Nepal

One of the reasons I started to write again is to crystalize future plans.
About a year ago, a friend approached me about going to Nepal and doing the Annapurna Trek.   After visiting Nepal twice in my life, I had still considered it a magical place from my youth.   But I had no strong yearning to return, especially given the pollution and degradation that has happened in Kathmandu since my last visit.  I figured it would be too much of a disappointment.
But I thought about it, and it seems more tangible in my mind, especially the aspect of doing a 2-3 week Trek around the Annapurnas.   My friend eventually decided she couldn't do it, but the dream had already solidified in my own mind.     I've encouraged other friends to consider the possibility of going, and found my close friend, Liz, from San Francisco was game, especially when she found out that there would probably be internet access on parts of the trip  (which blows my mind in itself!).

Nepal 1983

She's turning 50 next April, and I will be turning 55.  It will be also the 25th "anniversary" of my HIV results.
It's probably still crazy for me to think of such an adventure.   I know all the drugs I will have to carry along with me, the huge package of Fuzeon with its vials, needles, and syringes for the twice daily injections.   Also the huge potential for water born illnesses and well as other diseases and injuries.   I think back to the article that Gus wrote on peak experiences, and unfortunately (or fortunately?), that is the things that keep me alive and embracing life.   I wish it was easier, that a Sunday afternoon stroll was enough to do that.    That I did not need to go to the edge, again and again.

The Next Steps

Snowshoeing on Mt. Hood 2012
(photo by Scott Withers)

I was called back to the doctors office yesterday for an emergency MRI.   My inflammatory markers were so high that I was warned of the possibility of having a blood clot on my lungs or embolism or other potentially fatal occurrence. 

I thought about driving my truck, but opted to ride my bike instead even though it was raining outside.   And the rain made it more poignant.  If I was to hear bad news from the doctor, (or even accept the risk of endangering myself further by riding my bike),  I still wanted to feel alive.   Feeling the rain against my face, drenching my clothes would still give me the sense of being and existing, that I was still here aware and alive.

A month ago my friend Scott and I headed up to do some snowshoeing in the Mt. Hood area.   It was nice as we headed up one a small mountain peak across of Mt. Hood.     It was fresh fallen snow, and ours were the first steps except rabbit and rodent tracks which occasionally crisscrossed the trail.    The wind was light, and the going easy, but I was inexplicably tired as we trudged up the mountain.   It was a tiredness given as much by the unchallenging nature of the trail as by anything else.    It was only when nearing the summit, and finally peaking out on the rocky crest that I felt alive again.   The wind would blast us with 50mph gust, with the snow sand blasting our face, sneaking through tiny opening in our clothing, numbing fingers.    But it was awakening and exilerating.    It wasn't the easiness of the earlier trail that gave meaning to me, but life on the edge.

A friend from Britain wrote an article about peak experiences, and those of blessed or cursed with the need to live through them.  He also asked me to share some of my experiences.  It's given me a lot to think about -- concerning the driving forces for me.

It's been a bit since I've written in this blog.  Maybe life had gotten too uneventful, or the mountains too easy.    But things have happened, and some of the health challenges I've faced this past winter has opened up new questions about my continued ability to do what I love.    Over the next week I hope to catch up, re-focus, and maybe decide on the next few steps.