Fall is the only season that makes me stop.  And once I stop, I realize that I’m fortunate enough to have a life filled with too many happy moments to count.  The season’s atmosphere and all its different nuances are metaphorical for change and new chapters.  One can’t help but accept the fact that life is moving forward, and at times moving so fast we forget to reflect and be appreciative.  Don’t worry; this isn’t a pre-thanksgiving be happy for everything blog entry.  But rather, a blog entry about my appreciation for those moments that make you pause in awe.

I don’t think it’s a secret that I try to “burn the candle at both ends” when it comes to how I live life.  From seeing my parents’ worried faces after I party three nights in a row, to being up at 6 am to finish my to-do list at a decent hour.  I’ve learned that you can’t have everything if you don’t approach both scenarios enthusiastically.  Even though you don’t always get everything, at least you went down trying.

There are lots of people who live this way, and we all have an appreciation for the other one who pulls it off.  The approach makes memories great because you know you gave your all.  And in doing so you don’t have to worry about having regrets.  This makes going back over those memories, or looking back at the photos documenting everything, painful.  Happiness and emptiness hit at the same time, making my stomach twist and pulling a tear.  I can’t believe it’s already gone, and gone so quickly.

Eventually the upset stomach subsides.  Life charges forward and you take on the next challenge.  But it’s a beautiful thing that those experiences are powerful enough that they’ll affect you forever.  It’s a sign that you’ve lived.

Fall has this affect on me.  It’s the slower season when I can almost catch up with life.  The crave for comfort food, family time during the holiday season, and the mix of the colors with drastic changes in weather all pull a warm feeling.  Then, when all this comes at once I randomly break down in tears.  (It’s almost as beautiful as a plastic bag floating around in front of a brick wall…oh wait.)

I believe Kerouac was on a similar train of thought in On the Road when he writes,

“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from the people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?–it’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

For me, in that situation, that feeling is usually the turning stomach that I described above – sad to be leaving people behind, nervous to not know what’s coming up, looking forward to the next chapter that is inevitable.

Here’s to fall, which is now if full force, a prost.  May your tears be joyful ones as well.

~ JDR ~

I always find it interesting how people feel that moving away is the best solution.  If you grew up in LA, Portland is the answer to still be cultured but avoid the materialism.  If you grew up in Idaho, then Colorado, Southern California, wherever, they all offer the answers that you couldn’t find at home.  When people tell me they want to move to X location my first reaction, which I keep to myself, is, “Why?”  Or, “Ick.”  And I find my mind completely closed.  Within the few seconds of those conversations I realize that I need to let go – let go of them, let go of the thought that my home is the best place to be.  In a way it’s just me being selfish because I don’t want to lose my friend.  I’m like the over protective parent that won’t let their son make the jump.  It’s been tough at times, but I learn better every day that you have to let people explore, go to new places, fail and pick themselves back up.

I had a very fortunate upbringing, which allowed me to travel all over the world and spend a lot of time in all corners of the United States.  (Except for Texas, and I still don’t have a desire to visit.  See, close minded.)  I forget that my friends haven’t spent time in Georgia, or Washington, or Vermont.  I’ve had the chance to go there, see what I love and don’t like about the area.  This has enabled me to see that for me, personally, Idaho holds what I want.  However, without my parents, the scholarships, sponsorships, I wouldn’t have had those experiences.  If my parents didn’t support me 100% when I said I wanted to go to school in California, I would still be wondering if the state held the answers to all of my questions.  My parents let me go without passing judgment, it’s time for me to do the same.

Part of my problem is that I love where I live and I absolutely love my life.  Sometimes I wonder if my friends are crazy because they don’t see the same benefits as I do to where we live.  Not really, but it’s hard for me to understand living in the heart of a large city.  As my friends leave, I learn better every day that it’s ok, that it’s for the better and the person will grow from the experience.  If all goes well, they’ll be back, like me, and be happier for it.

So to those of you who have left recently, or will be leaving soon – live it up.  Be irresponsible every now and then.  Buy into what they say and check it out for yourself.   Just remember to observe so you can learn along the way and figure out what really makes you the happiest.  At the end of the day that’s what’s most important, waking up and looking forward to the next adventure, even if it’s just the next day at work.  I look forward to hearing about it all along the way.

One of my favorites from Kerouac to conclude…”What is that feeling when you’re driving away from the people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?–it’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” Jack Kerouac

~JDR~

P.S. This all may sound really cliché, but sometimes we need a reminder to listen to the clichés.  Getting stuck in our daily routines we forget to take a moment to lift our head out of the work and drama clouds and look at the big picture.

Post ride 1 with the bike.

I spent the first two months riding by myself, building up strength in my kayaker legs and learning trails around the Boise Foothills.  Eventually, I wanted a veteran to show me some trails that I hadn’t seen, so I reached out to my buddy Roger Phillips – the famed Idaho Statesman Outdoors writer – who knows Idaho mountain biking as well as anybody.  That cool, sunny evening Roger hoped on his new Santa Cruz bike and took off, leading me down the trails around the Eagle Velo Park.  Within seconds I realized the last minute tune-up I did before Roger got there was a huge mistake…

From riding across creeks and whatnot I had some buildup on my brakes, which caused an awful squeal every time I gripped them to slow down.  Normally you would use some rubbing alcohol to clean the brake discs and abate the noise.  However, at the time all I had in my truck to resolve the screech was a cleaning/lubricating solution that was designed for the bike chain.  My theory was that by not shaking up the solution I would just get the “cleaning liquid” on the rag and could then clean the brakes.  My theory was wrong.

However, at first the theory seemed like it worked.  As Roger got ready to ride I cruised around the parking lot testing to see if the brakes still squealed.  The noise had stopped, so I was stoked.  At least until I hit the trail.

Roger, clueless to any of the above, took off down the trail at a good click, looking for that adrenaline rush that leads all mountain bikers to clip into their pedals.  Problem was, this pace was a little too fast for my “recently tuned” bike.  I spent the next hour and a half trying to keep up with Roger, doing everything I could to stay on the trail.  But I could never slow down no matter how hard I squeezed the brakes.  Every turn I ended up busting out of the single track and nearly going over the handlebars as I crashed through the sagebrush.  At one point Roger even passed me and shouted something along the lines of, “gotta watch out for those hairpin turns.”  Right.  And watch out when you put grease on your brakes.  It was like I pulled an April Fool’s joke on myself in mid-March.

Roger is just now learning about all this as he reads this post.  I couldn’t admit to my stupidity the day of the ride.  After surviving the experience and then really cleaning my brakes once I got home, I realized the story was too good not to share.  If you can’t laugh at yourself, then life probably isn’t going to seem all that fun.

Whether you’re in the market for a new bike, or whether you’re about to go for one of your first rides of the season, keep in mind that greasing your brakes is not the most Danger Ready way to hit the trails.

~JDR~

Her statement about investing in passionate youth hit me because I realized how rare it is that companies actually take such risks.  One example of what she’s referring to? This company just put me, a 25-year-old, in charge of marketing for Idaho and Western Montana – not necessarily a small territory.  For most companies, that would be unthinkable.  Those in charge would only be able to focus on the consequences instead of the possibilities.  It’s the same thing that separates professional athletes from hard-core recreational athletes.  The professional skier looks at a mountain and sees a clean line.  The recreational skier sees the line, but is blinded by the surrounding cliffs and hazards and opts for a different route.

Project X, a risk taken to earn gold in Vancouver.

This blindness in the business world always seems to come with rigidity.  Most companies and bosses lack flexibility and therefore limit themselves from being able to reach a new audience or do something that will truly make an impact.  They plug, or race depending on the type of business, along the same path and merely run in circles because they’re afraid something might break if it’s not done the same way they’ve always done it.

Creativity is the next thing to go in this cycle.  When someone accepts the cliché, “gotta pay your dues, kid” and spends years trying to attain a level of power where they can make a difference, they’ll get burnt out and stuck in a rut before they can say, “I quit.”  They’ll only produce the same thing that their predecessors have done for years beforehand.  And I would venture to guess that, that creative fire is hard to re-ignite if it’s been at a smolder for a long time.

Fearing risk yields blindness, which brings rigidity and eventually suffocates creativity.  Invest in younger generations and let their ability to burn the candle at both ends take its positive toll on your business.  Do so in a way that makes them feel valued versus disposable and you’ll have yourself a long-term employee.  Life’s too short to spend it being scared.

Now, before you go off and get too fired up by that intro, take note that my father is a veteran.  Confused by life and facing what seemed like an ominous future, a new pair of boots, 13-grand and a gun seemed like a pretty good alternative.  Lucky for my family and all of the lives he has touched, my dad made it home before something tragic happened.

After watching a video recently this whole troop-supporting concept hit me in a new way.  I’ve never experienced, and can’t really fathom, greeting a family member after coming home from war.  What if I sat here waiting for my sister to come home?  If she ever would…Seems so obvious, but it’s not.   As I mentioned above, support our troops has always had a connotation of, “I can’t believe they volunteered.”  It’s not that I didn’t support them, I just never thought of support our troops on an individual basis.  This video led me to let go of the pre-conceived ideas and beliefs that my family, personal community and I had created around it.

Thanks to @intellijen (who I still don’t know but hope someday that will change) shared the video below via Twitter, and thus helped me arrive to this epiphany.  For me, being a dog owner, this silly two-minute clip gave me a new outlook on the sacrifices our troops make.  Rule out the government, freedom, etc…what about the pets?  How would it be not seeing your best friend (in my case, Wyatt) for 14 months? How would the reunion go?  Look at these guys!  They can’t get enough!

I struggled to keep the tears back while sitting in my office, I’m guessing you’ll do the same.  Here’s to remembering to appreciate what’s in front of us.

http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=147_1223108811

Happy Monday.

~JDR~

About six years ago I went upland game hunting for the first time with a dog – a bonafide bird dog.  I’m not talking about that neighbor with a mutt that fetches a ball, nor that neighbor with a retriever that has never had a mouthful of feathers.  Ike, a German Shorthair Pointer, showed me the beauty of a working dog and he consequently sparked my curiosity and desire to have a dog.  But like Wilson Rawls writes, “I didn’t just want any dog, I wanted a huntin’ dog.”

Last fall I finally took on the challenge of training my own bird dog, Wyatt D.R., a Brittany.  I dumped my savings account (which didn’t include much), got a 0% APR credit card and a few books on how to train bird dogs.  I was about as ready for my adventure as a virgin heading into a candle-lit room on prom night.  But I wasn’t deterred; nothing was holding me back from that bundle of puppy fur and my attempt to make us a successful hunting team.

It’s one thing to have an obedient pet.  I know how much work it takes and I commend anyone who has a pet that is moderately well behaved.  However, those with true working dogs take training to another level, working with their companion for years after puppyhood.  This concept and realization was lesson #342 from my bird dog adventure.

Resting after a long day.

After 16 months of training, eight training books, hundreds of chased birds, incessantly pestering friends for advice and countless moments of frustration (aka lessons on patience), Wyatt and I finally put it all together.  Half-way up the Salmon River hills on a perfect upland game day (cool temps, blue skies), Wyatt went on point, perfectly poised like a statue, confident that I’d soon be there to flush his located birds.  And this time I actually had a good shot, meaning Wyatt got to see one of his pointed birds hit the ground.  It was the quintessential scenario we had been working towards – we couldn’t have been happier.

While the scene above may seem morbid because a bird dies, and thus many people criticize the sport, it is actually a beautiful process that everyone should observe at least once.  From seeing the dog in its element, completely happy working the field, to seeing how much effort it really takes to put a little dinner on your plate, there is a place for hunting.  At least I know my meal is truly organic and I understand that a being had to give its life to fill my belly.  More on this subject coming…


Appendix: How pointing dogs work

As a pointer, Wyatt’s job (and really his ultimate joy in life) is to find birds and “point” them once he knows where they are.  Pointers run non-stop, scanning and working the hillside looking for bird scent.  When they finally get on strong scent and locate birds, they freeze.  Literally pointing at the bird with their eyes and nose, not moving a muscle until the hunter arrives to flush the bird.  A well-trained pointer will hold still for as long as five minutes, and maybe even longer, awaiting for their person to do their job – shoot the bird.  However, this process is easier said than done.  The puppy doesn’t leave the womb staunch on point, and every dog has a mix of instincts, personality and level of maturity that affect how you’ll get to the stage where the dog consistently points the bird.

Later in life, when I was about 13, I experienced my first real rock show.  Sadly, but also amazingly, my concert virginity goes to MC Hammer.  However, Hammer Time wasn’t what sold me on live music.  It was that atmosphere that filled the stadium as Mick Jagger ran around on stage expounding about how he couldn’t

get no satisfaction.  But what was a teenager doing hanging around the sex, drugs and rock and roll?  Despite the fact that my sister was 15 and I was barely a teen, my parents saw the concert as too good of a show to pass up.  So they did what any rock-loving couple would do with their teenagers when The Stones come to town, buy them tickets, even if they can’t sit in the same section.  That concert also happens to be the first time I was offered pot.  And like any rebellious teenager I immediately declined, started crying and found some cops to whom I could report the illegalities.  I guess D.A.R.E. worked a little too well…

The Rolling Stones weren’t what set off my eternal appreciation for loud music, though.  No, even with Mick Jagger live there were a couple of other songs that were my inspiration.

First Influence: “Should I stay or should I go” by The Clash
It was a sunny afternoon, fall if I remember correctly.  My dad wasn’t home so I spent the afternoon exploring the wonderful world of mischief – a rare opportunity.  Finally after an hour or so I saw my pops sitting on the curb outside of our house, post-run, sweaty and with his yellow Sports Walkman blasting noise.  Upon greeting him at the curb I noticed the music and tuned into the beat, I couldn’t resist asking what he was listening to.  He rewound the tape a few seconds and then hit play, making The Clash’s “Should I stay or should I go” blare into my ears.  20-seconds into the song I was hooked.  That intro guitar riff captured me.  From that point on it was rock, and it was gonna have to be loud.  I’ve never forgotten that afternoon, and thus I’ll forever thank Joe, Mick, Paul and Nicky for my addiction to music.

Second Influence: “Dancing with Myself” by Billy Idol
At the time, around the age of six, I just loved the beat to this song.  I had no idea what Idol was singing about but that didn’t stop me from doing somersaults around our couch as fast as I could.  I mean fast somersaults. Or, at least it felt like it.  The mixture of being slightly dizzy, expending a lot of energy and just letting the song reverberate through my veins was almost too much to handle.  I couldn’t get enough of it.

19 years later I listen to the song and still get the urge to drop down and start rolling my way around the room.  Also 19 years later, I analyze the memory and chuckle because of how much those experiences foreshadowed who I would become – a love for being dizzy, slightly out of control, inspired by music and only thinking about the moment.  All of which are feelings that adults need powerful experiences to reproduce.  For me they happened to be kayaking, girls (and the pursuit), learning, dancing, alcohol, breaking rules, the list goes on…  Thank you, Billy.  I’m now very comfortable dancing with myself and being sure to enjoy the party while I’m at it.

Third Influence: “Bad to the bone” by George Thoroughgood
Yes, you read that correctly, influential song number three, “Bad to the bone.”  I vividly remember driving to the Ocoee River with my dad as he let George crank this classic out of the speakers.  It was always a difficult couple of minutes for me because I could never figure out if I should continue being a nervous wreck, worrying about running the Ocoee, or if I should give into the tune and just rock out.  Fortunately George was always able to temporarily blow away the butterflies in my stomach and allow me to enjoy the moment.

That song always brought great moments for my dad and me.  No matter where we were he would turn up the volume and we’d escape into our own world of rock – father and son feeling bad to the bone.  Little did I know the lyrics also portrayed a slight reflection of my life to come.  If you ask my parents what it was like to raise me they would be the first ones to admit that right after I took my first breath the head nurse told everyone to leave me alone.  And without giving away too many secrets, I can admit that throughout my life I might have been able to make an old woman blush and a good woman steal…True or not, goofy or badass, you have to admit that Mr. Thoroughgood created a masterpiece.  If you listen to “Bad to the bone” and don’t have the inkling to move or feel a little more confident in your dance steps then I’m sorry to say, you don’t have rhythm embedded your soul.

So what songs inspired you?  What beat makes you want move?  You never know, it might just be the tipping point of giving you the confidence and motivation to make your next big accomplishment.

Rock.
~JDR~

I met one of the most inspiring men the other weekend. For him, I’m sure my brief interaction was no more than a flash in his entire life during which my existence fizzled away just as fast as someone else changed the subject. However, for me it was much more because of what he represents – passion. Only someone like this man, who whole-heartedly cares about what he does, is able to accomplish what he has and be where he is.

Tom Kelly is the Vice President of Communications for the U.S. Ski and Snowboard Team. As mentioned above, my introduction to Tom only lasted seconds. Beyond that, I only got to watch him give a presentation and interact with others for about an hour. But that’s all the time anyone needed to see that Tom loves what he does and there’s never a moment he takes the easy road to fulfill his role.

Everyday Tom Kelly wakes up to tell the story of our nation’s best athletes, which happen to also be some of the best athletes in the world. Granted, Shaun White and Lindsey Vonn are easy stories to tell that sell themselves. Who doesn’t care about world champions or gold medalists? Even without knowing him, I can guarantee that that thought has never crossed Tom Kelly’s mind. Every athlete that he talked about, past and current, he did so with the utmost enthusiasm. He believes in their story, he believes in the sport and he believes in the Games. His dedication and zeal for his job was refreshing.

Tom Kelly is fortunate enough to have one of the most extraordinary jobs in the world, which is part of what feeds the passion. You know you have a special job and that you’ve accomplished something in life when you are the first person to greet Olympic athletes as they cross the finish line. However, just like the athletes, I’m sure Tom Kelly has made more than his fair share of sacrifices to be in that position.

Sacrifice is an essential element to achieving one’s goals and setting yourself apart from the pack. In that sense, true passion is what leads you to be not just accepting, but wanting to make the sacrifice. This makes the long-term achievements and journey that much more gratifying.

Following your passion is definitely easier said than done. It would be great to just take off and only do things you like, but it’s not in the cards for all of us. Especially coming from a society that leads us all to buy more than we can afford. But that’s not an excuse to bob through life without thought, which ultimately inhibits your ability to recognize what’s truly important to you as an individual. Like the rest of you, I’m constantly trying to avoid becoming stale and dead weight at my job. Regularly I try to recognize the basics that feed my fire. Throughout every day I try to interpret and calculate the moments that make me motivated to live. And not just live, but live passionately and accomplish something while I’m at it. He doesn’t know it, but for that reason Tom Kelly has become one of my life-long teachers.

Smothered in smog

For years I’ve listened to people boast about their home and explain all of the details that make it so great.  I always understand and respect what I hear, because we all hold our homes close to our heart.  However, I’ve spent my fair share of time traveling, all over the U.S. and all over the world, and have experienced a huge variety of lifestyles.  None ever seem to match up with misunderstood Idaho.

When you think about it, your house isn’t close to much, except for maybe that neighbor on the other side of your fence.  Our nation has become so far spread out that we literally can’t walk to get anywhere.  Even biking can be a stretch.  Something has swung out of whack when your idea of a bike ride or run includes having to first drive somewhere to be able to partake in such an activity.

It’s not just with outdoors though; metropolitan escapes are far away as well.  Can you bike to anything in L.A. or Seattle?  How long does it take to get to the closest mall?  And better yet, that restaurant you’re supposed to lunch at, how long did it take to drive there after you were at the mall?  Living in a large city doesn’t get you close to anything – it just requires more driving in more traffic, or more time using public transportation.  The beauty of Idaho is that traffic doesn’t even exist.  An occasional wreck will slow us down, but that is nothing compared to how long most people spend in their car on the way to work.

I live in the quintessential Western scene.  Our landscapes and opportunities are what led the explorers further and further west and drove our country to stand for what it does today.  True mountains (not hills, I mean the big snowy ones) tower over Boise and the rest of the state, void of buildings and clutter.  Clean rivers leave Idaho farmers self-sufficient and sustainable each year.  Our lakes fill back up naturally every spring.  We’re still the home of the Frank Church Wilderness, which remains untouched and the largest wilderness in the lower 48.  A non-saturated business market in a wide variety of industries leaves plenty of potential for more Simplot’s and Albertson’s – entrepreneurs with a great product who can still succeed over the Cheesecake Factory’s and CPK’s that flood every city with monotonous shops and restaurants.

Granted, our political background could use a little work, but it’s only a matter of time before the blue creeps in on the red’s coverage.  But everyday that I hike with my dog in the foothills and watch him roam off of a leash, I’m reminded of why I returned to Idaho.  Every time I ski within a half mile from my house, I’m reminded why of I returned to Idaho.  Every time I can walk to shop at Urban Outfitters, or better yet, a boutique clothing shop, I’m reminded of why I returned to Idaho.  Every fall that I elk hunt and buy a cappuccino (even at a Starbucks if I really wanted to) in the same day, I’m reminded of why I returned to Idaho.  Every time I sleep on a Salmon River beach and can see stars and the Milky Way, I’m reminded of why I returned to Idaho.  Every time that I go skiing and don’t see Highway 70, I’m reminded of why I returned to Idaho.  Pretty much every day I’m reminded of why I returned to Idaho.

~JDR~

I’ve always held the highest respect for people who are humble.  There’s nothing worse than listening to someone jabber on about themselves.  Especially when you know a majority of it isn’t true.  Actions speak louder than words.  On top of that, actions discovered through a third party or an experience speak even louder.  The element of surprise creates a wow factor that overpowers any arrogant person who takes it upon her/himself to tell you about it directly.

However, in the end being too humble screws you over, and there is the predicament, being left in the corner with the ingenious idea that no one ever heard about.  Mastering the ability to balance self-proclamation and humbleness is truly an art – the exception, or fallacy of the art, are those who make it to the top without learning the balance.  Either way, they some how made it there, and being quiet wasn’t the road they chose.

Looking back, I realize that I’ve been struggling with this quandary since I was 15.  I spent years, hours upon hours, and no sleepless nights – true exhaustion leads to sleep, not sleepless stress – training to paddle amongst the best in the world.  At one point I was even considered the best.  I had every right to brag.  But I was too young to speak up and I was also too disgusted by the pompous athletes to want to speak up.

My mentors were always the ones who literally led by example – the ones who let their accomplishments do the talking. These are the people who only let their passion drive their decisions, the bona fide fanatics, which is what makes them so great.  This can still be a successful approach to the top, but it’s a long and slow road with little return. In the end, these are the people who end up in the corner while others capture the public’s attention. They take the back burner while others shine for mediocre and forced causes that are merely a façade.

This quandary is what was drove me to where I am today.  For too long I watched the other guy get attention.  Why was she the one in the limelight?  I wanted to master that ability to find the story, capture the people’s attention (including the media) and show the world a true story.  I wanted to learn what it took to give the diehard her/his story.  At about 17 my mental drive finally overpowered my frustration and desire to just be an athlete.  It was my turn to develop the creative yet functional story that no one had done before.  I had to let my humbleness go and learn what would get their attention, whether I was selling myself or pushing something/someone else.

However, wanting attention doesn’t give one the right to stop listening.  I truly believe you’re better off in the long run if you shut your mouth and just absorb what the world has to tell you.  At some point though, you have to speak up.  You have to reach out, you have to brag and you have to show that you or your story is worth something.  But avoid the too common mistake of going overboard.

The best way to go about it?  That’s something for another entry, so patience young grasshoppers and hopefully I’ll someday be able to answer the question.

~JDR~