Solo Trip

When I was younger, I remember trying to get away by myself on occasions.  But my extroverted self was always miserable without having someone to share the experience with.  My first time backpacking in a National Park was by myself.  It was a disaster.  I ended up sitting depressed in my tent on what was supposed to be a two week hike through the Great Smokey Mountains.  For two days I ate all my beef jerky and macaroni and cheese before limping back out the way I had come in.  In recent years, however, I am learning the value of getting away alone to pray and seek the Lord on important matters.  I've done it several times now and it has always proven to be an experience where God gives me great peace and clarity.  And to satisfy my innate desire to share these experiences I decided to document my most recent solo trip and share it here.  

The rain had been pouring down for five days.  I had my mountain bike in the back of the Jeep and was headed to one of my favorite places to get away to in Paraguay.  As I turned off the paved road rain drummed on the canvas roof.  An occasional drip would make it through and splash on the analog dials of the 92' truck.  Strangely, it gave me an excited feeling, like I was driving a tent through the elements as I slopped over 30 kilometers of mud roads.  Along the way I listened to my Bible-reading and a good audio book, all the while drinking ice-cold tereré.  Finally, I made the slow climb up to Salto Suizo.  To ensure a chill time, I would be staying in a giant wine barrel converted into a one-room cabin. 

After the rains, Salto Suizo's waterfall was swollen.  I had never seen it so full.  From the top, beyond the cascading rapids, a giant plume of mist stretched out over the forest.  I entered in among the darkness of the tress as I made my way down winding stairs that would take me to the bottom of the falls.  The roar grew and wind and water hit my face as I approached the pool into which the water plunged.   

After a good night's sleep in my barrel the sun was shining for the first time in five days.  I was looking forward to a good ride along some single-track on my mountain bike.  After breakfast I took out a pen and paper and mapped out the mountains and valleys of life's joy and pain on a timeline.  From that I extrapolated the personal, masculine, and family values that I have formed over the years.  It was so profound to see this on paper!  I humbly recognized what a rare gift it is to have values worth living and dying for.  For me, this clarity has come from hearing God's voice in His Word and being willing to follow where He has led my family and I.  It's not always safe and is rarely easy but it is the most secure path to be on.  There, sitting under the trees with the distant roar of the waterfall I thanked God for His goodness.  Then I set out on my mountain bike!

After five days of rain the trail was gnarly! Large rocks covered the soft mud. Bamboo lay across the path. If I could get my front wheel over these obstacles my back tire would follow. I slowly cranked up the steep sections of the path. On the downhill sections I would use my back brake to control my speed over and in between the slippery rocks until splashing through a stream and starting another climb. Dozens of yellow butterflies scattered as I rolled through patches of sunlight in the forest. Large blue morpho butterflies actually flew with me, riding on my slipstream in the narrow passages through the woods. I passed cows grazing in pastures with colorful wooden houses overlooking the sloping hills. An occasional cactus plant towered along the side of the trail.

But soon the trail opened up and the hills gave way to one long downhill.  I whizzed down the orange road past a small chapel and brightly colored clothing on barbed wire fences, drying after days of rain.  The climate was perfect!  In Paraguay, it's normally pushing 100 degrees for more than half the year.  This was one of those rare days when the sun was shining and it wasn't too hot.  When I came to a wooden bridge crossing a shady stream I stopped to capture the lush scenery.  I was trying an experiment by brining my DSLR camera with me- combining my two loves of photography and mountain biking.  The one limitation is you can't take any action shots without breaking your camera or worse!  But the quieter moments were easier to capture.  

I started the long climb back up to Salto Suizo and returned covered in mud.  Not only had the trail been sloppy but at one of the narrower stream crossings my front wheel sank into the mud bringing me to an abrupt stop.  I couldn't clip my feet out quick enough and had fallen into the muck with my bike.  It was all part of the adventure and the best part was about to come.  I pedaled past my wine barrel to where the stream poured over the edge of the cliff.  I carried my bike straight down into a pool just above the waterfall.  The cold and refreshing water washed over my bike and me, removing all the mud.  What a great ride!

I now realize that stepping away from the immediate stresses of life to spend purposeful time alone in nature can be so beneficial.  Outwardly, there's little to show for these times.  But the gains that come from the inward clarity and resolve to continue living life purposefully are more than I can express in writing.  The next day, it was already time to hit the road.  The sun was shining so I took the roof off of the Jeep and loaded up my things.  Solo trips are great... and getting to share them isn't bad either!  

One Last Adventure- Part 3

As I sat atop Paraguay's third highest peak with my son, Eli, we rested and took in the view that stretched to the horizon.  Cows grazing in the tall brush appeared as white dots inside of green squares.  A dusty cloud along an orange line indicated a truck was moving up the dirt road.  We had just finished the longest climb up to the highest point on our bikepacking trip.  We were now four days into one last adventure- visiting some of our favorite places in Paraguay on our mountain bikes.  Saddle sore, we winced as we hopped back onto our bike seats.  Back on the trail we encountered horses grazing.  Of all the animals we regularly encountered we had to be most careful with horses who could deal a dangerous kick should we scare them.  Eli carefully passed by putting space between him and the large beasts.  

As we were about to learn, our mountain bikes were among the few vehicles that could traverse the terrain we were covering.  Shortly after passing the horses the dirt path began to descend down the other side of the mountain and quickly became rocky.  Our suspension pumped as tires rolled over grapefruit-sized stones.  Now steeply descending through a forest, I shouted over my shoulder for Eli to use his rear brakes and shift his weight over his back wheel.  This makes getting thrown over your handlebars less likely.  

 

 

I hooted and hollered as I navigated over boulders and around large rocks.  Eli was not having so much fun.  I had ridden down this path on my bike before (though, not carrying nearly as much gear).  Eli, however, had never practiced on this kind of rocky terrain.  Though he and I had ridden many times near our house down the loose and sandy singe track of what we had named 'death-drop hill', these large rocks were intimidating and causing Eli a lot of frustration.  Our rocky path eventually gave way to bamboo forest which had a leafy carpet.  Deceptively serene, bamboo fronds reaching into the trail concealed long curved thorns waiting to snag onto a sleeping pad or a bare arm that brushed by.  

 

Eventually we emerged out of the forest onto a wide open landscape.  We were descending into a valley in the heart of the Yvytyrusu mountains where dozens of fields created a panoramic patchwork. Everyday barefooted farmers wearing straw hats hike for miles to these fields carrying a machete or a sharpened hoe on their shoulder.  The crops, sheep, and cows contained in these fields help to clothe and feed their families who receive no income but rather live off the land.  After a hard day's work in the hot sun these farmers then hike back to their colorful wooden homes scattered across the hillside.

We too needed protection from the brilliant Paraguay sun.  Hydration packs, a bandana over the back of my neck, and breaks in the shade helped keep us from overheating.  The air blowing over our skin evaporated sweat and cooled us as we continued to descend for several miles with Paraguay's highest peak, Tres Kandu, looming in the distance all the while.

Finally we reached a gate- a sure sign we were getting closer civilization.  These wooden or wire gates are unavoidable when traveling in rural Paraguay.  Whether in a truck or on a bike a five-step process is necessary to pass through these gates.  In our case: 1. Eli hopped off his bike; 2. He opened the gate; 3. We walked our bikes through the gate; 4. Eli closed the gate; 5. Eli got back on his bike.  Several gates and countless steps later we found ourselves rolling past farm houses as chickens scurried across our path, pigs wallowed in the mud and cows stared while chewing their cud.  

Now at the bottom of the valley our path wound between houses, dirt yards, and crossed a shallow stream.  Hot, tired, and hungry Eli and I decided to eat lunch while soaking our feet in the stream.  

 

Once back on our bikes we turned onto a wide dirt road that followed the valley floor.  With our long descent behind us we sped along a now fairly level path.  At one point we stopped to look back.  We could see the path we had followed out of the forest switch-backing down the grassy slopes of the mountain ridge.

We followed the bright orange clay road over streams and past houses until turning onto a footpath at which point I realized my back tire was losing air.  We rested in someone's front yard while changing the tube.   A wild road then took us up muddy slopes, across footbridges, and through farm pastures.  We were experiencing Paraguay as few others get to: from the seat of a bicycle.  Crossing the countryside fast enough to go through towns, valleys, and over mountains in a single day.  But slow enough to enjoy the individual plants, animals, and people in this foreign culture we have come to call our own.  

Finally we reached our destination: Granja Francisca.  A hotel with bungalows, cabins and camping out back.  After we set up camp Eli and I enjoyed the local wildlife including butterflies, exotic birds and a capuchin monkey.  Despite the fact that it's nestled in the foothills far from any towns, Granja Francisca has a restaurant and best of all- a pool!  After a refreshing swim we headed over to the restaurant to order ice cold Cokes and fresh bread to go with the pasta dinner we would cook up in camp.  This was the last night of our trip.

On our final morning we packed up camp and started the 27 mile ride back to where Sarah would pick us up with the truck.  As we pedaled, I contemplated what lay ahead- beyond the dirt roads we were riding on.  Our family was about to pack up our home, say goodbye to our friends, and leave Paraguay for more than a year.  Little did I know, the following year in the US was going to stretch our family like never before!  If someone had told me then what awaited us I probably wouldn't have believed them.  Eli and I laughed at the cows we passed along the way: one at an all-you-can-eat sugar cane buffet; acrobatic cows; and even a pirate cow!

Ordinary creatures with something extraordinary to share if we slowed down enough to notice.  This is Paraguay- an unknown country concealing some of life's richest treasures.  Between the hills, along the dirt roads, across the streams you find a culture and people that possess that which can only be gained when we slow down and stop trying to progress.  I wondered how Eli was feeling as he kept an eye out for Mom coming down the road in our Land Cruiser.  I wished we didn't have to leave Paraguay as one last adventure was about to give way to another.

Wordless Wednesday

Ok, so just a few words to say that after a busy month of ministry and no blogging in quite a while... I'm gearing up for another post (hooray)!  For now here's an almost Wordless Wednesday of a car getting towed out of the mud by, that's right... an ox cart!