Hello from the Road

After a year of traveling abroad (off-and-mostly-on), we are back in the United States exploring our backyard and beyond. A recap of the first month:

• On March 26, we arrived in Seattle at midnight and spent the next 19 days catching up with old friends; visiting our doctors, dentists and physical therapists; and enjoying all that Seattle has to offer in the springtime.
• By Tax Day (April 15 for you international readers), we were headed south to see Josh's family in Oregon and then his brother and our nieces and nephew in Redding, California.
• 4/20 brought us back north to the Applegate Valley in Southern Oregon for some paragliding and welcome conversations with our pals there. It was like returning home after a year away and I was so thankful to reconnect with the community and landscape that helped nurse me back to health after my accident last year.
• The following Sunday, April 26, we said farewell to Oregon's wine country and drove the winding road past deer and redwood trees into coastal California. In my mind, our roadtrip began there, in Prairie Creek, California--having already driven more than 900 miles from our home base in Seattle, Washington.

One of several vistas we ogled on the drive along California's wild north coast. These yellow mustard flowers always remind me of my dad who, regardless of the times I picked bouquets for him, is allergic to them.

Prairie Creek

We arrived in the mid-afternoon on a sunny spring day. The golden grasses glowed in the fields, the redwood trees towered in the distance and we were in search of a campsite with a beach view and a flat place to pitch our tent. We settled for a slightly sloping sandy tent site protected on three sides by tall green bushes with a weather-beaten and camper-engraved picnic table just a short jaunt from the ocean. It was divine.

Our plush camping palace complete with plastic outdoor rug and plenty of space for us and our crap inside.

While I drew, Josh walked on the beach. Then together we loaded up into our overloaded Subaru and drove the couple miles to the start of the Fern Canyon trail.

We had to ford a couple streams to get out to the trailhead. Luckily, we didn't need to unpack our boat from the roof to make it.

More than a decade ago, Josh took me to Prairie Creek and Fern Canyon on a camping trip with his high school besties. That same trip, his friend Jonny declared us a perfect couple when I emerged from our tent wearing a dorky headlamp which matched the one Josh sported. Little did Jonny know that thousands of other practical outdoorsmen rely on headlamps, and little did we know that Jonny's declaration would be proven out over the following many years. But I digress.

The hike up Fern Canyon at the end of April this year was beautiful. The ferns flanked the hillsides--albeit not as densely as in pre-drought days--and the winding canyon and its creek provided amble opportunities for Josh to show off his strength as he piggybacked me over the wettest stretches. You see, although my feet are about 75% back to normal, I still need to wear sneakers when I hike, while Josh can skip upcreek in his trusty Chaco sandals.

My matching top and sneakers was a happy accident; the smile plastered on my face is the result of our adventurous life.

On our return to the car, we met an unperturbed juvenile elk peacefully grazing alongside the trail. For more than ten minutes we watched him chew green grass, pose for photos, and generally do his elk-thing while wild children and loud adults hiked past just feet away. I was amazed that a 800+ lb creature calmly devoured his vegetarian dinner while I gazed on. This was one of the highlights of my day and probably even of the week. What can I say? I love wildlife.

So I drew the elk and all his velvet-horned glory.

Back at camp that night we feasted on sausage and vegetables grilled in a single pan and eaten straight from it to avoid any unnecessary washing up. The evening ended with stars overhead and comfy sleeping bags beneath us. Our Western States road trip was off to a good start.

 

 

My kind of double-header

Today was a double-header and not of the baseball variety. One of the best things about being back in Seattle is knowing where to go to get my art fix.

First up today? Bellevue Art Museum. They have an exquisite exhibit of Madeleine Albright's pins. For those who don't already know, Madeleine Albright was the US' first woman Secretary of State (1997-2001). And she loved to wear pins and broches. In fact, she used them to communicate her intentions, disposition and feelings in diplomatic and political arenas. She wore pins with bees when she was feeling fiesty, angels and butterflies when she wanted to communicate hope, and lions when it was a time for courage.

In addition to adorning herself with animal pins, she also wore flowers, American flags and even a pin symbolizing the shattering of the glass ceiling. Suffice to say Madeline Albright is one of my heros and getting to see a smattering of her pin collection today was inspiring. Beyond the hidden (or not so hidden) messages in her selections, many of Madeleine Albright's pins are also impressive works of art. Like the 3-inch mosquito pin with moving parts, the articulated jaguar which she wore draped across her shoulder and the red modern-looking fox brooch.

Act two of my arts double-header today was a circus show put on by the talented IMPulse Collective. Through the telling of a story about the forgotten figments of our imagination, embodied in the imaginary friends that have been abandoned by their creators, the audience got to experience the joy of adults at play. The performers are all staff at the School of Acrobatics and New Circus Arts (SANCA) and the show included impressive juggling scenes, dramatic aerial silks and rope performances, contornism, a graceful dance routine with a huge metal hula hoop, among other hard-to-master routines.

The show's message about play, friendship and imagination hit home for me. I fondly recalled the aerial arts classes Josh and I took prior to our world travels and how I delighted in seeing what new tricks my body could do. Getting stronger and more fit had a purpose and that purpose was to play and enjoy life.

As Josh and I prepare to hit the road again, this time on a tour of national parks and beautiful places in America's Southwest, I am doubling down on my commitment to have fun and enjoy life. Be it by learning about the unconventional ways art can help us communicate with others, drawing animals in my various sketchbooks or playing outside like a little kid, I intend to seek happiness and enjoyment everyday.

I hope you will continue to join us on our journey to discover and follow our passions. And I hope you'll share your own adventures in finding happiness in the comments section of this blog, on Facebook or by emailing us.

 

A normal day in a different way

Yesterday I did something that was so normal for me a few months ago, I could hardly understand why it was such an ordeal.

I rode the bus in Seattle.

Since moving here in 2001, I have ridden transit at least once a week, sometimes multiple times a day to all kind of destinations and on almost of the services available: Metro express and local service, Sound Transit Express bus and light rail, even Amtrak. Oh, and I've studied worked in the transit world for the last 8 years.

But yesterday was the first time I rode transit with a mobility device. And boy was it a different experience.

For those who don't know, for three years I helped improve access and transportation options for people with mobility limitations of all types, whether due to age, injury, disability, income or language. I even spearheaded the creation of a series of videos on how to ride the bus for seniors and people with disabilities in 8 languages! And yet when it was time for me to hop the bus with a broken foot, I found myself struggling to do so.

Here's what happened.

I used Google to plan my trip from downtown Seattle to Issaquah, on buses I've taken in the past. The first option it showed me was a one-seat ride that would have required a four block walk--something I would have readily done just a couple months ago. But this time, I stared in disbelief at the option knowing that rolling myself downhill from 5th Ave to 2nd Ave would be treacherous at best on my knee-scooter.

Option two required just one block walk to the first stop and then a transfer. Happy about the initial short travel distance, I was dismayed to note that I would have to scoot three blocks from where the first bus would let me off the to second bus--and I'd only have 5 minutes to make the trek, assuming my first bus was on time. Again, this option would have been fine if I was walking, but the thought of having to scoot under time constraints thru multiple signaled intersections seemed ill-advised.

Luckily there was a third option, again requiring a transfer and with the longest travel time of all the options, but it was by far the best for me in my current state of limited mobility. The initial bus would pick up three blocks from where I was along a mostly flat sidewalk and then I would transfer to a bus at the same stop where I'd get off the first bus.

Hooray! I had found a viable option!

I made it to the bus stop on time and even got my cash ready to go. I searched the sign at the bus stop to figure out what I'd owe, but despite my double Master's degrees, I couldn't find the price to Issaquah. So I waited to ask the bus driver.

When the bus arrived, I let everyone else board, patiently waiting to request the ramp. The drive happily complied and when the ramp wouldn't deploy itself, he easily did it himself. Everything was going as I expected until I tried to board the ramp. As I attempted to push my scooter up the ramp, it bounced off the lip and bucked me off--prompting me to instinctively catch myself with my broken right foot! "Ouch," I yelped! Although pleased to have avoided smashing my face into the pavement, I was pissed I'd put weight on my injured leg and annoyed that I couldn't just roll up onto the bus as I'd anticipated. I got it on the second try, lifting the front tires of my scooter onto the ramp and then rolling aboard.

Once on board, I asked the driver for the fare to Issaquah. He didn't know. So I read the sign on the bus determining I needed to pay $2.50 for a one-county fare. Getting my cash ready, I asked the driver for a transfer as I would need to change buses. He reminded me that Sound Transit doesn't offer transfer passes anymore. "Great!" I thought. "Now this little bus ride is going to cost me $5 instead of $2.50." Fortunately, as I went to feed my cash into the machine, the driver informed me that the cash machine was broken and I was getting a free ride. Yay me.

I found a seat in the front, parked my scooter and put on its brakes, and rode the six stops to the transfer point in peaceful silence. When it was time to get off, I waited patiently for everyone to get off, then unloaded myself via the ramp.

When the second bus came, I had my exact fare ready and again waited for everyone else to load. Have I mentioned that I hate being last? Well, I do. But such is a the life of someone who needs the ramp or lift on transit. Again I had to request the lift, as if it was not obvious that I needed it. This time, having learned my lesson, I lifted the front of my scooter onto the ramp and slowly pushed my way aboard, paid the fare and took my seat in the front of the bus.

I had forgotten how lovely it is to ride the bus across Lake Washington:

No view of Mt. Rainier today but the scenery was lovely as always.

I also broke the bus-riders' code and asked another passenger to take a photo of me aboard the bus with my scooter.

Me and my scooter aboard the #554.

Having broken the ice with this complete stranger, we got to talking and discovered that he was from Bogota and I had studied there. An interesting conversation about the relative merits of transit in Bogota vs. Seattle ensued in Spanglish (more about that in another post) and I was thankful that the novelty of riding the bus with a scooter had enboldened me to talk to my fellow transit rider.

When the bus reached my final destination, I again waited--a little less patiently-- for everyone else to get off before again asking for the ramp so I could exit. The bus driver did not reply but did push the button for the ramp and then looked away as I cautiously scooted to the sidewalk. I guess a friendly "sure!" or "no problem" was too much to hope for, much less a bus driver able to anticipate I would need the ramp to get off since I'd needed it to board.

Despite all the minor inconveniences and the pain of standing on my barred-from-weight-bearing foot, I had successfully rode the bus! I'd love to say this is a big deal, but really I've been doing this for 13 years.