Category: Write-up

Arrival

“Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position.”

You look out the window. It’s dusk. There’s a haze to the air, and through it, mountain ridges stick out into the sky. You begin to wonder if it’s haze or a permanent sandstorm that obscures your view of everything else.

“Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins.”

You’ve been wondering a lot lately. The Sultanate of Oman is a place which most Americans know very little about. When packing and preparing to go to such a land, most people you talk to say something along the lines of ‘Oman? Where’s the heck is that?’ or ‘Like the country?’ Again, more questions. ‘Why Oman?’

Why not?

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

You’ve never been to the Middle East. Only heard about it on the news. Most mentions of it aren’t necessarily that encouraging. But then again, you hear a lot on the news these days. Maybe it’s best to go see and experience for yourself.

“Cabin crew, please take your seats.”

Maybe that’s it. There’s a lot going on around you. Social media updates and video from people doing things that you used to find inspiring. Now you somehow feel like you’re missing out. For some reason, you now feel like those places, journeys, and adventures are attainable. Perhaps that’s because they are?

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Muscat International Airport. Local time is 17:55 and the temperature is 26 degrees Celsius.”

You look out the window again. The haze is still there, but you can make out buildings and more mountains. It reminds you of either Star Wars, Mars, or some ridiculous combination of the two. And those homes and buildings do look exactly like the ones seen on the evening news from both Gulf Wars.

“For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign.”

Too late now. You’re here. You’re doing it. Anything you forgot at home…guess what? It’s still at home, and it’s going to stay there. Any internal hesitations about not speaking Arabic must be left on the plane. Any preconceived notions or expectations of any sort are about to be shattered.

“On behalf of the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future.”

It’s game time. You stand up, grab your bags, and start walking.

 

Peace Be Unto You

“Salaam Alaikum!” we proclaimed. Of our utterly dismal knowledge of Arabic, the common greeting, which literally translates to “peace be unto you”, had become a pillar of our daily social interactions.

“Alaikum Salaam!” became the response we also had grown accustomed to receiving. 

The man on the side of the road stood smiling. Weathered teeth shown through a smile stretching wide across a face toned dark from the desert sun. He stood overlooking the valley we had camped in the night before. Now, pushing our bikes up an incredibly steep dirt road, we were in a world of hurt (and heat) and welcomed any sort of distraction which would allow us a break from physical activity. 

Throughout our time in Oman, we were shocked at how much the English language is used throughout the country. Road and store signs are typically printed in both Arabic and English, and the vast majority of people could at least speak a few basic phrases. We began to chat with the man in English. He had spent the morning looking for his goats. They had not returned home from the night’s wander. Despite not having found them yet, he seemed unconcerned. 

After a brief interaction, the man asked us to follow him back to his village for coffee and dates. Again, any sort of distraction from the heat and weight of our bikes was welcome. We followed. 

We were welcomed into the man’s home and introduced to his brothers and father. Dates and coffee we served, and eventually, we realized that the dates we were eating had been grown and harvested in the village garden. We were then led to the grove of palm date trees next to the town’s mosque. More dates and coffee were consumed as we were introduced to friends and neighbors. Before we knew it, we were being taught how to climb a palm tree with only the use of one’s feet and an Al-Habl – a homemade rope belt specifically made to scale date palm trees in upwards of 60 feet.

We shared laughs and jokes as we each tried out the technique. The belt, which does not not tie or connect to anything around your waist, gently rests on one’s upper back and shoulders. Step after step, it is slid up the tree until you either get scared (as was our case), or you reach the dates.

It would turn out to be a simple afternoon activity. The men’s generosity, patience, and humor reflected our experience with just about every single person we met in the country. It turns out that ‘peace be unto you’ is not just a hospitable greeting, but a way of life.

December 21, 2016. It is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. There are only nine hours and forty six minutes from sunrise to sunset. Regardless of daylight or time of the year, it’s another opportunity to get out and enjoy life.

An impromptu relay adventure began with bundled and layered cyclists leaving the U.S. National Whitewater Center at precisely 7:28am. The hustle and bustle of Uptown Charlotte’s workday commute quickly faded as the team ventured east. The country roads of rural Piedmont NC winded towards the tree-line confines of Uwharrie National Forrest.

At a small boat launch at the intersection of NC Highway 109 and the Uwharrie River, an exchange of personnel, human powered craft occurred.

The river was chilly and since the water level was low, the rocky sections required heightened attention in order to navigate the Standup Paddleboards.  Appreciating the moment required slowing down.  Both undisturbed and picturesque landscapes surrounded river bend after river bend. Crossing the Pee Dee River to Morrow Mountain State Park would lead to the third and final leg of our journey.

Understanding that we were losing the race against the sun, the team reconvened and mapped out the fastest route to the summit of Morrow Mountain. Part road running, part trail running, and inclusive of an unexpected and steep final push, the team was greeted with an expansive and spectacular summit view at 5:13pm. Just 2 minutes shy of the day’s official sunset.

What began as an idea to over-utilize the shortest day of the year, turned into a full day of dreaming about what other adventures lay beneath our noses, so close to home.

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Adam Bratton is the Marketing Director at the U.S. National Whitewater Center.

I’m not going to pretend I’m a historian. The American public school system offers little  knowledge of the Middle East’s cultural history beyond the belief that Mesopotamia was one of our world’s earliest established civilizations. The American public school system also doesn’t promote mountain biking as a way to learn world history. That being said, I’m also not going to pretend that riding bikes through Oman’s Al Hajar Mountain Range taught me some sort of in-depth history lesson about the region’s culture and traditions. What I can say is that the ancient ruins and forts that populate Oman’s landscape usher a peculiar sense of connection to what I assume are our ancestors. 

Thousands of years no longer seems like that long of a time when you are riding a bike through these ancient cities. The history is tangible. It flies by you as you carve turns through its ancient, narrow streets. It seeps into your dreams as you lay down under the stars, surrounded by the walls of an abandoned village that is perched on the side of a canyon wall.

Back when I was a kid in school, I loved to ride my bike. It was simply fun and a part of being a kid. If you’d told me then that what was being force-fed to me in a textbook would come to life and have greater significance if I just kept riding my bike…I would’ve thought you were crazy. I would have written it off as some sort of adult talk. Or maybe I would’ve taken you seriously and stopped riding my bike for fear that it was a subliminal tool for adults trying to get kids to focus on school. 

Turns out, riding a bike is still just good clean fun. It just so happens that it can take us back in time.

Tree Teachings

When I look back through my catalog of images, most of my favorites have one theme in common; they were shot from up in the trees. The vantage from within the trees is something that I almost always envision when I set out to a location. It helps frame the trails, actions, and landscapes in ways that we might not always get to experience, and often times reveals features that may have otherwise gone unnoticed. From climbing (and subsequently falling out of) pine trees as a youth, to years spent as a carpenter working with wood, trees have played a very central and formative role in nearly every aspect of my life.

A lot can be learned from our forests and how they persevere through adversity, whether it be fire, snow, wind, or drought. The trees tend to be able to rebound, adapt, and cling on to life, even in the harshest of environments. They can grow on inhospitable rock faces, and even a few sustain life in desert environments. They tell the stories of the years hardship with the bows in their trunks, and crooks in their branches. They gift us with the ability to build shelter and to warm ourselves as they pass into their afterlife. When you take lumber and begin to work it into a home, or a piece of furniture, you become intimately familiar with the grain formed over the years of growth and adversity. It affects the blade as it cuts, binds the motor of the saw as wind loaded grain springs together after a cut. As the sandpaper cuts and wears down the rough and rugged exterior, beautiful patterns emerge in the grains that were hidden just out of sight.

Of all the things I’ve learned from trees over the years, a few stand out as a mantra for living a healthy and fulfilled life. These are the teachings of the trees, and are the things that I have taken away from a life of admiring forests in all of their states of being. Stand tall, drink lots of water, enjoy the view, and remember your roots.

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Tim Koerber can be found buying one-way plane tickets to countries he didn’t know existed the day before. For more of his work, check out https://www.timkoerber.com/.

Riding Across America on Dirt

In August 2015, my husband Tom and I left on the biggest adventure of our lives. We closed our bicycle shop of 5 years, moved out of our house in Southwest Ohio, and packed up our bicycles to ride the Trans-America Trail. The name may sound familiar to most as the popular paved bicycle route designed by the founders of Adventure Cycling for their Bikecentenial in 1976, following Route 76. The route I am referring to was originally designed by and for dual-sport motorcyclists to travel off pavement, East to West across the United States. These days, the route includes over 5,000 miles of dirt roads, gravel roads, forest roads, jeep trails, and paved back roads.

Tom and I had been riding on dirt roads for quite some time, but had only ventured on a handful of three to seven day tours. We knew the benefit of traveling by dirt roads: the more remote the setting, the less stress from high speed traffic, and the more relaxed and enjoyable atmosphere of riding and stopping along the route. We knew the TAT would be the ideal route for us to experience our country, and that it would be the biggest challenge of our lives.

From Morehead City, North Carolina to the Great Smoky Mountains, across Southern Tennessee, we dropped into Northwest Mississippi, pedaled across Arkansas, over the Ozark Mountains, and dead straight across Northern Oklahoma and the states Panhandle of No Man’s Land. We rode into the gulches of Northeast New Mexico, climbed up into Colorado, up and over the Rocky Mountains, before we dropped down to ride across Utah, and from basin to range of the Great Basin of northwest Nevada. We tapped California before riding northwest, across Oregon, where we came to the end of our western route in Port Orford, Oregon on Sunday, October 26, 2015. The final tally came in right around 5,000 miles, which we completed in 87 days (81 days pedaling with 6 days off).

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For more on Sarah and Tom Swallow’s cycling adventures, check out https://www.swallowbicycleworks.com/.

When a friend of mine, Kat, first mentioned that she had heard that the new harbor town she’d moved to had some sort of ‘mine system’ underneath it, I pretty much ignored her. In my head, I pictured a narrow bore hole supported by decaying wooden beams keen on collapse with the slightest motivation. If a cave-in wouldn’t get us, I was sure that our lack of canaries would catch up to us somehow. The truth is, I’ve long had Huck-Finn style fantasies of exploring an abandoned mine; a real Goonies type of scenario, you know? I was first introduced to the surreal underworld that exists beneath our feet when I started caving a few years ago. Immediately, I had sprung the desire to bring other types of athletic pursuits underground and started gathering beta on cave systems that might perhaps have waterfalls runnable by kayak. This fascination of course transcended to my first love, the bicycle, but the sheer ecological impact a bike had the potential to dish out in a delicate cave environment kept me away from pursuing that idea much further than the incredible images I had conjured up in my head.

After months of putting Kat off, the stars finally aligned. I gave in and we agreed to meet up and take a peek around the area she had heard where the mine entrance might be. About five minutes after we finally found a solid entrance, we came right back out of it. We were going directly to the store. This place was huge, much larger than the 5 foot wide passage that I had imagined and lazily prepared for. If we wanted to see anything past our outstretched hands, we would need some fresh batteries in our headlamps.

I came back to the mine every weekend for the next month or so after that. Bringing new people and getting them psyched on the creative potential down there. Huge sunken rooms begged to be wake-skated, over hanging columns of rock with continuous jug lines begged to be bolted for sport climbing, ledge after ledge that just wanted to be hucked… best of all, because the mine was man made, it was free to shred without the ethical concerns associated with natural caves.
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Adam Nawrot is a filmmaker & photographer with a background in music and graphic design. For more on his work, check out https://adamnawrot.net/.