help old… I pushed off and plunged down the slope…  Woohoo!! I bounced from one smooth rock to another and felt totally out of control as I finally plunged into the pool of water at the bottom… COLD!!! There was an electric shock as I was engulfed in the cold water and I jumped up as fast as I could! Though after only about 3 seconds, the cool wetness felt great in the heat of the sun. What a rush! That was the best waterslide I have been on, and definitely the longest natural slide.  

I made my way past mostly happy and smiling people (there were a couple who were complaining that my splash was too big – I say, if you see a big guy coming at you, get outta the way!) and made my way back up the access trail… Over the course of the next 90 minutes, my partners and I took turns sliding down the waterfall and we all did some exploring up the stream and we saw lots of people put aside any hesitations and just go for it! I expected to have a fun time, but this turned out to be a pretty special little place and I had a really great time. Just a step off the beaten path and an open door to a new vista of adventure, close enough for a quick afternoon trip. This is a highly recommended play spot for kids of ALL ages!

Oh, and please teach your kids to differentiate Huffyman from old people by noticing the gray hair on old people’s heads… Hmmm, forget that. OK, they can recognize old people by the wrinkles on their faces…Hmmm, that won’t work either. Forget it; just keep teaching your children to be nice to old people!

Play along wis me

Adventure, to me, is the reaching outside the bounds of our comfort zones to touch a moment of joy. Adventure can be found in almost any activity if we are stretching past the familiar and seeking new vistas. Yesterday was not a day of climbing mountains or rafting a raging river but Huffyman was part of the first steps of an adventure that will forever touch many lives. All it took is for a free spirited girl to assert her independence in choosing the man to walk beside her on the path of their shared adventure to open treasured windows that allowed views of an exultant heart …

I looked on her sweet face, all aglow in her smile, and felt lost as to how I should feel. I loved that I couldn’t keep her from climbing the tree in the back yard when she was 4. I loved that after falling on the rough sidewalk and getting the many scrapes cleaned and bandaged, she went running again, just as crazily as before. I cringed and I worried, but I cheered inside. When 5 or 6 years old and in the midst of some drama where reality mixed with play, the musical words spilled from that child’s lips that would define our relationship, “Play along wis me!” I’ll never forget the realization that this child was bright and playful and aware to an extent I have spent the last 15 years discovering. She reached out for me, the little girl with the bandaged knees, and I wrapped my arms around the beautiful daughter in the wedding dress… Tears streaming and heart singing and scared to let her go.

We all sat waiting, family, back at the house. Dave stepped out to applause, followed by Erin in her casual, after-wedding clothes. A couple. Married. Surrounded by smiling strangers who are now family. In another time, she is on a high school stage, alone. The spotlight accuses this girl who bows her head at just the right moment as the narrator reveals the end of the production and the crowd erupts in standing praise for the students who have just given their all and for the last girl in the spotlight who tied up the entire package with the most elegant ribbon and delivered it to all of us in poised fashion. I saw my daughter through new eyes that night. I was amazed at the power of this independent spirit in eliciting reaction from those viewing, and I was amazed at the talent I was viewing for the first time. I was seeing that this beautiful girl was so much more than my daughter. With radiant smile and a bouncy step, she looked at her new husband and her happiness was shared with this new audience. We cheered and I felt like the dad at the high school play… amazed at the love of this girl, at her capacity to give to others and to once again have us on our feet, cheering with all our hearts for her choice and her strength and that smile. Only this time the stage is shared. The beautiful couple.

Asked to pose with my married daughter, who was once again adorned in her wedding dress for the reception, I looked deep... I looked and saw a grown-up Erin. I looked and saw love in her eyes for me. I looked in my heart and saw nothing but mush.  And in her, all poise.  Time to let go. Time for another hug, wanting to hold on but needing to allow her to go. I love you. The words and the tears said the same thing and I walked quickly away… It was time to enjoy the girl and watch the path unwind from a distance. And just as you sweetly sang your request so many years ago, I will always be ready to “play along wis you”, Erin.

Nothing to fear...

I am a pretty cautious guy - an injurious history will do that to you. Of course, sometimes I forget how cautious I am and push some limits that allow me to find even more reasons why I should be cautious… These experiences have created a healthy respect for rocks that make my bike fall down and rapids that make my kayak flip and so forth. When it comes to heights, I’m not terribly fearful though very respectful. Heights can normally be controlled, in that we can choose to be extremely careful near a 3000 foot cliff by crawling on our belly to the edge so we can get a close look. Because of the choice involved, I do not usually feel fear in the face of heights. Unless the goal is to jump off the cliff. Then the fear just makes itself at home.

Tyler asked me to come with him and Mike and Steve, my mountain biking buddies, to go cliff jumping into a little out of the way lake here at the south of Cache Valley. I told him I would bring my kayak out to watch, but I did my cliff jumping back in college and it was scary enough back then! He sent me a YouTube video of people jumping from the cliff at Porcupine Reservoir, our destination, and it changed my mind. The cliff is steeply angled so you can jump from almost any height, from 6 feet to around 50 or so feet. The 6 foot cliff looked pretty good!

For the next few days, as I thought about the cliffs, I imagined jumping from 20 feet up and would go into an instant cold sweat! Tyler would visit me in my cubicle and talk about jumping and I would go into cold sweats. I woke up the night before and was thinking about the day ahead and went into a cold sweat. There was definitely some fear having fun with me. The time finally came and when I first saw the cliffs, I thought that this didn’t look so bad… Then as I got closer, the cold sweats were pretty steady. This was nuts!! I couldn’t help think that only an insane idiot would voluntarily jump off a perfectly solid rock through the air into the angry water below. I started climbing up to the cliffs…

It’s amazing how much higher distance is when you are looking down. I got to where the majority were jumping from, a series of heights we estimated to be between 15 and 35 feet above the water. Seemed like forever above the water! Ty, who, due to an unfortunate birth defect, was born without fear glands, announced he was heading to the highest point to jump. This was a small spot 15 or 20 feet higher than the next highest spot and reachable by a small treacherous trail. I followed Ty up just to see what it looked like. As I looked cautiously over the edge, I held tightly to a gnarled tree that was standing guard, trying to warn would-be thrill-seekers of their impending doom. The swimmers far below looked like tiny multi-colored soda cans floating in the water. Except that the soda cans were yelling for Ty to jump. He didn’t wait long before taking a giant leap forward and plunging downward… and downward… and MORE downward… and splash!

I carefully climbed down from the death-defying point to rejoin the rest of the jumpers-to-be. There were 20 or so people on the cliffs and in the water, most of whom I did not know. Peer pressure is a powerful force that we spend many years teaching our kids to avoid and overcome… So when I heard the comments from my buddies, “Huffyman’s gonna jump from the kiddie cliff!” and “Huffyman’s a CHICKEN!”, I was easily able to withstand the pressuring jeers. I only went higher up on the cliff because my equilibrium was off and I lost my sense of direction… NOT because I was being made fun of! I stood at the edge looking down at the water 1000 feet (just estimating) below, surrounded by other encouraging adventurers (“He’s gonna biff it”) and at the same time, totally alone on that precipice. A lot of thoughts go through the mind at a time like this… Mostly thoughts telling me to turn around and go home. But other thoughts crept in as well. Others people were jumping and they were still alive. I was told the survival rate was well above 84%, but I had checked the guest book and saw I was the 85^th jumper of the day with no deaths reported as yet… I had jumped like this before, though 26 years had passed, which was longer than most of those jumping around me had even been alive. I made it out alive then, so surely I could repeat that success. I had lived a good life, and had fought a good fight. I didn’t have a will. Dang! Finally, I quelled the thoughts and said out loud, “I have to do this.” Someone behind me said, ”Actually, you don’t have to do this.” I realized that was true. I didn’t HAVE to. But I WANTED to get past this barrier of fear so I did the only thing that could do that. I leaned forward and jumped through common-sense and the cold-sweats and into thin air… I don’t remember anything from that moment till I hit the water. I’m pretty sure I passed out and the water revived me. Anyway, I pushed to the surface to receive the cheers and adulation I obviously deserved. What a wonderful feeling to break the surface into the life-giving air! From high above me, I heard those wonderful words, “Get out of the way, others want to jump!”

Over the next little while, I jumped 2 more times, passing out each time and being revived by the water upon splashdown. I found that technique worked really well for me. One thing I learned in the couple of hours spent on the cliffs – almost everyone has a healthy fear of jumping off a sturdy comfortable cliff into open space. As far as I could tell, everyone who came to jump succeeded, though not in the same time-frame. Some took a few minutes to get ‘er done, and others took a couple of hours to get the nerve up. Small groups of friends became a larger group of conspirators, and counselors, helping each other find their own place of comfort. There was lots of laughter and encouragement in this group environment where, unlike most of life, it was impossible to hide your fear. There were several partner jumps with complete strangers that helped the fearful find their way past their own barriers. We cheered loudly when the hesitant finally took the plunge, always surfacing with a huge smile of victory.

It was a great day of overcoming fear and sharing the experience with a bunch of friends and strangers. Since moving past this cliff jumping fright that I was held down by before, now when I think about leaping into water from the rocks, I… break into a crazy cold sweat! 

Man vs. Mud

Man vs. Mud was the name of the event. Sounded a little foreboding, as if the mud was gonna morph itself out of the soggy dirt and thrown you down. I would soon come to realize how true that was! It was also billed as a 5k, but other than the course distance, which was liberally spaced with obstacles or slides and mud, there was no real racing and not a lot of running. Just a whole lot of people having a whole lot of fun!

There’s nothing like playing in the mud to bring out the child that has been covered up with experiences and responsibility and work and so many other grown-up problems… The playfulness may be stifled at first, but after the first 150 foot long slip-n-slide, it’s clear that the child within is invited out to play! The slip-n-slide was the start line and really got things off to a fast start. Couldn’t help but laugh, bouncing down the hill uncontrollably! After collecting my senses at the end of the slide, Arilyn (the only adventurer I could talk into this goopy event) and I headed up the trail only to find ourselves in a 50 yard barrage of water cannons wielded by vicious spectators, most of them under the age of 12. Successfully navigating those enemy forces, we were feeling pretty clean until we came to the BOG…

Not sure how to describe this – It was a freshly dug 50 yard long pit, about 8 to 10 feet wide and filled with anywhere from 2 to 4 feet of water. You never knew where your next step would take you, or if your shoes would be sucked off by the deep mud at the bottom of the slippery and uneven pit. With no handholds to speak of, there was a lot of whoops and hollers and mud-slinging and laughing. At one point, I decided that swimming might be the best way to go. I dove forward and tried a little muck freestyle, then the slimy backstroke, and when it was clear I was still being passed, I started slinging mud to slow everyone else down. Now I didn’t start the mud-slinging, but I certainly didn’t do anything to slow it down either! Before getting out of the Mud Bog of Death of Death (legend has it that only about 2/3 of the sloggers made it out alive. It’s a legend I started but that certainly does not mean it’s not valid!), we were covered head to toe with mud from the bog as well as mud flying through the air. And that was just the FIRST mud obstacle!

We crawled, we swam, we laughed, we cried (Arilyn got a blister – I cried for her. She called me a baby)… One obstacle was about 50 feet of muddy water that was shallow for the first few feet, then dropped in surprise fashion to 3 or 4 feet deep! Halfway through, you crawled up to a shallow depth again but stepped gingerly because you didn’t know if there was another hole hidden under the murky water…  The best water slide was another 150-footer halfway through the course that ended in a mud pit. I hit the slide head first on my belly and splashed into the mud pit enough to roll a couple of times in the mud! This was livin’!!

After crossing a pond, there was a very slippery, boggy area to traverse. It was so slippery and uneven it was almost impossible to even walk on, so this was naturally where my partner decided to sneak attack and tried to throw me to the muddy floor. I put up a valiant battle but in the end decided to boost her ego by pretending to fall in an awkward fashion into the slimy mud. It’s just the kinda guy I am… It was fun to watch the group behind us battle it out in like manner for the king of the mud pit. My face was sore from laughing so much!

And just in case the slogging, crawling, sliding and falling hadn’t got you muddy enough, the finish was a 25 foot crawl through some of the most wonderful, sloppiest mud on God’s green earth! What fun to take some time and just revel in mud and let the inner child come out and play. It was an amazing event with a beautiful course and I definitely will be back next year. It would be a blast to get a group together to do this as a team. That is a blatant hint and invitation to anyone reading this! Let the mud fly!!

41.95 miles...

Saturday, August 27^th was a day for pushing limits. The bike was rolling fine and the legs were firing on all cylinders and I was feeling good in spite of the pain of the physical effort…  

“I think we just passed the start line, Huffyman.”

This was gonna be a long day…

Mile 1: Riding along nicely. Almost missed one of the first turns. My friend Cindy had driven up to Richmond from the big city down south to join me in the Cache Valley Century  Bicycle Tour and we started a little late, after most others had already headed down the road and there was no arrow painted on the road at the 3^rd turn. We had to rely on wit and keen observation to figure out the correct path. The 4 brightly colored guys standing by their bikes pointing down the road and yelling, “This way!  The course is this way!” were not in any way influential in our decision to go “that way.”

Mile 9.97: The first part of the ride had been through the gentle hills along the east side of Cache Valley between Richmond UT and Franklin ID. I was thinking this was pretty easy riding when we saw the first rest site. Since this was a bicycle tour and not a race, there was no rush with the food and the offerings were very good. I filled up my water and stomach and headed back down the road. The weather was perfect and butterflies were dancing across the fields on the side of the road. This was gonna be cake.

Mile 17: My back hurts. My butt hurts. The most I have ever ridden is 21 miles, but that was powered by donuts so this was completely different. I lost one of my riding gloves a while back so was using a pair of mechanic’s gloves. They kept my hands very warm in the warm sun (totally necessary) and provided a direct handlebar to road sensitivity (no cushion). My hands were going numb every few minutes and I was shifting hand positions constantly. But no complaining from me. I am tough. I can do hard things. Oh, and a bead of sweat got in my right eye and it was stinging…

Mile 20.2: Cute little 3 year old waving from her yard. I waved back. “Mommy, that man wides like I do!”

Mile 21: The 2^nd rest stop was 1 mile past the halfway point of the race. I wanted the rest stop at mile 20 but had to find the strength to go another mile past where I was mentally prepared to go! I was so happy to get off the bike and get a refill of Gatorade and stand up straight. I ate enough at the first rest stop that I felt it wise to skip the food at this one. But those Great Harvest Blueberry Dream Yummy bars (my name for it after tasting one) was calling my name… The second one wasn’t calling my name but it still looked inviting. The 3^rd looked at me funny so I ate it out of spite and self-preservation. Stiffness in the knees happened quickly so back on the bike and down the road we went.

Mile 32: Couldn’t go any further. A rest site was supposed to be around here and all I could see in front of us was that grove of palm trees and the beautiful lake… I shook my head and the view became grain silos and lots of asphalt in front of me. I had to stop to straighten my back and get a drink of Gatorade. This was a long ride. I only just realized it.

Mile 32.4: The last rest area before the finish. Glorious! The plentiful shade and grass were so inviting and I wanted to lie down and enjoy, but I worried that if I did, I would not be able to get back up again. So I filled my water bottle and had a bunch of orange slices. It was apparent that the last rest stop volunteers had radioed ahead and these guys had hidden the Blueberry Dream Yummy bars. Dang. Thinking about the lunch waiting at the end, I made my peace with the rest stop volunteers and Cindy and I headed out into the last, sunny, hot, overwhelming, sadistic and long final stretch.

Mile 37: About 5 miles out and I had to stop again. I sounded like Captain Kirk – “Must…stop…and rest. Must prepare…for…victorious…finish.” Cindy laughed, as did the lady riding the old bike with the fenders as she passed by, as well as the 2 older women who went by on their fancy shmancy roadie bikes, yapping (in between laughing at me) about what Susan the sister in law said after her boss said this and so on… The women were mocking me with their indifference to my pain.

Mile 39: I passed the 2 yapping ladies. I tried to laugh at them in spiteful victory but I could only get out a parched bark. They never slowed their conversation as if to show how little I mattered in their lives.

Mile 40.5: Passed fender lady. Barely.

Mile 41.3: Crossed the tracks and hit the hill up to the highway in Richmond. Up off my seat and hard on the pedals, I rode that hill with all the energy I had left. Less than a half mile left and I felt like I might make it before I completely fell apart. The hill was a killer and at the top I had to sit back down and shift into low gear for the next 200 yards to the highway stop light. It was the best I could muster. The light turned red just as I got to it. My knees stiffened as I waited. Cindy and another rider got to the light smiling. I glared at them hoping they would stop. Just as I reached the official stiffening point of my knees, thighs and back, the light turned green. Push, push, push… My mind willed my legs to go and slowly but steadily, progress was made across the street and toward the finish.

Mile 41.95: The finish line. A colorful line across the road and the single word, “Finish” painted before it. Such a quiet ending to the intensely personal and physical drama that had unfolded throughout the morning. But the pain became bearable as I kept repeating in my mind, “I did it. I did it…” I started out thinking this ride would be easy. Then I worried that I might not make it. And in the end, I pushed through and finished in quiet flair. It was indeed a great day.

Boy, did the lunch they had waiting for us taste good!

The Ball

It was a hot day in Denver Colorado and storm clouds threatened from the outskirts of the sky. This was the day I was to reach back into childhood days and open up a dream and catch a wish in left field that had taken 35 years to reach my glove.

Jeffrey, Lilli and I were in the Mile High City exploring away the dregs of summer and this night we were walking up the steps of Coors Field, where the Colorado Rockies play. It was our first time at a Major League baseball game and something I had wanted to do since the time long ago when the Oakland A’s reigned the league and I ingested every scrap of info on the team with an 11 year old’s enthusiasm. This day, as I walked out onto the pavilion overlooking our seats in left field and the meticulously groomed field, I was trying to soak in every sight and smell and touch. We made our way to our seats in section 153, seats 12, 13 and 14, 4 rows back from the outfield grass. Wow! We were there early for batting practice. The Rockies were on the field and batting and it was fun to hear the crack of the bat and watch the balls fly to the players laughing and chatting in the field and occasionally into the stands, where waiting fans converged in generally futile attempts to claim the prize. When a ball would come toward left field, we would all rise as one unit, willing the ball our way, gloves at the ready. When a lucky bleacher fielder would catch the ball, there were cheers from most, but if the ball were dropped, there were boos and embarrassment. Upon seeing this, Jeffrey told me if the ball came to him, he wanted me to catch it. I have to admit that the crowd kinda added a bit of pressure I hadn’t expected. A 7 year old fan stationed his self in front of us and kept up a constant dialogue with a couple of friends and no one in particular about the quality of a hit or the location of the next ball. Others were around us as well, but most were like me, quietly watching and waiting in anxious anticipation.

The actual ball - see the bat mark in the lower right.

The Rockies finished practicing and the Dodgers came onto the field. Jeffrey pointed out a few players he knew. We were having a good time watching the players and the crowd and then there was a crack of the bat that sent a ball our way. I was up in an instant and watching the balls trajectory… The sounds around me confirmed this was coming our way. As if in a baseball opera, the ball gracefully flew high into the air and then descended (floated) toward section 153, row 4, seat 14. I sensed others around me, pushing in, but it was just a background sense since all my senses were focused on a white dot in the air. I held my glove high in the air like I had done thousands of times in my life and in a glorious moment I felt the joy of a baseball hitting my glove and then being safely enveloped within the confines of that familiar leather. I had caught the ball! Such a simple thing, but my heart swelled with happiness. I was 48 years old but I was 11 years old also. And every age in between. There were cheers and a weight that I didn’t realize was there was lifted as I exulted in the fact that I had not dropped the ball when my chance came. My heart pounded with excitement as I shared the ball with my kids and the 7 year old in front of us.

Sure it was just a ball at batting practice, but at that moment, I was as happy as I’d ever been. I had not dropped the ball! I had waited 35 years for this opportunity and neither the moment nor the aging reflexes disappointed. I am so excited to be able to check this item the old bucket list! OK, this wasn’t actually on the list before, but it should have been. And now it is checked off!!  

Mary's Joy

The alarm clock went off at a little before 5:30 am and though I was excited for the day, I let the snooze button cushion the sharpness of the waking. I finally rolled out of bed, and got on the road to meet the Common Ground folks for a 6:30 departure to the Snake River in Wyoming for some white-water rafting. While I was still wiping the sleep from my eyes as I rolled through Smithfield, an amazing site met me – runners wearing reflectors and headlamps who obviously had been up a lot earlier than I had. Turns out they were going to pretty much the same place we were.


The Common Ground Adventures office was abuzz with activity as participants were filling out forms and loading gear and volunteers like me were doing whatever we were asked to do. There was a lot of excitement in this diverse group of 21 people heading out to play on the water. The drive of around 3 hours was kept active with conversation between Bryce (our driver and activity leader) and several others in the van. It was entertaining enough that I never opened the book I brought with me. When the river came into view in Alpine, WY, I was pretty excited. We reached our destination, rigged rafts, had lunch and deposited the second van at the shuttle point. We were ready to go!


There were people of all ages and abilities so most processes took a good amount of effort and time to get through. I did a lot of laughing as normal things erupted into humourous moments again and again.

I have to say that a young man named Keenan who was manager for 3 teen boys on the trip had his hands full with his active and playfully delinguent charges! We all got our life vests on and raft assignments and I pushed us off from the shore into the #2 position of the 4 rafts and we were floating the Snake!! Heather was our captain and I was sitting in the front of the raft by Mary, a young woman whose excitement could not be contained and whose eruptions of joy and squeals of delight kept us all entertained the whole trip. Heather was an experienced river guide and it felt nice to just relax and enjoy the ride. Even the smallest rapids were fun for Mary and her laghter was constantly contagious. I had been nervous about helping with participants with disabilities – I just didn’t know what to expect. Turns out that Mary led the way in the fun dept. and I just had to follow her lead! When the rapids had the raft surging up and down through the waves, there was no way to wipe the smiles off our faces.


At one point we lost view of the lead raft and ended up getting a little close to a rock wall in strong rapids on the right side of the river. As Heather tried to get us closer to the middle, there was a thud of some kind followed by an outburst (later repeated with delight by her crew!) and I looked back at a guide missing one paddle and an absolutely priceless expression on her face! Quickly, Heather regained composure and had another volunteer, Macie, free up the extra oar and they were able to quickly get it in place. While this was going on, we were gently bouncing off the right walls all the while in pretty rough water. Then the river pushed us across, right toward a wall on the left side that threatened to flip us over. Heather rowed with heart to get us heading downstream but the current was so strong and into the wall we were going. With mighty pulls of the oars, Heather slowed us so we just kissed the wall and then continued around it. Since Mary was in the front of the raft with me, she thought it was way cool that we got to bounce off the wall! Our safety kayaker who watched this whole event told us that he had recently seem 3 rafts get flipped by that same wall. We were stoked that we survived! And the kayak was also able to retrieve the lost oar so after a little yoga and breathing exercises, we were fully loaded and ready to rock the river again…


Most of the big rapids had names, but we didn’t know which were which because we were having too much fun. At one point, another raft that was carrying Mary’s mom and siblings got close and Mary and others in our raft carried out a water battle with the other raft. Some accused me of being involved but I was just bailing water out of the raft and didn’t realize the other raft was directly in the path of the water I was throwing! Mary seemed very excited at splashing water at her mom. Kept yelling (in amongst the laughter) something about getting her back for feeding her too many vegetables…


As we approached one of the last rapids, I wondered why there were lots of people lined up on the right side of the river. As the full rapids came into sight, it was clear this was the Lunch Counter rapids and these people were here to see us flip! Heather lined us up and we went into these waves that seemed taller and deeper than our raft with a vengeance and lots of excitement. The first wave covered us with spraying water and then we dove down into the next. Our guide kept us straight and we went through these crazy waves like pros, except we were laughing like amateurs! Mary held on for dear life and was smiling through the whole thing! As we settled into calm waters, we felt bonded and like a team that won the big game. In spite of penalties (losing an oar – 15 yard penalty, to be assessed on the opposite wall) we stuck it out and overcame the odds and we were working together and laughing together and floating together. Somewhere around the time I was revelling in our successes, we came around a corner and saw a ramp on the right side and a bunch of rafts lined up. There were no rafts down the river and we saw other rafts from our group on the shore as well. The realization hit that this was the pull-out and we were strongly in the current going the wrong way, away from our friends! Heather dug in to pull us out but the current was too strong. I jumped to the middle of the raft (after receiving captain’s order!), facing Heather and while she pulled with all her might, I also grabbed the oars and pushed with all my might. With the strength of us both pulling and pushing in rhythm and Heather pointing us in the right direction, we made slow and steady progress and finally were able to get into the large eddy on the right side of the river. From there, Heather took full control and we were able to get ourselves back where we needed to be. I don’t think anyone even noticed our little emergency, except maybe a couple of the teen boys who were thinking there was gonna be more food for them if we just kept going…


There were 21 smiling faces at the end of the run. You could see it was a great float in the eyes and the voices of all the participants and volunteers. After unrigging and packing and loading up, we took care of the shuttle and then headed home. Funny how quiet the ride home was compared to the trip up! After Bryce put earphones in to listen to a book, I pulled my book out and did some reading I hadn’t had time for in a while.


After we passed through Soda Springs, we started seeing the runners on the road that we had seen in Smithfield early in the morning! It was then we realized this was likely a relay race between Logan and Jackson (I later verified this online). We honked and waved at several of the leading participants as we thought it was pretty amazing what they were doing and wanted them to know it. After all, the organization I was with was all about getting everyone outside, doing the best they could with every ounce of potential they had, and that’s what these runners were doing as well. Along with these racers on the road, Mary, Heather, Bryce and 17 other participants and volunteers were reaching their potential on this day. It was a good day for quiet heroes. And lucky for me, they let me ride their coattails and enjoy the parade!

Donut Day

The alarm clock went off earlier than my mind was ready for on Saturday morning, but this was the day of the Tour De Donut in American Fork UT and I wanted to get there by 8 am to register and meet my teammates. After loading 3 groggy offspring into the car and about 2 hours of driving, I pulled into the parking lot where bright outfits and smiles were everywhere. I was able to pick up my registration easily and then re-assembled my cramped bike. Ol’ Hoo Koo E Koo had been shoved in the trunk of the little Civic and once I got the wheels back on, it was raring to go. This was my first bike race of any kind, but I had been attracted to this one for its uniqueness. Three 7 mile laps and in between the laps, you ate as many donuts as you could with each donut subtracting 3 minutes from your total time. I’m not a fan of glazed donuts, but any event sponsored by FatCyclist.com was calling my name!! And at this point in my life, I don’t ignore ANY calls!

I met up with my 4 teammates, Cindy, Tiffany, Rob and Al. Everyone was in great spirits and Tiffany handed out our team shirts – powder blue with the words, “Holier Than Thou” on the back. Anyone who knows Huffyman can see the obvious discrepancy, but the team accepted me as I was and I was grateful! There were riders of every age and some in costume. I saw several capes, teams had matching shirts, and there was a couple on a tandem bike dressed as a bloody bride and groom. My favorite team was the Reno 911! folks – they looked great!

Before the race, there was a short, quiet and slow memorial ride in honor of Brynn Barton, a 24-year-old cyclist who was killed in a hit-and-run accident in Salt Lake City on June 7th. Balloons in her favorite colors were released during the memorial ride. It was a sobering and tasteful tribute.

Finally, it was time to line up at the start and then we were off. We rode as a team, beaming in solidarity of purpose and camaraderie… until Al left the rest of us in a cloud of dust about 50 feet past the start line. The course was flat and the potholes were well marked (giving me something to aim at), as were all the turns which also had volunteers at each one, pointing the way and cheering us on. The competition was pretty intense for a while… I kept battling one rider, back and forth we went, jostling for position, until he yelled at the rider in front of us, “Mom, that fat cyclist keeps getting in my waaaayy!” The mom hissed at me and they both sped up out of sight. I enjoyed the scenery as my legs burned – I had forgotten to bring the sunscreen. Riding a flat course was heaven as I train on a canyon road near my home, so I was only used to uphill and downhill. It was a beautiful day on some terrific roads and lots of mostly smiling and happy people. Then I finished the 1st 7 mile loop and found the tables of donuts…

I had never seen this many donuts in one place before! Not even when I got the free hot donuts at Krispy Kreme!! (Where we stopped only to satisfy my KIDS demands, of course) I reached for a donut and started eating it. I asked for a napkin and no one seemed to hear me. Then I saw ways of eating donuts that I had never seen before. Wow!! One of the favorites was to take 2 donuts and squish them together and pour water on them. After I ate my first in the traditional manner, I did the squishing thing and sipped water to wash them down.

My goal was 4 donuts at each stop and once I downed the 4, I washed my hands with handi wipes and got back on the road. 4 donuts did a pretty good job of making me feel full and I felt it as I rode. After a mile or so, there was a loud burp from one of the riders near me. I don’t know who it was (no one would fess up) but I know that I felt a LOT more comfortable!

There were great things to see during the race. An unlucky rider getting a flat tire but another rider stopping to help get the repair done. Lots of parents with kids riding alongside. The call of “You’re doing great!!” from the volunteer at the corner right after the first road under the freeway. I looked around just to be sure, but there was no one in the immediate vicinity. Cool! I saw an entire family riding together – mom, dad and 3 kids. Dad pulled a trailer with a small future cyclist and both parents were obviously cyclists who were taking an opportunity to forgo competition and get their kids involved. Lots of good feelings everywhere along the route. The calls of, “Get outta the way, slow poke!”, reminded me of the high school track team… Sweet memories… Speaking of sweet, there I was, back at the donut tables again, ready to load up for the last lap of the race. My goal was to get another 4 down and I was barely able to do that. Seemed harder than the first time and by the time I was able to wash my hands, I was feeling pretty bloated (even more than I looked!). With my kids cheering me on, I headed back onto the course feeling a little less sure of my stomach and the turns and road bouncing ahead. “It’s for charity”, I kept repeating to myself, as if that was going to make my stomach happy. There were a couple of times in the first couple of miles where I wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t end up in the bushes… The feeling slowly subsided to a tolerable level and I moved as well as I could on this last lap.

Though I was nursing a slightly unhappy tummy, this was the last lap of my first bike race and I was feeling very happy! I had a smile on my face the entire race, but especially big on the last loop. I am not in great shape and I don’t have any skills to speak of… And I don’t have a real road bike nor do I have a multicolored riding ensemble, but I was here in the race and I was not making any number of legitimate excuses I could have made for not being here. There was a day not so long ago that I would have never found the time for this kind of nonsense. But today was not that day!! A normal guy out making the most of this moment in my life and for me, on this day and at this time, this was the best place I could imagine.

About 3 miles from the end, one of my teammates, Rob, asked if he could ride in my draft for a bit. Apparently, I created a great draft as several other riders asked if they could join as well! I could hear them back there relaxed and chatting and I believe someone even pulled out a game of Apples to Apples. All while I was sweating up a storm! Turns out my stomach issues made an appearance about this time and though I was polite and said, “Excuse me”, the drafting riders disappeared in a cloud of… hmmm… well, they were gone.

The last mile or so was a blur. I thought I was really going fast when I realized my glasses had slipped down too far. I moved them back into place and everything became clear again. Nearing the finish line, I saw my kids cheering wildly. What a wonderful sight!! Then I heard one of them yell – “Hey there’s Dad!” Never figured out what they were cheering about but at least they were having fun. The finish line!! Woohoo! I raised my hands high in the air with the joy of race completion!! Then frantically grabbed the handlebars before my bike went out of control. I’m gonna have to learn how those Tour De France riders are able to do that without falling…

My team greeted me cheerfully at the podium – where we watched other riders get awards. A big cheer went up from our team and others when our teammate, Al, was announced as the 2nd place winner in his age division. He announced during his victory speech that some of his competition had last been seen drafting behind a mystery rider before they completely disappeared… Crazy.

It was a great day and a terrific, well-managed event with wonderful volunteers. I hope I will be invited back again next year. I will definitely train for the donuts a little more…