The Yampa River
Blog readers, I’ve run out of things to say. I write this while hoarding every bit of shade afforded by a shrubbish tree the size of a small giraffe on the shore of the Yampa River in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.
It smells like rotten eggs—the odor so strong I’m sure it will overwrite any previous memories of sulfur, which have by and large been brief and forgettable. Half of Spokes is in the water, cooling off after a shorter day of biking; I am the lone Spoke spying on them (quite successfully) from my landlubber’s perch.
Given this is only my fourth post, and considering how full every Spokes day is, I’ve been trying to puzzle through my strange case of writer’s block. Here’s what I think the problem is—
The team hard at work fixing the fifth flat…me hard at work documenting the moment
It isn’t difficult to write about the day itself: what happened, who I talked to, where I began and where I ended up. Case in point: today, I woke up, called family while eating breakfast (overnight oats and a banana), packed my bags, took advantage of the WiFi (?!) at our campsite to work on Spokes logistics, packed the car according to the new, neater configuration we figured out last night, drove 18 miles to the first rest stop (where lunch was had), drove a little bit before pulling over so Helen could fix the fifth flat of the trip, drove the rest of the way to our host’s home in Steamboat Springs, unpacked the car, felt myself relate to the host’s dog Wade (who is considerably more aloof than the average dog), greeted the bikers when they arrived, tagged along on the team’s downtown excursion, briefly got lost, reapplied sunscreen by some food trucks while listening to a busker personify the blue sky, and trekked to the Yampa River, where I now sit.
The view from my shady nook
It’s much more difficult to pinpoint the thoughts that have been congealing slowly in my brain over the first third of the trip—much harder to make cohesive sense of what I’ve experienced and connect the moments that pass in between the events of the day, to put into words what I’ve learned about other people or about my relationships to education and physical health. Those thoughts are still bubbling—soon to come, perhaps.
Reflecting is difficult (obviously). What’s been less obvious, for me at least, is how much rest is needed in order to reflect. And even though yesterday was a rest day, today I drove, tomorrow is a rest day, and Tuesday is a teaching day (!), rest—in terms of time to recharge and reset—can be elusive on this trip. I feel more rested after squeezing in a call with friends or family for an hour in the morning than I do after sitting in the car for an hour at a rest stop. I feel more rested during Helen’s Stage 1 of Biking Thoughts (blissful ignorance) than I do on a no-biking day, or on a rest day spent in the city. Spokes (the trip) has severely restricted my ability to rest the way I always have (alone, in my room)—but forced to be creative with it, I’ve found that rest and reflection are not as elusive as I think. Case in point: writing this (balanced on a rock, balancing my laptop, by the sulfur-scented Yampa River), I already feel better than I have all day.
So. Where does this meta-reflection on my reflection process get me? From a blog post that didn’t exist to one that does. >:)
Onward!
Anna
