 Jacob Paul: Lost in Humboldt - Blog 5
I’m writing this from Fairfax, in Marin, spitting distance from San Francisco. In fact, if I don’t make it to SF in time for dinner, it’ll be because a tsunami’s struck, or an earthquake, all of which is to say that this will be my last post from the road. And since it’s my last post, I thought that I’d finally write something that actually read like travel writing. Last Sunday at noon, I was riding fast and easy into Eureka, eager for a half-day and a night indoors at a friend’s house after a series of long days.
 Jacob Paul: Trampin' - Blog 4
Sometimes we must embrace the things that inspire fear in order to make liveable, to allow us to love, the conditions of our existence. Yes, I’m thinking of you, high, windy, narrow, coastal bridges, especially you, Newport Bay Bridge, and Umpqua River Bridge and Coos Bay Bridge. Your narrow exposed lanes leave no leniency when a tractor-double-trailer log truck passes alongside a cyclist, disrupting the gusting wind against which he leans, yo-yoing his balance.
 Jacob Paul: Commitment in Cyclo-Tourism - Blog 3
State Campground, three miles south of Waldport, Oregon Coast - I wish that I could say that I was writing this from the men’s room, but I can’t. Turns out I’m too timid to type in the steam of the communal showers, so instead I’m hiding from the rain in my tent, crouched on a sleeping pad, leaning away from the damp plastic walls. It occurs to me, that the cyclotourist, much like the debut novelist, isn’t entitled to anything.
 Jacob Paul: Dos and Don'ts of Bicycle Touring - Blog 2
Do: Spend at least a month riding and tuning the bike you’ll use on your tour. Get a good night’s rest the night before your first tour day – or any day you plan to ride real distance. Plan out your route enough in advance to know how to avoid major highways; at a minimum, own a map of the region. Don’t: Set hard destination deadlines, especially for the first day of your tour. Get drunk with your friends the night before you have to ride a considerable distance. Use a bicycle you built up between midnight and three a.m. two days before your departure.
 Brilliance from the Dark Continent
Walking to school in the frigid December Minnesota air, bundled from head to toe in various layers of insulation, I was mulling over an email conversation I had the previous night with my new friend Dave. Dave lives in Mali, West Africa. I was wishing that I could transport myself three weeks forward in time when I would be there for a visit. One night, among other things, we were talking rock.
 Jacob Paul: Biking from Seattle to San Francisco - Blog 1
I think this is where I’m supposed to insert a quip about my undertaking, an X Games meets Jackass open-ended sloganized question: Can this overweight man who’s just spent a winter writing instead of ski-touring make it from Seattle to San Francisco on a bicycle in time for his reading at the Booksmith? The tag would work better if there was prize money attached, and maybe a romantic liaison.
 Climbing the Nose With the Man of Speed
I originally met Hans Florine at the Outdoor Retailer trade shows. In October 2009, he came to our climbing gym here in Colorado Springs to do a speed climbing presentation. I talked to him for a bit, bringing up my failed attempt at climbing the Nose two years ago. After his presentation was over, I went to say goodbye to him, and he mentioned climbing the Nose with me "if I was ever down that way." Of course I would make it a point to get down that way!
 On Kilimanjaro I felt like I ascended into heaven
It is not often that one meets a very experienced veteran trip leader specializing in safaris to wild parks and climbing Mount Kilimanjaro who says, when he successfully climbed Kilimanjaro to the summit for the first time in 1988, "I was very happy when I reached the roof of Africa. I felt like I have been ascended into heaven, body and soul."
 Luckiest Man alive and the Widow Maker
Okay climbers, this is an article for you! You know who you are. You, like me, will watch your favorite sports on Sundays, after a gym climbing workout; may eat healthy food with friends; and for the most part are extremely physical in almost all sports, and pretty much ignore your wife, partner, or friends if they tell you that you ought to get pesky little health things checked out, right?
 EL QUENTO de la CHEWY
The Story of Chewie Part Three - Crossing The Border with his gringo sidekicks and Meztiso compais -By David Sweetland - I began this rock climber saga on the dirt road heading into El Gran Trono Blanco, the Baja, California, big wall, a trip I took with my closest friends many years ago. We did a grade V but needed the help of a local - Chewie - to both get us to the Great White Throne, and then up the route (Chewbacca is a fine alpinist).
 A Climber in Iraq
His fingers curl over the crimpy hold as his left hand reaches for a sweat slick sloper. He ascends the wall, ignoring the hum of the air-conditioner, the aggressive flies, the fluorescent lights, the heat and drafts of dust. At the top he hangs for a moment on the two-by-four plank and then drops to the worn padding of blue mats and grey-yellow mattresses. Outside the roar of a Blackhawk’s rotor blades and engines ruffles the tent’s ceiling over the climber’s head, but after nine months in country he hardly notices these sounds anymore.
 MATTERHORN MADNESS UNMASKED
Story and photos by John Wutzer - It all began back in 2006 when a couple climbing friends and I decided to attempt to climb the Matterhorn. We reserved a guide but a trail climb to test our Alpine skills was first in order. We were led on a 6 hour exhausting half traverse of the Breithorn that challenged us beyond our imagination. We completed the journey but lacking top fitness and more, it left us physically drained, mentally down and beaten by the mountain. It was determined that we were under-skilled in a variety of mountaineering and climbing aspects thereby deemed unsuited for the Matterhorn.
 GETTING DOWN THE CRUX
Story and Red Rocks wood mural by Sherri Lewis - I avoid alpine starts as if they were a cactus on a climbers’ trail. I never grasped the point of losing sleep to bag a plum route when the low-hanging fruit seemed plenty tasty. But lately this cragger was hungry for altitude, so I made plans to fly from Seattle to Las Vegas before Thanksgiving with the goal of climbing Black Orpheus, an 11-pitch 5.10a deep within Oak Creek Canyon in Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, Nevada.
 At First Light
Cody hiked up the trail that circumnavigated the basalt quarry. He hiked in the dark of the early August morning, rope and gear stowed in his backpack. The creosote steps were far apart, built too tall by city volunteers, and Cody pushed down on the tops of his knees to help his quad muscles as he lurched up the oversized staircase.
 Every Other Year
I was exhausted. It was the last mountain pass we would trek over on our journey from the small town of Lares to Ollyontomburu in Peru. At 13,500 feet, I sat on the cold gray rocks to try to reclaim my stolen breaths. For the moment I had the pass to myself. My trekking companions were well behind me, still making their way up the “Valley of Fire” so named for the ragged gray lava rock that encompassed every view and allowed little vegetation to survive. You were hard pressed to find any color along this trail. That is, unless you were alone on a mountain pass, waiting for your breath to calm.
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