Happy Two-Month Anniversary!

Patti and I celebrating our two-month anniversary hours after my surgery.

Three days after returning home from our seven-week globetrotting honeymoon the right side of my neck is swollen like a softball, and I find myself, for the first time, lying in a hospital bed. An elusive infection in my lymph nodes has caused severe inflammation extending from my right ear down to my windpipe and from my cheek over to my shoulder. I'm barraged by daily blood tests, CT scans and ultrasounds, antibiotics that irritate my veins, IVs swapped every other day, and pain medication that makes me loopy and fatigued. Uncertain of the specific diagnosis, the conscious me sits on the sidelines of my own battlefield, watching patiently for the size of my neck to shrink or grow, tipping the scales in favor of my body or an unseen enemy. But one thing is certain: when reciting our vows, Patti and I never thought the "sickness" part of "in sickness and in health" would be played out so early in our marriage.

Sure, the circumstances seem pretty gloomy for a newlywed couple, but in some ways the hospital has been more restful than our honeymoon, gallivanting throughout Southeast Asia in search of beaches, diving, and cultural excursions. Compared to some of the AirBnBs we stayed at, the hospital is definitely cleaner, my sheets are changed daily, and there is hot water and a working thermostat, not to mention breakfast, lunch, and dinner are included! To our surprise, the service is actually on par with the resort we stayed at in the Maldives; the staff addresses me by name and knows I would prefer the honey-glazed chicken over the Asian cod. Dare I say, with my window view, I might even be getting a hospital tan.

Yet our "extended honeymoon" has a much more profound meaning to me in the sense that it has defined and shaped the beginnings of our marriage in a way that no resort or beach ever could. Despite the sleepless nights and my growing inability to perform daily tasks, like changing my gown or eating solid food, Patti has patiently been at my side, never complaining and never worrying. She's grown a sense for what I need, a glass of water or a blanket for my feet, before I even know I need it, and she cheerfully takes the initiative to help. Sometimes, she even sneaks into my hospital bed so we can play games and watch Netflix together, never mind the nurse saying something about a hospital policy and the bed's weight limit. Other times we just sit in silence, tapping away on our cell phones, contently side by side. She walks with me the same 4th floor figure-eight loop hallway to which I am restricted, over and over, until I reach my daily step goal. Suffice to say, I have grown to deeply appreciate and cherish my wife, just as she has grown to love and care for me, as a result of our unintentional honeymoon extension.

It is Friday afternoon, the day of our two-month anniversary, and my fifth day in the hospital. There are still no signs that the swelling is subsiding. The ENT surgeon walks into my room after viewing my CT scan from a half hour ago. The scan reveals a large abscess filled with liquefied tissue forming in my neck, which is preventing the antibiotics from reaching the bacteria. He wants to perform surgery immediately to drain the abscess. Waiting could risk the infection spreading to my heart or brain. Surgery poses its own risks of course. The carotid artery, windpipe, vocal chords, and a bundle of nerves are all near the abscess. This is our hardest moment, when uncertainties and realities begin to merge. And while the choice is clear, the repercussions are not. Tissues in hand, we go ahead with the surgery that evening. Before I'm put under, Patti and I read Psalm 138 together, finding comfort in the last verses:

"Your love, Lord, endures forever - do not abandon the works of your hands."       

- Psalm 138:8

A praise, a reassurance, and an imperative, all rolled up in one.

I woke up, slowly. Groggily, I recall Patti leaning over the gurney with a big grin. The surgery went well, the doctors were able to drain more than anticipated, and within hours my pain had nearly vanished. Now, as I finish writing this a week later, I am told I could be discharged within a day or two. The swelling has diminished but it will still take another couple of weeks of rest and antibiotics until the infection is completely cleared up. But alas, an end to our honeymoon is in sight.

This may sound strange to some, but I recall during my first week in the hospital, while resting with my eyes closed, a vision of a large wooden door, made from strong thick timbers, and built into a stone archway. I step back and look above the door to discover our names, "Kyle and Patti Gaiser" engraved in the mossy stone. The archway is built into an even thicker layer of rock, which is built into the side of a mountain. The image confers an overwhelming sense of encouragement and peace, affirming that through these events God is laying the groundwork for our marriage - a solid foundation, built on a rock that cannot be easily toppled.

Touring the Stagecoach 400

“Everybody goes armed here. If a man has no shirt to his back he will have his knife in his belt.”

 - Phocion Way, San Antonio to San Diego Mail Line Passenger, 1858 [http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25066]

The Stagecoach 400 bikepacking route. The blue is the first 225 miles, the route for which I signed up to ride.

Times have certainly changed in the 157 years since Phocian Way passaged what is now known as the Great Southern Overland Stage Route, America’s first transcontinental mail service that stretched from San Francisco down to San Diego and across to San Antonio, New Orleans and ultimately the Atlantic Coast. In a four-day journey from April 11th to 14th, I toured a segment of this route, by mountain bike, with my friend Kyle Karlson - a 225-mile long journey from Idyllwild, CA to San Diego known as the Stagecoach 400 (the route continues back to Idyllwild for a nearly 400 mile loop). 

In Phocion’s time, a journey across the western frontier was riddled with danger. Each passenger that was to embark on a stagecoach through the Southern California desert was advised to,

“provide himself with a Sharp’s rifle, (not carbine,) with accoutrements and one hundred cartridges, a navy sized Colts revolver and two pounds of balls, a belt and holster, knife and sheath; a pair of thick boots and woolen pants; half a dozen pairs thick cotton socks; three under shirts, there brown linen do; three woolen over shirts, a wide awake hat, a cheap sack coat, a soldiers overcoat, one pair of blankets in summer and two in winter; a piece of India rubber cloth for blankets; a pair of gauntlets… and three or four towels. Such money as he takes should be in silver or small gold.” 

 - San Diego Herald, November 21, 1857  [http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25066]

Hostile Indians and gold-hungry bandits were the least of our concern, and thankfully we did not need to pack thick boots and multiple towels for the ride. In fact, our personal sleeping gear - tent, quilt and mattress - weighed in at under six pounds. But I imagine that the desert, in its arid, dusty, and charming way, and the steep rocky canyons that we summited, have remained, for the most part, unchanged, unscathed by manifest destiny. Water, food, vigilant planning, and a foolhardy sense of adventure were all of the essence to us as it was to Phocion Way. And so it was that we began our ride: 21st century mountain bikers riding into a 19th century cowboy-western.

Day 1: Idyllwild to Ocotillo Wells - 75 miles, +2792 ft / -7881 ft, 13 hrs

Idyllwild, CA - start of the Stagecoach route

We began our trek around 7:30am in the quaint mountain town of Idyllwild at a brisk elevation of 5400 ft. It was a short uphill on road before we hit a long winding stretch of downhill on a dirt road with great views of the surrounding hills and desert valley below where we were headed. The dirt road gave way to single track and a fun rocky downhill on the Jim Truck Trail before meeting up with the road to Anza. Anza, located in the flat of the valley, was much hotter and we stopped at Sunshine Market for a water refill and Gatorade. We were going strong and making good time since everything up to this point had been down, but mentally we were prepared for what we had been told was one of the most tiring sections of the route.

Approaching Coyote Canyon, Anza-Borrego Desert

Coyote Canyon, Anza-Borrego Desert

We descended into Coyote Canyon, a dry sandy and exposed wash speckled with rocks, boulders, and a host of prickly plants (Ocotillos, chollas, creosote bushes, and prickly pear cactus) that makes up the northern section of the Anza Borrego Desert. The lizards and little critters scampering along on the sand were our only companions for this 22 mile trek. We deflated our tires down to 20-22 psi, which helped us float on the packed or unbroken sandy patches. Even then some sections were too loose for pedaling, forcing us to dismount and hike. And then, when I was least expecting it…

An oasis!

Literally, a stream in the desert! A natural spring surrounded by lush green plants, palm trees and willows, which our trail went straight through. Suddenly we had been transported to a jungle and I was biking through mud and water up to our wheel hubs. My socks and shoes were soaked and it felt great. This lasted for about a mile before we were back to the sandy grind.

By mile 56 we were back in civilization scarfing down burritos and slurping horchata in Borrego Springs while knocking loose the sand in our shoes. Twenty more miles of road with a tailwind in our favor sped us to the Leapin’ Lizard RV Park in Ocotillo Wells (elevation 150 ft), where we lodged in the comfort of our own rented RV unit, affectionately named, “Lucy.” Our host, Deborah, was as hospitable as a mother to her children, providing us with two jugs of cold distilled water and a sheet on which to place our bikes inside the RV. We settled in and then hobbled over to the “Iron Door,” a local bar highly recommended by, well, the locals of the area. It was a simple, dim-lit place with a pool table, a couple plain tables, a bar that served up microwaved hotdogs, bud and bud light, and thousands of dollars of decade-old one-dollar bills taped to the walls and ceilings, each with signatures and handwritten notes, both affectionate and vulgar, of Ocotillo’s passers-byes. Half a drink through our visit I was falling asleep and my knees were aching and stiff, so we retired to Lucy.

 

Our RV Rental unit, Lucy.

Day 2: Ocotillo Wells to Agua Caliente - 38 miles, +2421 ft / -1338 ft, 8 hrs

Our breakfast consisted of a freeze-dried blueberry granola (better than it sounds, actually), a cinnamon bun and hostess cupcakes. We soaked our shirts in water since the rising sun was already warm and left the Lucy RV at 8am. Today was another hot day in the desert as we passed through Fish Creek Wash. The name is deceiving; the “creek” dried up ages ago, but it used to drain water from the surrounding mountains to the Salton sea. Now it’s a barren sandy canyon that splits the mountains into two ranges, the Vallecito Mountains to the west and the Fish Creek Mountains to the east. Nevertheless, the canyon was beautiful.

Entrance to Fish Creek Wash

Biking the wash was strenuous but not as difficult as we’d anticipated. In fact, for the first few miles we were going the same speed as a caravan of off road trucks trailing behind us. After we passed the Fish Creek Campsite we were mostly on our own. We passed the Wind Caves and the Elephant Knees rock formations and met up with the road that took us to Agua Caliente where we relaxed in the hot springs and pitched our tents for the night.

Campsite at Agua Caliente

The sign reads "Airport ->" Yes, really.

Agua Caliente’s sole resupply store was run by a man named Mark. Mark was a very chill guy who’s been living in the desert for the past nine years. He took us to the back of the store where he lives and showed us his homemade hot tub, homemade laser and plans for making his own greenhouse for growing veggies.

Day 3: Agua Caliente to Oakzanita - 44 miles, +6153 ft / -3475 ft, 12 hrs

Oriflamme. It sounds like something out of Lord of the Rings and it sure felt like we were climbing up Mordor. The trail up Oriflamme Canyon is exposed and rugged and the grade actually peaks at 21.6%. We were already tired from the past two days of sand.

Oriflamme Canyon - the picture doesn't do it justice

It was hours of hike-a-bike. In the map below you can see the blue line is the old stagecoach route that was used to deliver mail to San Diego. Agua Caliente is close to Vallecito. We road the same route to El Puerto and Box Canyon but where the route takes a sharp right around Granite Mountain, we took a sharp left to Oriflamme (not labelled) and ended in the Cuyamaca mountain range (shown southwest of Box Canyon). In fact, back in the 1800s, for expedient mail delivery (i.e. 38 days from San Antonio to San Diego) stagecoaches would take the Oriflamme route - it was a shorter but much more difficult route to San Diego.

Southern Emigrant Trail: section of the stagecoach route connecting San Antonio and San Diego [http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25066]

Plenty of water, snacks, and bluegrass music helped me get through Oriflamme. On the other side of the ridge we were welcomed by green grass and wildflowers - apparently wind and rain don’t prefer to venture past Oriflamme either. The climate and landscape changed dramatically from here on out. The temperature was more moderate and the trails were harder packed dirt with plenty of shade once we entered the Cleveland National Forrest. Along the ridge we could see miles and miles of rolling green hills.

Crossing the Pacific Crest Trail after reaching the top of Oriflamme

A view of the Cleveland National Forrest

We made it to Oakzanita about half an hour after nightfall. It was chilly and the dew was gathering on our packs rapidly so we hustled to pick out a campsite and hit the hot showers and the hot tub - yes, there was actually a hot tub. We were living in luxury. 

Day 4: Oakzanita to San Diego - 67 miles, +2724 ft / -6425 ft, 11 hrs

Having used up nearly all my food the previous day, Kyle and I were craving a hearty breakfast. We headed for Descanzo where I ate a breakfast burrito, hash browns, scrambled eggs, chips & salsa, and horchata at Veronica’s Kitchen. Ten miles later and we were in Alpine, back to commercial and residential life. I distinctly remember passing a man weedwacking his landscaped lawn. He was taming nature. The desert had tamed us.

Second brunch: duck and chicken tacos.

We ate again at Alpine Brewery and completely stuffed ourselves. Once I was able to mount the bike again we continued. The rest of the journey was a cycle of paved road, dirt road, single track, repeat, until we reach San Diego where we awkwardly passed hoards of joggers through a large downtown park. It was nightfall by the time we reached Coronado Island - mile 225 - I had arrived!

Gaiser or Geyser? Yes!

We're writing you from Jackson Hole, Wyoming! It's been a few days and we have quite a bit to share with you, starting with Wednesday's long trip through South Dakota and Wyoming.

Wednesday morning we woke up alive but looking as if we'd acquired the chicken pox. The night before we'd pulled into our campground in Kennebec, SD and were welcomed by mosquitoes and deer flies. Not to mention one of my tent poles was broken. Needless to say setting up the tent was a feet, but we survived!

Wednesday was packed! First, the Badlands, then Mt. Rushmore, then Devils Tower, and finally historic Sheridan. Oh, but not to leave out Wall Drug - a random tourist trap store along the highway that started sensational billboard advertisements 300 miles before the exit. That night we stayed at a comfy KOA Kabin and met our neighboring campers, Bruce and Dee Laporte from Watertown, NY! They were wonderful company and invited us to join them for elk sausage with grilled peppers and homemade cucumber salad. A first for both us and hopefully not the last.

Thursday! Kyle's Dodge Stratus made it up and over the Bighorn mountain range, which was a relief! Then onward to Yellowstone, where we spent the day watching old faithful, and many other bubbling beauties named after Kyle's family. The other impressive sites were the Great Geyser, Cascade canyon falls, and tons of bison that didn't seem to care about breaking traffic laws. The night was bone chilling cold and we heard coyotes in the night, but thankfully no bears.

Friday we journeyed to the Grand Tetons, a breathtaking experience that surpassed both of our expectations. We took pictures of old Mormon settlements and then went separate ways to spend the evening writing, praying and listening to music on Jenny Lake with the sun setting beyond the

Tetons. We happened upon a nice couple that was retracing the route Louis and Clark took on their journey west - a 10,000 mile, 3 month journey by boat that began in Pittsburgh and will end in Oregon. Friday evening we checked out downtown Jackson square where we discovered two fantastic micro-brews: Moose Drool and Snake River.

And that brings us to today! The highlight today was by far an 8.6 mile hike called Cascade Canyon. It was by far one of the best trails that we've ever hiked, with stunning views of the Teton divide, a meandering river, a bull moose, wildflowers, boulders, and wooded forests.

Tomorrow morning is our last day in the Tetons. In the afternoon we head to Salt Lake City where we get to stay in a real bed in a real hotel room!!! Until then, watch out for those bison and practice drawing your bear spray from your holster.

It was the dry season and everything was covered in dust - the seat I was sitting in, the bus window I was looking out of, the air outside. And there, on the dirt covered ground of a Malawian bus station stood a mother with her two children. All their belongings were wrapped in a single bed sheet. What voyage lay ahead of them, what dangers, what uncertainties? What circumstances drove this family to pack up and move?

Sometimes journeys are planned and expected, sometimes they are simply necessary, and sometimes they are forced upon us. As I pack for California, for grad school, I think of this unknown family making their way to a new destination. My souvenirs from Rwanda take up just as much space as all their belongings.

Photo Albums and Movie about Rwanda

Hi everyone!

I've posted links to my Rwanda photo albums as well as a video that I made to say "Thank You" to all those who financially supported my school and church in Rwanda.

The video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IUZG3mODLw

The first half of the video is about my school and the second half is about my church, and all that your support provided for both of them.

Thank you!!

Sliding Glass Doors

I am in the Mumbai airport, listening to Chopin music over the loudspeakers and envying the people boarding the Kenyan airways flight to Nairobi. Fourteen months ago I was leaving all that was familiar for something new and completely different. And now, here I am doing the same thing. I'm not going "back"- that is, not much will be the same and most everything will be familiar in the most unfamiliar way. I will miss Rwanda. I will miss Africa. I will miss India. I will miss the freedom of roaming the planet and visiting the homes of amazing people in amazingly diverse cultures.

It's strange really, how, when sitting on a cold sterilized steel airport bench, the emotion and essence of places and personalities so quickly fades to deteriorating memories. How is it possible that I am sitting here typing on my iPod, the people around me reading their Kindles and watching movies on laptops, when an hour ago I was sitting on the floor of a slum eating curry, rice and cake in celebration of an Indian boy's first birthday? How can a wave goodbye and sliding glass door turn the world inside out so quickly and so easily?

The Top 10

If you're going to live in Rwanda...

10. Always check if there is toilet paper before going to the bathroom.

9. Don't mention pizza. Don't even think about it.

8. Don't let your candle burn too low or else it will fall through the coke bottle, leaving no base for the next candle.

7. Be prepared to wait 10 minutes to open a single web page (sometimes 20).

6. While it's impossible to be friendly with every Joe Schmo who approaches you wanting to know every detailof your life, keep in mind that the guy you snub walking down the road or sitting next to you on the bus might be someone really important, or might become your best friend.

5. "Malaria pills? Oh, I forgot about those months ago..."

4. You will become addicted to the same food over and over and over. Mainly, chapati and tea every morning and the infamous melange: rice, beans, cooked bananas, and chips covered with vegetable or meat sauce. Oh, how much I will miss it!

3. Go hiking! On a clear day from the highest point in the southeast you can see Tanzania, Burundi, and the volcanoes on the other side of the country.

2. Chew Rice cautiously to avoid the rocks.

1. Every morning is like going white water rafting! A little imagination goes a long way in making cold bucket showers enjoyable.

A Little Adventure

Today I decided to go exploring around the area. From my home I can see across a large valley to the next hill where there is a large mound of rocks... in fact, this is the highest point in my district. So, I packed some water and my map of Rwanda and starting hiking. I arrived in the village of Musaza about two hours later, scrambled up the rocks and was astonished by the view. On one side was Rwanda. Facing the side there was Tanzania on my left and Burundi on my right, with the mighty Akagera River dividing the borders. I had no idea I was so close to Burundi! You could see miles upon miles upon miles from this point! I took some pictures, but they really don't do any justice, so I'll just post the map here to illustrate what I'm talking about!

To help you get oriented, the yellow lines demarcate the borders. Rwanda is on top, Tanzania bottom right, and Burundi bottom left. My home town, Nyakarambi, is just next door to the village of Kirehe, which is printed the side of the main road toward Tanzania. I hiked from Nyakarambi to the small triangle labeled 1834 (meters) and then to the town "Musaza" just to the left on the map. Beneath me in the deep valley was the Akagera River and in the distance I could see Lake Rweru, more than half of which lies in Burundi. To the north, I could pick out the tallest points, like Rukira, near Kibungo, which is about 35 km away. (Ctrl + CLICK on the picture for a larger view in another window).

The town of Musaza itself was mystical; a surreal feeling of being on top of the world, at the corner of three borders. It made me realize how small Rwanda is and how easy it is to travel around these parts of East Africa. If I just had a tent, I could easily be at the Burundian border in a day, Lake Rweru the next evening, and so on. Food is never a problem... Rwanda is a country of 10 million people and the size of Maryland (Burundi not too different). Wherever you go you will find people and tea shops and places to stock up on food and water. Hmm. It's just incredible! Now that school is finished, I hope to be able to do a lot more exploring!

Marabou Stork

I just put up two new posts, but I just had to add this one as well. Thanks to Jo C who found this info on one of the more peculiar sitings on our trip to Tanzania, I introduce you to the Marabou Stork.

Marabou Stork

To the casual observer the massive Marabou Stork with its balding, scabby head and pendulous pink air sac may appear to be one of the ugliest creatures in the world. If this same observer were to notice the Marabou's fondness for carrion and its habit of squirting excrement onto its own legs he or she would probably consider the original opinion to be justified. It takes a real bird lover to see past all of this stork's bizarre adornments to recognize the scruffy charm underneath.

For more, And I picture that I couldn't upload, see http://nationalzoo.si.edu/Animals/Birds/Facts/FactSheets/fact-maraboustork.cfm