The Great Solar Eclipse of 2017 crossed the continent, from Oregon to South Carolina, and gave millions of people the chance to witness one of the most awe-inspiring events in the natural world.

But you had to be within the "path of totality", a narrow band across the earth's surface several thousand miles long but only about 70 miles wide. Outside that band you would only see a partial eclipse, not a total eclipse.

And there is no such thing as a "partial total eclipse", despite the impression blogs and the news media might give. I honestly think that's why so many people misunderstand the utter beauty of the spectacle; they may have seen a partial eclipse in the past that was total somewhere else, and even though they weren't in the path the news kept gushing about it being a total eclipse, so they assume they must have seen a total eclipse and just didn't find it all that impressive.


Posted by Dan 08/29/2017, revised 09/06/2017

As a tribute to that grey area between optimism and denial, I continued to maintain a regular triathlon training schedule throughout 2020, even after the flood of race cancellations in March, and the disappointing dribble of event cancellations and postponements that continued all spring and summer.

Deep down I hoped that one of these days, there would be news of a Covid-ready race, and only the blindly faithful, those still clinging to discipline in the fog of the unknown, would be ready to respond at a moment's notice.

That day came in early September.

The recently formed Professional Triathletes Organization (PTO) threw their support behind a small, locally produced triathlon at the border of Utah and Idaho, and invited the U.S. based pros to join the fun. We had two weeks to prepare for the Bear Lake Brawl 70.3.

Physically I was ready to tackle this challenge, but mentally? I wasn't so sure. Months of pervasive uncertainty had softened the hard edges of my typical training regime, and I had become much less willing to fight through discomfort in the absence of any significant purpose. I was also dismayed to learn that my equipment was no longer race-ready, when the bike shop informed me I needed new brakes, new wheels, a new drive-train, new cables and housing... Apparently 5,000 miles had slipped by in the blink of a pandemic, and - with the curious exception of my aero-pads - nearly everything on the bike had aged significantly without my notice. By my fifth trip back to the bike shop, and just days before the race, it became clear that despite a healthy accumulation of bike parts, nothing I owned was compatible with anything else, and I was suddenly staring down the prospect of finally having a race to do, but no bike to do it on.


Posted by Kimberly 10/10/2020

Yup, I'm taking over my page now! Since 2003 i haven't done anything except a trip on my bike last summer. Well, I guess that about brings us up to date. Moving on.

My summer was spent in the wonderful little village of San Luis Obispo, nestled against the California coastal range, where i participated in an internship at the 'we're too good for Nik' Cal Poly University. Let me just say, SLO rocks! As do all the wonderful people i met there this summer, and I can't wait to return next year.

We'll cut into this little reminiscion with a recount of my last mini-backpacking trip near Sequoia National Park, so i can put in some cool pictures.

A friend from the internship and I headed out after work on friday for a weekend backpacking trip in the Sierra's. We got in late and stayed at a little walk in camp that was tucked waaay up a small winding backroad near the trailhead. This was also the only bear sighting on our trip. We awoke early to find a black bear not more than 50 yards off in the camp area. He wasn't interested in our food though, just beating up the trees around there.

Backpacking in the High Sierras

Posted by nik 08/22/2008, revised 08/22/2008

21 de junio, Estacion de Biodiversidad, Tiputini

Today, I experienced the arrival of a storm in a freight train of senses.

I sat in a wooden canoe in the middle of a lake in the Amazon rain forest. In the distance, thunder mumbled and tumbled across the dense land. The sky got darker, the air got thicker. The storm made no attempts to sneak up on me, but rather used a range of pathways to indicate its arrival, in a persistent and relentless manner. It urged me to pay attention to it all, to each aspect of its existence.

In a calm, quiet lake I sat. An unmistakable hush started from far off, moving decisively closer, growing and building quickly into a clamor, a rushing train headed straight for me, through the trees and washing over the green land. I knew it was arriving. I heard it arriving. Then I saw it arriving, sliding across the water from the bank, prickling the surface of the lake as it pressed towards me.

Then I felt it. It hit my skin, it pattered off my arms, it moved in lapping waves around me, gentle yet, but sure. Then the wind. It galloped over the treetops, stirring up excited energy, and swept me up in it. It swiped across the thick drops splattered on my skin, sunk into my clothes, soaked into my hair. It blew my energy around, lashing at my previous sense of calm. The tumbling thunder moved closer, grew stronger, and urged my little boat of surrendered appreciation decisively from the center of the lake to the embrace of the bank.

This was not a dramatic flash of monsoonal expression of Power. This was Power built thick and heavy. Arrival was not simply the first step of Departure. Arrival was the arrival of a guest that stayed and settled into the corner of the couch with its feet kicked up. There wasn't a Departure, the storm simply slowly and imperceptibly faded away after time - a heavy mist snaking away to the heavens and leaving a weighty blanket sitting over everything.

It was a magical experience that colored my day... and it was, I believe, the thickest rainstorm I have ever been in.

Amazon photo album: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.864167170098.2372447.19700757&l=fbd26288a4

Posted by Whitney 06/26/2011, revised 06/26/2011