As brave as I can
*a trip around the Olympic Peninsula
Dear Kula Diaries,
A few years ago — as Aaron and I started contemplating the possibility of acquiring far too many motorcycles — we also started imagining a day when we could take our (then) imaginary motorcycles on fun trips to some of our favorite places in Washington. Last week, we finally made one of those dreams come true: we rode our real motorcycles around the entirety of the Olympic Peninsula.
It’s funny when you think about something — and you imagine what that thing will be like to do — and you think that you’ll be happier in your life when you get to do that thing… and yet, sometimes, you find yourself actually doing the thing that you had dreamed about doing … while simultaneously not feeling the thing that you thought you’d be feeling.
This is a conundrum that I noticed throughout my life: I’d be mostly miserable all year long, and I’d need some sort of a trip or a vacation in order to ‘save’ me from my misery. Then, I’d go on the vacation, and spend the entire vacation feeling stressed out about having to go back to work … and complaining about all the ‘crap’ I had to deal with in my life. Needless to say, I was never quite able to find the feeling that I thought that I was looking for during my ‘vacation’. What I didn’t quite realize is that I didn’t need to go anywhere in order to find what I was looking for — I simply had to realize that I already had it. Which, honestly, sounds cliche and annoying — but it’s hauntingly true.
Many years ago, one of my physical therapists was going on a vacation to Hawaii with his two small children and wife, and when he returned, I asked him how it was, and he said to me, “Anastasia, you don’t stop becoming a parent just because you go on a vacation.” I don’t have kids — but I do own a business, and that’s the closest equivalent that I can get to understanding what this might be like. Even though I can leave my house… even though I can not show up to the office… my business does not simply vaporize. I do not simply stop thinking about it. It does not disappear. Like a buzzing current — it is always there… humming away in the background.
Our plan for this trip was simple: ride our motorcycles around the Olympic Peninsula. Since our motorcycles are not technically ‘touring bikes’, they aren’t really the type of motorcycle that you would ride for hundreds of miles in pure and utter comfort. We’ve discovered that 300 miles is a HUGE day on our bikes… and we prefer to ride in small chunks, so that we can be comfortable and alert during the entire ride. For the first day, we planned to ride to Port Ludlow, Washington — with a dinner stop at the Ajax Cafe (a restaurant that was introduced to me back when I was a park ranger). Our first day of riding included a ferry ride from Edmonds … and then a sunset walk on the beach before we went to bed.
The next morning, I woke up early and headed out for a sunrise walk on the beach. I’m a bit of a creature of habit, and even if I’m on ‘vacation’, I like to stick to my normal morning routine. For me, this always involves some type of a walk, meditation and… of course… dancing. On this particular day, I sat out on the beach for a sunrise meditation and then I joined our Dance Experiment call at 6:30 am from an oddly perfect ‘dance platform’ — a flat, concrete patio in the middle of a large field. As I’ve continued my dance experiment over the last 1300+ days, I’ve discovered something fascinating: the entire world is a dance floor if you know to see it that way.
Our plan for the second day was to visit Aaron’s dad in Port Angeles (where he lives), and then drive to the town of Forks, Washington to stay in a tiny AirBNB cabin. This day was the only variable on the trip because the weather was 100% guaranteed to turn into torrential rain in the afternoon. I’m a bit of a NOAA addict, and I spent a significant amount of time reading the forecast discussion and determining the exact time that we needed to leave by in order to arrive in Forks prior to the heavy rain. I’ve ridden the motorcycle in rain before, but I really did not want to be riding on 101 in a downpour. After a fun and curvy ride down Highway 112, we arrived in Forks at 2pm … walked into a pizza restaurant for lunch… and within minutes of arriving at the restaurant… the entire sky opened up.
It would continue to rain — very hard at times — over the next 10 hours. We managed to find a brief lull in the weather to ride the bikes for about a mile to our AirBNB. Once inside, a strange feeling began to creep over me: extreme relaxation. I don’t feel this very often, so when I do, I notice it. We laid on the bed inside of our tiny little cabin and listened to the rain on the metal roof. I read from my latest fiction book and allowed myself to just… well… rest.
If I’m being honest, rest is what I need the most — and not rest from doing anything… but rather, rest from my own mind. For as much meditation and dancing that I do, it is still a daily practice to be present. For as much Eckhart Tolle that I read, I am still human and things still grate on me. For as many times as I have talked about being present… there are still so many times when I am lost in my own mind and decidedly not present. And yet, as I laid in that little AirBNB, I felt completely and utterly relaxed… relieved… and free.
The last few weeks have been a challenge for me, which is nothing new as a business owner. I really feel like the entire act of business ownership is like being a surfer: you just surf from one new thing to the next new thing, and you somehow learn to trust that it’s going to be OK along the way. Sometimes, it’s hard to balance on the surfboard … but, over time, you get better at it. Eventually, even amidst the waves, you find beautiful moments of peace — a deep, unwavering trust that everything is going to be OK.
Something that I’m learning to accept is this: resting is a thing you can do. As a kid, there was a lot of emphasis placed on ‘doing’ things and on ‘being productive’ — and resting was often dismissed as laziness. As a result of this, I often find it difficult to rest and relax — and I often end up working myself into burnout. It is unnatural for me to lie down in the middle of the day to read a fictional book… and yet… as we sat in the AirBNB and listened to the rain on the roof, I could feel the cells of my body start to discover some much needed space. The thing about riding the motorcycles, is that they have the ability to shape the experience much more than a car. If we had driven a car, it would have been easy to hop in and drive back into town to ‘do things’ — but on the motorcycles in a torrential downpour? Well, that decision was made for us. We would be resting for the evening — and just listening to the rain.
The next morning, I woke up at my normal early time and I migrated into the town of Forks, where I discovered yet another perfect dance floor: a basketball court in a local park. As the town began to wake up for the day, I put in my headphones and danced gleefully on the court.
I was very excited for the ride on Day 3, because we were going to take a quick detour down to La Push… and then ride down 101, along the coast … take a short detour to Lake Quinault… and then finish the ride by heading to Moclips, a tiny town on the ocean.
After a delicious breakfast of biscuits and gravy (our second biscuits and gravy breakfast on the trip, I might add) … we headed out on the ride.
There is a feeling that you get on a motorcycle, and unless you’ve ridden one before — it’s hard to describe, but I’m going to try and tell you what it feels like. The first time I ever felt it, I was four years old — my mom let one of our friends take me for a ride on the back of his Honda Goldwing. I still remember that first moment of the wind hitting my face — and this feeling of freedom that was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life before. It is a feeling of suspension in space — a fully immersed sensation of flying through the air — while simultaneously smelling and feeling everything around you. There is no window to diminish the petrichor from last night’s rain … no air conditioner to prevent you from deep inhales of freshly cut cedar mingled with salt water. It’s a strange feeling — like you’ve become a part of the air itself, and now — you just get to drift together. It’s a feeling of aliveness that I can find when I imagine riding the motorcycle — but until I had ridden a motorcycle, I never knew that the feeling existed. Aaron and I often do gratitude meditations, and he tells me that he always envisions himself accelerating on the motorcycle — and that he’s able to cultivate a deep feeling of gratitude as he feels the life around him begin to rush by. As we started our ride for the day, I asked Aaron, “What’s your goal for this trip?”. I heard Aaron’s voice crackling back on our helmet intercom system, “Oneness”, he said. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t kidding.
We stopped at Ruby Beach, where I promptly laid down on the ground and closed my eyes — lying there for about 20 minutes … just listening to the ocean and feeling the sun on my face. As we hiked back up to the car, we passed another motorcycling couple who were hiking down to the beach. Before I left the parking lot, I slipped a Kula Cloth and a little sticker under the helmet on the woman’s bike. Yah — I know I’m on vacation — but, like I said… I can’t help myself.
As we left Ruby beach, the ride just kept getting better and better — and suddenly we burst out into a location where the road was right on the ocean. Floating along — feeling so connected to the world around you — you realize the absolute magnificence that surrounds us at all times, and it is simply not an experience that you can feel in a car. As we entered this beautiful spot, I looked down and happened to notice that my odometer was about to hit a milestone. The numbers said: 10,999 miles. As the views of the ocean continued to expand, I watched as the odometer flipped over to a brand new number: 11,000 miles. In a fit of inexplicable jubilation, I started yelling unintelligible words into the intercom — and once Aaron realized that I was not screaming about something dangerous, he started to laugh. I have monitored my odometer on my motorcycle almost as carefully as I’ve monitored the amount of days that I’ve danced. I have no idea why the numbers are so fascinating to me, but I simply COULD NOT BELIEVE the serendipity of this moment. I mean, really… what were the odds that my odometer clicked over to 11,000 miles in the EXACT moment of the most beautiful section of the road that we had seen so far? In case you think I’m lying about my excitement… I’m not… and I have proof…
After the big excitement of my 11,000th mile on my motorcycle, we took a detour to Lake Quinault … and then we headed down the seemingly abandoned Moclips Highway. We didn’t see one other vehicle on the entire route — and we enjoyed the last few minutes of riding into the tiny little ocean town.
Once we were in Moclips, we had a delicious dinner at our hotel — the Ocean Crest Resort — and we headed out for a walk on the beach, which turned into a 4+ mile sand march into the wind. I’m infamously known for my inability to relax on vacations. On the day after our wedding in Moorea (one of the Tahitian Islands), I decided that we should attempt a climb of a mountain called Mount Rotui. In blog posts about this climb you’ll find helpful beta, including phrases such as, “I strong discourage anybody from attempting to climb Mt. Rotui”. When we reached a portion of the climb that included Aaron slipping off the 4 inch wide ‘trail’ and dangling over a cliff while holding onto a vine … we finally decided to turn around. We returned to our hotel looking like we had been beaten with a million tiny branches — because, indeed, we had.
The sand march in Moclips was, thankfully, less adventurous than our Tahitian adventure — but, it was still a classic ‘Anastasia vacation moment’. Luckily, the beach was gorgeous and as we wandered along the shoreline, I couldn’t help but feel struck by the incredible vastness of the ocean. “It puts everything into perspective,” I told Aaron, “So many things seem like they are such a big deal… and then you look at the ocean and try to imagine the bigness of it… and nothing really seems quite as serious anymore.”
The next morning, I woke up early and started hiking on the beach in the dark, so that I could watch the sunrise and dance. I found a boulder, and sat for awhile and closed my eyes and just listened to the sound of the waves and my breathing — discovering that there was a similar rhythm between them. Rumi has famously written, “You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in a drop.” And yet, I often forget this. I often feel like the drop — a tiny, separate being that needs to try and control and force life to be the way that I want it to be. And yet, on this morning — sitting with the ocean, and then dancing with it as the sun rose, I could feel something else — a connection, and a trust that maybe, I was a part of something that mattered far more than the little things that like to distract me from the vastness of life that exists in each and every moment.
Our second to last day of riding was a long one — we added a bonus loop to include more of Highway 101 along the coastline, and we stopped in Westport, Washington — a tiny harbor town — to eat lunch and watch the waves. Our destination for the day was a special place — Alderbrook Resort, on the Hood Canal … just 5 miles from Twanoh State Park, where I served as a Park Ranger for 7 years. As we rode into the afternoon, the riding fatigue started to hit us both pretty hard. If you’ve never ridden a motorcycle before, then you might be surprised to learn that it is unbelievably exhausting. Our motorcycles, in particular, are not set up for ‘touring’ — which means that they don’t have large windscreens or comfortable seats that make longer days a bit less tiring. In addition, the amount of focus that is required on a motorcycle is extreme — you can’t just ‘zone out’ — because it’s pretty important that you are hyper-alert and aware of everything around you. And so, in dire need of a rest, we pulled into Schafer State Park for about 30 minutes to lie on the ground under the trees.
Eventually, we made it to Alderbrook, where we had a wonderful dinner and lovely evening hike on their network of trails. In the morning, I woke up early (of course), and hiked all of the trails in their small trail system, and even had the chance to watch the sunrise from the top of the ‘Huckleberry Hill Climb’ trail. While Aaron and I were married in Moorea, our legal wedding ceremony took place in a beautiful home on the Hood Canal. We celebrated the event with pizza and cupcakes and our immediate family. Every time I’m back in this spot, I can’t help but reflect on my time as a Park Ranger… my marriage with Aaron… and just how much our lives have changed and grown together over the past 12 years. I certainly never imagined that I’d be arriving at Alderbrook on a motorcycle someday!
Our last day of riding involved a stunning ride up Highway 101 along the Hood Canal… a ferry ride across the sound… and then a Type II Fun ride from the Edmonds Ferry Terminal back to our house. The traffic was heavy and we were both exhausted and ready to be finished. When we pulled into our house and saw our cats for the first time, I know that we both felt that sense of joy in familiarity that you can only get from being home.
On the second to last day of our trip, we were at a gas station and there was an older man riding a trike (a 3-wheeled motorcycle). He was extremely enthusiastic to talk to us about his 50+ year riding career, and loved talking about the freedom that he felt when he was on his motorcycle. Aaron and I both nodded vigorously, “We know exactly what you are talking about!”. As he pulled out from the gas station, he stopped next to our motorcycles and looked at me with kind eyes, “Be as safe as you can… and be as brave as you can.” I smiled. I thought about the past few days of beautiful riding, and couldn’t help but feel that it was a message that went far beyond motorcycling.
Aaron and I hadn’t taken a ‘vacation’ in nearly a year before we decided to do this small trip — but I’m not saying that as a complaint. In my pre-Kula life, I went a lot more places, but I wouldn’t have called myself brave. Honestly, I wouldn’t have even said that I was safe. I was on a constant quest to numb and avoid my discomfort with life — and that meant going on progressively more and more challenging trips in order to side-step a fact that I didn’t want to admit: I was afraid. I was afraid to try something new. I was afraid to become something. I didn’t believe in myself. I was afraid that I would fail. I was afraid that I would disappoint the people that cared about me. And so, I climbed harder and further and faster in an attempt to avoid looking at the things that were difficult to see. I didn’t necessarily even want to go on vacations… I needed to go on vacations.
For a lot of my life, I spent most of my time trying to fill the spaces with something — with anything. I never wanted to sit in the uneasiness of difficult feelings and conversations. I didn’t want to look at the things that scared me. In fact, I even avoided riding motorcycles (even though it was something I felt very called to do) — because so many people in my family ‘disapproved’ of them. I thought that it would just be one more checkmark on the endless list of ‘Anastasia’s shortcomings’.
Many years ago, I needed to escape , because I simply couldn’t be with myself — and the last few years have been a journey back to a place that feels familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I no longer feel a need or a desire to go away — but rather, a genuine sense of wanting to be where I am right now — wherever that might be. Some days, it is riding my 11,000th mile along a stretch of the Olympic Coast… but, other days, it might be packing orders alone in the Kula Office. I have come to recognize that not one thing is better than the other, and not one of those things will bring me more happiness. The happiness that I sought — but rarely found — on my vacations in the past was quickly replaced by a need for yet another escape… and another… and another. It felt like an endless quest to get away from the very life that I was living.
So where does this leave me now? Maybe it’s the space between — a space that feels safe because I can learn to trust life to find a way… but also brave, because it’s brave to accept where you are. I look around me and notice that most of life is spent trying to be somewhere different — a constant avoidance of what is. Being brave doesn’t mean that you need to go climb a mountain or ride a motorcycle or do anything particularly daring at all — being brave means that you look deeply at your life and accept it … that you let go and trust that life knows better than you do. It’s knowing that in the moments when you feel the most free, that feeling isn’t coming from the sky or from the ocean or from two wheels — it’s coming from within your own heart.
Friends — as always, thank you for being here and for reading my ramblings each week, I cannot possibly express my gratitude for your time and presence… and for inspiring me to sit down and type out the things that usually remain in my mind and heart. I’m sending you all so much love — I hope you are able to find some peace in your day, in whatever way feels best to you.
You are loved!
Thank you friend. Your words always move me greatly 💜 they seem to be the words I need at that moment, so thank you!
Loved this! My grandparents rode their bicycles along the 101 loop back in the 1940’s. I love the Alderbrook trails, I try to visit there often and the view from the top of the ridge is so great! Ruby beach is very special as well. 💚