The Aftermath

The Aftermath


   A home hit by the mudlside  

   On our way home from the airport during the summer heat, my husband and I were stopped by an unexpectedly long line of cars at the Hot Springs and Olive Mill intersection. Trucks clogged the roads; noise filled the streets, and rock piles spotted the empty lots. Several homes were still standing with walls gone, mud filling their rooms. Others were, boarded and had orange crosses. We turned right. Some yards off to the left had freshly planted landscapes, but most still had piles of dirt in front. By the time we were heading up San Ysidro, everything looked normal. This story tells our experience returning to Montecito six months post Mudslide. It’s about a crisis still in process.

       From Instagram, “First time up the trail…, the landscape is unrecognizable with black burnt trees covering the hillsides. Little flowers are trying their hardest to brighten the sadness …”

      At the open house, the desperate realtor asked, “Are people thinking about buying or selling? The Red Zone met the backyard of the home for sale.

      “Have you seen those streets at the end of Olive Mill? I drove through it, and it looks like it just happened.”

      “I’m sick of the trucks and dust. I stay home in the afternoons.”

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Mountain landscape before and after the mudslide.

      Our friends wonder how long the calls for evacuation will last. We’ll bike down a street and see the remains of flowing mud; now empty lots, massive piles of rocks, and dirt.

    Strolling down our driveway, out for a favorite walk, we got the biggest shock yet. We made our way to the Ennisbrook trail along the San Ysidro Creek. The routine felt familiar until we ventured up the reformed terrain of the creek bed. We witnessed its transformation for the first time since the February 8th mudslide. We recognized the old rock bridge still standing. The creek was wider, the new trail now the width of a tractor.  As we stepped little clouds appear at our feet, and coated our sandals with the fine powder dirt. The dust didn’t smell, but it clogged our noses. The trees were all standing; the mud was cleared, some homes were still fine.

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The Beekeeper’s house, still standing but destroyed.

    After 10 minutes, we found ourselves in an unfamiliar area and disoriented at a cul-de-sac. I felt like I had fallen on hard concrete. Looking up towards East Valley Road, the mud had carried away a whole neighborhood. The neighborhood had been mostly small mansions, with manicured landscapes that accentuated the built-to-look-old homes. But the only landmark was the beekeeper’s green house. Mud filled it to the windows. There were also half-destroyed houses, empty lots, and massive piles of to tell the story. That neighborhood, a part of where I lived, was now gone. Time was frozen.

    We knew, better than most, the disaster was coming. On Christmas Day just after the Thomas Fire, our family had hiked past the closed sign at the start of the Romero Canyon trailhead. It was hard to figure out the old route through the still-smoldering remains. We walked around burnt trees, black four-foot logs cut from trees that were still burning from the inside, many trees greens without fire damage. In areas, it looked like a black and white photograph due to white ash on the barren ground. A dead deer, half covered by a landslide, laid across our route.

    As the riverbed got steeper, a fellow trespasser was coming down, “I think you can make it. I couldn’t go further because I was alone and my dog was with me.” Not 100% reassured, we took stock of our will to continue and started up the steep hillside towards the fire road. One at a time, we crossed landslides from the fire. The coarse sand slid down the mountain as we hurried to reach the safety of a few trees that held up the hillside.

      Finally, at the fire road, we thought we’d have a safe way down; it would at least be faster than returning down the creek trail. We hiked around boulders on the road with exposed rocks threatening to land on our heads. We felt like running the final mile. At the bottom, still alive, we realized the seriousness of the next winter storm. Two weeks later, the rain came that brought down the hillsides of rock, dead trees, and mud.

      There’s a similarity between NYC post 911 and Montecito after the mudslide. In the 1980s, NYC was Gothic City, minus Superman. While living there, I saw pimps beating up their prostitutes while police cruised to the scene at five mph, met my first heroin addict and my first con man, and avoided parks at night. We had paid to watch a live sex act on 42nd Street.

      35 years later, NYC post 911, is a gentler, kinder place. Taxis have stopped their incessant honking. Homeless are a rare sight. Strangers are freer with conversation at fast food counters and bars. The parks, filled with workers and tourists, are green, safe, and closed after midnight. There is a relaxed atmosphere. A calmness has come in surviving and rebuilding.

      Montecito post mudslide isn’t there yet. The County has cleared most of the main roads, but a few are still closed. Rocks piled as large as houses still exist. Insurance settlements and building permits have not allowed rebuilding many homes. The Hot Springs and Olive Mill intersection just got the clear-things-out signal, and the remaining houses came down in less than a week. We have maybe another five years of rebuilding until the place feels normal.

    There will be future evacuations this winter and the next. People are back behind their hedges, but venture out to be a part of the recovery. I feel anxious to connect. People don’t want to forget. But life has a way of distracting. Our daughter’s wedding is in a month. I’m busy with that until I come across another pile of rocks and remember the loss.

The end.

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Returning Home

After three months of traveling around-the-globe, here’s the answer to a few questions:

Are you glad to be back?   From “Ithaca”, about Ulysses returning home , in Homer’s Odyssey:

“But (Ithaca) has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not defrauded you.

With the great wisdom you have gained, with so much experience,

you must surely have understood by then what Ithacas mean.”

Not that we found Santa Barbara poor. But the riches we found on our journey can’t be found inside the USA. Getting home has been the hardest part.



Flying home from Savannah, GA airport, still two bags and still together.

What was your favorite place? Turkey. Ninety-nine percent  Muslim, located between Greece, Russia, and Syria,  Turkey is at the center of modern political battles. Plus we liked Turkish food. China and Russia were equally fascinating but the food score dropped them below Turkey. Local cuisine is very important on longer trips since you end up eating it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Other places in the world don’t have the melting pot culture like we have in the United States. You don’t get to eat Italian one night, Mexican the next, then sushi the third.

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Breakfast in Izmir, Turkey

How long did it take you to sort through your mail? My pile was only 20 minutes of filing and one bill to pay. Strange after 3 months of being gone. Stranger still, I now spend an hour a day on email and snail mail.

What would you do different? Stay a minimum of 7 days at every place. Also, leave more flexibility in the schedule, so if you want to stay some place longer, you can.

In Turkey, Nisnayan House Hotel, near Ephesus, deserves a month devoted to writing, hiking, and eating.

Where are you going next? Buenos Aires, Argentina is targeted for 3-4 months of traveling around South America, maybe 2018. That gives us 2 years to practice our Spanish.

What will I be writing next? As revealed to me on the Camino de Santiago, my mission is to write more. Since returning a month ago, I now have a 250 square foot writer’s studio attached to a 1923 cottage downtown Santa Barbara. Talk about no excuses and no reason to complain. I hope to publish a travel column, somewhere, under a new enlightened titled. This heavily-edited column will contain no typos or misspelled words, and true facts.

Made up question: Why didn’t you post more pictures? IMG_1084

On Hallow’s Eve, 2 days after we returned, a Masquerade Birthday Party in our backyard.


Aloe and yucca in bloom greeting us in our backyard.



Trip to visit Dena for a Cal football game.



In route to Berkeley, enjoying the L’Auberge in Carmel.


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Visiting kids, Tad and Margo, and friends, Bill and Sharon.


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Geoff celebrates sixty with a new watch in Savannah, GA.




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The Truth along The Way

When last I wrote, I was hoping to find focus as a writer in a week of walking the Northern Route of the Camino de Santiago.


The Camino logo and location of the Cantabrian Mountains in northern Spain, courtesy Wikipedia.

No one day stands out. They were all 8-10 hours of trekking through mountains that looked and felt like the Swiss Alps. We hiked the Cantabrian Mountain Range for 5.5 days, 76 miles in total. We went up and down 22,000 feet of elevation change. We trekked through rural mountain passages with an occasional house, barn, or church, and even less occasional bar or restaurant. We had cloudy, rainy, sunny, and windy days.


Scenes along the way, courtesy Picstich.

It was painful the majority of the time. My first revelation on this spiritual Pilgrimage was that I was not doing this again. In my opinion, when you hit 60, you should not attempt it because your joints are too worn out to handle the long distances and the extreme elevations of this particular route.


Day one, a rainy day.

Having said that, I have to admit many hundreds of thousands of people have done numerous Pilgrimages to Santiago. One 60 year old Australian lady we met had done six Caminos and her walking mate, 62, had done this very Camino twice. They started on the French border so they had walked one longer, more difficult day than we did and they were continuing their Pilgrimage an extra 5 weeks.

The two Australians weren’t the only the people over 60 that seemed to defy my first revelation. We also came across three Spaniards that do this all the time. They were joyful, full of life and arrived at the lunch spots in advance of our team, with wine in their hands, and a toast for us. Jacques, was a 62 year old Frenchman, who walked with our group. He kept motioning with his fist that his heart was beating fast. After I told him, in my broken French, that I was 60 too, he knocked off the complaining and just hiked.


Friends along the way.

The overly strenuous hiking seemed crazy to me. Who first got it in their minds to start this a thousan years ago? I can see watching the movie, The Way, and getting sucked in, my excuse, but the American movie came out in 2011. Why, the other thousands of people, ever got motivated enough to do it, is a big mystery to me. I think it’s the Emperor’s New Clothes effect and I’m ending it here, right now, in this blog.

But maybe there was another explanation for this inconsistency in my experience and the other pilgrims. The answer came the next day when fellow American trekker, Brian, and our Camino spy, was offered a lift to the next town from the Australians who were hitch hiking that day. The three Spaniards turned out to be 5 Spaniards: 3 hikers, one driver, and one back up hiker. We discovered in the 60 and older crowd, some cheating on this particular Camino.

Which brings me to another revelation I had on our Pilgrimage. You can’t be that miserable, for that long, and not come away without something to say. For me, I realized writing is about truth. I love the truth. At least, what I think is the truth. I love travel; the truth it reveals about yourself, and the world around you. When I return, I plan to start my professional career as a writer and concentrate on travel narrative. If you hear of any positions open for an unpaid travel columnist, let me know.


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The Walk


As we rode the bus to the starting point for our week long walk, we couldn’t help noticing how similar to Switzerland Spain looked, complete with Swiss Chalets, forests, and mountains. Mountains? I thought all of Spain was flat and  true in Basque Country near the Pyrenees Mountains.

On the 4 hour plane ride from Turkey to Spain, Geoff decided to read a little bit about the walk I had organized along the Camino de Santiago. “The most physically demanding stretches of the Northern Caminos are the opening stages of the Norte….to Bilbao.” That’s what we had planned, the opening stages of the northern route from San Sebastian to Bilbao.

“Honey, did you do any research on this walk?” The six days of walking included 10,740 ft of elevation gains and loses. That is similar to a 14,000 ft Colorado Rockies mountain climb. Yikes. On a scale of 1 to 5, our walk is rated either a 4 or a 5 on everyday. The forecast calls for rain today, the day we start the walk.

Too late now. The northern route of this pilgrimage takes us on a historic pathway to the sacred church, Santiago de Compostela. This is the third most holy site for Catholics, right behind Rome and Jerusalem. My fellow walkers, Geoff, LIz, and Sue are all Jewish but we are committed to a spiritual journey. St. James, the Apostle is supposedly buried there, but I am not really sure why people have been making the pilgrimage since 813 AD when his bones were discovered. Not really sure why we are.

This blog is coming in advance of the event. We leave this morning.  Geoff and I will be disconnecting from the Internet entirely. If I can keep my mouth shut long enough to get inspired, my intension for a week of walking will be looking for focus in my career as a writer.


Carbo loading at three star, Michelin rated Restorante Arzak with Geoff, LIz, and Sue.


San Sebastian by night and by day.


Highly recommend this hotel in San Sabasibastian based on location and cleanliness.

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Afraid to Come Home -Recap Second Third of Sabbatical

No, we are not sick of traveling. No, we are not sick of each other. No, we aren’t anxious to get home. We are afraid of going home.


The Suleymaniye Mosque.

Travel is about exuberance. A day you planned to do nothing more than go to a different part of Istanbul for lunch turns into a Turkish feast so good you can barely contain your excitement. We sat in an outdoor cafe, with men smoking hookahs across from us. Afterwards,  Geoff got a haircut including his nose and ear hair waxed off.


Lunch spot, Asia side of Istanbul.


It was exuberating just getting to lunch. We rode on top of a new, sleek ferry to a part of Istanul that is the most geographically western city in Asia. We crossed from Europe to Asia in 30 minutes on this ferry. It was fun. It was all a blast, like nothing we have ever done before. And that’s a problem. We are afraid to come home. We know deep down inside we can’t just travel around the world with no other purpose than having a blast all the time. But everyday life at home is so boring. Filled with the same old, same old….. stuff. We are afraid we have taken nothing from this time to help us to lead more meaningful and peaceful lives once we get back to paradise in Montecito. Plus, we will have three months worth of mail to sort through.


Ferry ride, extra credit for those correctly identify the equation.

To recap the second third of our three month sabbatical, here are a few collages I have put together with Pic Stitch. Pic Stitch is a serious addiction I have developed since on this trip. I love creating these collages on my iPad and it seems so much easier to post the collages than to write about the impact they have on your life. So here they are, a little more on Turkey, Pic Stitch style.


Topkapi Palace.


Air travel in Turkey.


Tile work in Palace.


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Americans Come to Turkey- Part two

I am repeating the “Americans Come to Turkey” theme because I have three, even more compelling, reasons visit.

Worldwide, they have the best toilets we have ever seen. I want you to come visit and see for yourself. Maybe they will catch on in the US. The Turkish toilet is a perfectly engineered design that combines a bidet and a toilet.


Reason two: Turkish baths. They use a pillowcase to produce this huge amounts of really wonderful, oily, good smelling bubbles. They scrub you down with them on a marble slab in a white marble, domed room that looks like a mosque from the outside. The reason babies love baths is because it feels so good to get washed. Adults in America have forgotten this simple pleasure but not in Turkey.


Turkish baths are the two domes located just to the right of the large mosque on the left of the picture.

Reason three: Americans have got to get a handle on this religion called Islam. It is not our fault, as a nation, we are geographically isolated and seriously lacking in some history of our own. But we need to know the basics about Islam. First, Islam says nothing about dressing women in burkas. This comes from Arab countries like Saudi Arabia, still ruled by a King who made up the law to oppress women. A second important fact is Turks are not Arabs. They originated in Asia and their language is similar to Japanese not Arabic.


In Turkey, they are having the conversation we need Muslims to have about defining their religion in the modern world. How did jihad get converted to violence against innocents? How do Muslims take responsibility for the message of Islam and not blame their problems on western influences.


Moon rising in Istanbul, street scenes, and inside a Mosque.

We have got to get on the side of Turkey in this conversation. The best way to do that is to come to Turkey, eat with them, drink with them, and talk to them. They drink lots of tea in thin glasses too hot to hold, but they also drink Rakki, is a clear alcoholic liquor that tastes like liquorish but isn’t sweet, Efsa beer and good wine. Come have a drink, smoke a cigarette, and let your hair shine in a country straddling both Asia and Europe. Turkey is the leader in toilet design, bathing adults, and a thriving, secular, Islamic country.


Geoff at the Modern Istanbul art museum.image

The Bosphorus Straight, connecting trade routes to Asia from the Balck Sea and the Mederteranean Sea.

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The Mare Norstrom September 12-19, 2015 The Eastern Mediterranean Sea

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Sunrise and after sunset.


Sailing and modeling.

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The crew and the passengers.


The fun and the bruise.


Random boating activities and the handsome Captain at the helm.


Under the water and on our plates.

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Places we visited.

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The Hard Work of Travel

Some days when you travel around the world you have to do the hard work of actually traveling. That’s right, we don’t spend all of our time lounging around a Turkish Gulet, drinking double gin & tonics starting at 11 am. Today we had to leave paradise, the Mare Norstrom, and travel to a new location, Pamukkale.


Our Turkish Gulet, the Mare Norstrom, all 132 ft of her. More boat photos in later blog.
To get to Pamukkale we needed a rental car. The boat crew dropped us off at the airport to pick up a Hertz rental car for the journey. I love these huge international companies like Hertz, Pringles potato chips and Oreo cookies. They make you feel so at home. The Hertz guys, all dress like their US counter parts, went through the exact same employee training program for gathering signatures and questions about extra insurance. As a rule, we always refuse the extra insurance.

Geoff takes the wheel first at 1:30 pm. I am in charge of directions. My first direction is to get us some lunch. After driving through a few towns, Geoff saw a road sign and announced with confidence we are indeed on the right road. One good thing about Turkey is that they don’t have that many roads. If you are on pavement, you are probably on the right road. This cannot be said for all countries. In Costa Rica, for example, every little village decided to build their own road, and the government never put their foot down and said, “No. We are only going to have a few good roads.” So in Costa Rica, there are no bridges for example, on many of their paved roads. You make many river crossing by driving right through the water, and you can still BE on the “right” road to the airport.

But I digress. We were headed north along the coast, in search of Pamukkale in the central part of Turkey when the road turns right turn, up this huge mountain. Suddenly we were on a beautiful, new, divided four lane highway. The grade was steep, 8%, and the vista’s beautiful with a national forest on the left hand side and farmland and the Aegean Sea on the right.

We finally stopped at a little spot for lunch that was full of people, with greenery for shade, and lots of available parking. Once Geoff took the wheel again, he realized he was tired of driving since he didn’t have any Turkish coffee while I was eating my ice cream sandwich.

I agreed to drive on my sugar high so he could nap. Geoff pulled over at the top of the mountain handed me the keys, “Do you remember how to drive a stick shift?” “Of course I can drive a stick shift!” I was just a little confused at first. The beautiful, new, divided four lane highway ended at the top of the mountain and we were headed down the mountain on a windy, two lane, bumpy road, with a steep drop off on Geoff’s side of the car and ongoing traffic on my side. I momentarily forgot about how to shift down, since I hadn’t practices shifting up the mountain before we were heading down. Plus, I hadn’t realized there were six gears plus reverse on the stick shift instead of the normal four gears. As we headed down the mountain, Geoff reminded me to take my foot off the clutch. I told him he was making me nervous and he responded, I was making him nervous. We lived through the first few hairpin turns and me passing a couple of logging trucks which gave Geoff enough confidence to take his nap.

Conveniently, he woke up to drive again just after the road returned to divided four lanes but before we hit the rain storm I could see approaching. Temperature dropped twenty degrees centigrade and rocks of hail were coming down so fast the ground soon looked like it had snowed. Most of the cars had pulled over to the side of the road to wait the storm out, but we got behind the few brave souls willing to drive without being able to see in front of their cars. I started to wonder how much body work in Turkey costs compared to the US.

Around 5 pm, we made it to Pamukkale, without hail damage. Geoff was hoping to see a rugby game on TV that night and I was hoping to see some Turkish dancing. I can’t go into too much more detail and keep the blog less than 1000 words. But I will say we saw Japan beat South Africa in the World Cup Rugby tournament. The game was considered one of the biggest upsets ever in sports and was a really good rugby game on top of that. I got to see my Turkish dancing when we crashed a wedding celebration with six male Turkish dancers twirling around in a circle.


Wedding cake, the shower onboard the boat, and the shower in Pamukkale.

Before I end with our hard day’s work being well rewarded, I want you to know I will be posting an answer to that body work question in a later blog. As we were leaving our hotel in Pamukkale a few days later, Geoff backed right into a light pole hidden behind our rental car. Maybe you shouldn’t always reject the extra Hertz insurance but then this adds a nice ending to the blog on the hardships of travel.


Warm water of the Pamukkale Travertines cut into limestone with beneficial mud scrubs.

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Americans come to Turkey

Americans you should visit Turkey for two reasons:
First, you can stay in a cave- hotel. There were 211 cave-hotels in Cappadocia and it is a lot of fun. We stayed in a rock pinnacle with our room being the highest room in the village. I know that’s bragging but traveling is all about the oldest, biggest, longest, or first something. The photos below show the interior of our room on the left and the views from our patio on the right. From the outside, our cave looked just like the cone in the picture above the Turkish hot air balloon. It had three floors, with the bedroom being at the top of the pinnacle.


The Turkish flag balloon shot was taken the day after we took our sunrise balloon ride (see our handsome and overly confident Turkish pilot in the photos). His aim was to fly as close to the mountains and ground as possible without touching them.


Next photo shows the entrance to the church of St. Barbara at the Open Air Museum, the most important site in Cappadoccia. Since the religious art from inside the cave- churches hasn’t been restored, the images below the church door are photos from the sign. There were 34 of these cave-churches at this one site.


Before we get to the second reason for Americans to visit Turkey, you need a geography lesson. Map is from the Turkish Airlines magazine.


Reason two, Turkey is leading the Muslim world in the direction it needs to go. They have a secular government, they love Americans, and there is no fighting in 99% of the country. Just avoid the SE corner of Turkey with the current Kurdish unrest and Syrian border. The Turkish flag is being flown all over the country in protest of terrorists attacks. We need to visit, get to be friends with them, and support them.

In closing, I will say it is a bit of an embarrassment having Donald Trump running for presdient. People all over are asking us about him being President. That’s another reason to visit Turkey, it will get your mind off our own problems.


PS: The majority of the holes you see in the rocks are pigeon nests. They were made so that the pigeon droppings can be harvested and used for fertilizer. There’s an idea for you young entrepreneurs looking to capitalize on an untapped, natural resource in many US cities.

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Thirty-two Years of Marriage and a Week on a Bike

“What was the worse part of the trip? The moment you said, I want to go home.” For me, it was the first day of this bike ride. The problem was we weren’t going anywhere, at least not very fast. Instead of biking along these beautiful bike paths, we were “discussing” our every move, every 3-5 minutes.

The rain was pouring down. We were with our bikes, huddled under some trees, along the bike path with our umbrellas up. We were lost in the King’s hunting grounds. We had no idea we would be mountain biking on our week long bike trip through Denmark, so that was an added bonus. The only problem, really, were the directions. Right in front of our noses we had a high resolution map in a rain proof clear plastic holder. The other bike had written instructions detailed down to the tenth of a kilometer. Geoff had the map on his bike and I had the written instructions on mine. Until the downpour let up, we were stranded.


We were on the biking week of our three month world tour that also coincided with our 32nd wedding anniversary the same week. That made the theme of this blog easy: the key to a successful, long marriage as practiced on a the 5 day, 200 kilometer bike trip through northern Denmark. The blog would contain useful information for the newly married, the remarried, and the married forever couples.

The good thing about the week long bike in Denmark was the fact that the Danish love bikes. Thirty six percent of the people in Copenhagen commute to work on bikes in a country with some pretty shitty weather. The routes we took for our tour had two lanes for cars and two lanes, separated from the cars, for bikes. Traffic signals had a car light, a pedestrian walk light, and a separate bicycle light.

Bike path shots and anniversary flowers on my bike.


The bad thing for the week long bike tour turned out to be the seemingly endless bike route options. The Danes love biking so much they had bike routes running in every direction. For those of you not up on your metric units, 1 kilometer is .6 miles. That means our 200 kilometer trip over 5 days was averaging only 24 miles each day. Geoff insisted we could bike 10 miles/hr. That means we should have gotten to our destinations in around 2.5 hours each day. Instead, no matter what time we left in the morning or how long we had to go, we didn’t get to the next hotel until around 4 pm. Every intersection required a review of the map and the written instructions, and a simple test of logic, are we headed in the direction we want to go? Below I have included the very first two pages of detailed maps and instructions we consulted every 2-3 km.


As we rode through the country side it wasn’t always raining, and we weren’t always lost. Part of the joy of bike touring is you get to see people up close and stopping to talk to them. Here we are at a sailing club along the northern shore drinking beer with the locals and some scenic shots.


Eventually, on the day we were huddled under trees, the rain let up and we came across, first, a police woman on a horse, then, a troop of elementary students out with their teacher, and finally, a bit of luck that allowed us to exit the Kings’ hunting grounds. We got back onto the paved and labeled route, the one I had wanted to take all along, and rolled into the to the port of Helsinger around 4 pm, 7.5 hours after leaving Copenhagen.

So here we were on a dream vacation, beautiful Danish countryside, more castles and museums than you could stand to visit, and yet we had to “discuss” our route decision every 5 or so minutes. How did this marriage survive 5 days of joint decision making, in the middle of 3 months or nonstop cohabitation in small places?

The solution to this problem, here comes the marriage advice, turned out to be the useless maps. Three days into the trip, Geoff figured out that he should ride with the written instructions and I should ride with the map. I don’t like taking orders and the written instructions had 8 pages per day with around 10 directions per page. That means I was ignoring approximately 80 very specific directions for a 40 km route. Geoff was much better at the mechanics of getting us there by actually doing what the little book says. I was better in a more inspirational role, like reading a map. Once we figured out our new system, there were no more arguments on which way to go. The final day, we hit the hardest, longest rainy stretch of the trip, hence the half bottle of wine in Geoff’s hand during a rain break.


But with our new system, we put our hoods up, and powered the last 20 km in 1.2 hours, just like Geoff always said we should, and made it back to Copenhagen at around 4 pm. So that’s it. The only solution you need to all those future marriage problems is to play to your strengths, stick with it, and don’t turn on each other.


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