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

The last two years of pandemic uncertainty have instilled in me a newfound fear of shrinking opportunities, coupled with the acute awareness that time, experiences and human connection are precious. As the summer of 2022 approached, I found myself unable to say no to anything.

...But, as author Jim Collins says:
"If you have more than three priorities, you don't have any."

I wasted no time saying yes to IRONMAN 70.3 Oregon in Salem. It was a new race on the IM calendar, appearing exactly 20 years after I had graduated college in Salem. How could I pass this up?!

It also provided the chance to redeem myself after the disappointing bike split in North Carolina, a performance that did not seem appropriate to the level of fitness I had built.

Meanwhile, coaching opportunities were rolling in faster than I could keep up with, and I had eagerly booked travel to all the third iteration pandemic weddings and social events that had sprouted up on the calendar every other weekend. June hit me like a freight train, with 14 hour work days and 48 hour whirlwind weekend trips out of town. I squeezed in runs when I could but bike training was impossible with all the time away from home (I did, however, get to try out a Peloton. It was fun). Six weeks of trying to be everywhere at once had flown by and when I finally had a moment to focus on Oregon 70.3, it was only two weeks away ...

And then I got COVID.


Posted by Kimberly 07/15/2022

Nik completed his final race for the Cal Poly cycling team, the Wheelmen. The Western Collegiate Cycling Conference's final race of the 2011 Mountain Bike season was hosted by Cal-Berkeley at the Bailey Bike Park course.


Nik racing down the slalom course at Bailey Bike Park


Posted by Dan 11/14/2011

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