Author: Mike Huber

The Top Five Southern Colorado Motorcycle Roads

By Mike Huber

As an avid motorcyclist it’s easy to appreciate the beauty in each state and for many riders discovering amazing roads that many would overlook can become second nature to us.  Some might even say it’s an art form.  Throughout this vast and beautiful country called the United States of America we are fortunate enough to have a plethora of both paved and dirt roads that are meant to be sought out like the Ark of the Covenant.  These roads are meant to be experienced intimately the only way they can be, on two wheels. Experiencing them on a motorcycle can become a thirst that is never quenched, and although each state has its own unique characteristics, ultimately some will stand out more than others. One state that has that effect for me is Colorado.

Colorado is one of those states that as soon as you ride past the “Welcome to Colorful Colorado” sign the roads seem to present themselves to you like a feast on a golden platter with an endless amount of wine.   The rides we will review can each be completed in one or two days and are best ridden between late April and early October.  To help with prioritization since there are so many incredible rides we have developed a very complex mathematical rating system of 1 to 5 wheelies (5 being the highest).  The rating uses the following criteria:

    • Road conditions
    • Diversity of riding options
    • Activities along the route
    • Abilities to disperse camp/hotel access
    • Scenery

Route 550:  The Million Dollar Highway

Rated 5 Wheelies

Road Description.  This loop may be one of the greatest roads in all of North America. The road is paved and in immaculate condition.  It combines some of the tightest switchbacks one can expect to experience on a motorcycle. The full route per the map is ~355 miles and can be done in 1 day, but highly recommend taking at least 2-4 to fully experience and immerse yourself in this beautiful part of the country.  There are endless forest roads off 550 to get your fill of dirt riding littered with an infinite amount of beautiful dispersed campsites. Also some wonderful old mining towns rich with history, hiking, restaurants, hotels, and hot springs.

Points of Interest.  There’s no shortage of amazing places to stop along this road.  Below is a small list of the places you should not miss along this route.

    • Silverton is a great little mining town with wonderful people.  It’s a perfect place to load up on supplies if you are camping.  You can warm up after getting some miles in at the Brown Bear Café.
    • Ouray is a beautiful mountain town with several hikes to waterfalls, hot springs, and some wonderful restaurants. My favorite is the Ouray Brewery.
    • Rico is a really tiny town which consists of a great hotel and bar called the Enterprise Bar and Grill, with wonderful people, great food and cold beer.

Where to Stay/Camp.  There is an immense amount of national forest land that can be used to camp on along this loop.  Really any dirt road you ride down will guide you to an epic campsite next to a creek. This makes for a relaxing post ride time to wind down in a hammock, while having a refreshing beverage. The towns of Silverton and Ouray have several hotels that are right in the heart of the town and a short walk to tourist activities and restaurants.

Off-Roading.  There is an endless amount of dirt roads to find here, this goes from flat well-groomed forest roads to find a campsite to the technical challenging mountain passes like Engineer or Imogene Pass (which I have not done due to the size of my GS1200 and conservative riding style).

Out of so many outstanding rides in the state of Colorado, the Million Dollar Highway should be on the top of any list.  This road and area really earn that 5 Wheelie rating due to exceeding each standard for riders of all ability levels. There are so many sights to see along this route that you will never tire of absorbing the beauty that surrounds you in this part of the state. If you are fortunate enough to have the time, doing the loop in reverse can be a great way to add a few more days to your adventure.

Mesa Verde National Park

Rated 5 Wheelies

Road Description.  As soon as you enter Mesa Verde National Park the road begins screaming up in elevation with some incredible views overlooking the valley below you will almost have a sense of vertigo overcome you.  What is wonderful about this feeling as it goes on and on as you travel through the park.  Although the distance from the park entrance to the furthest point is only 28 miles, those miles are filled with numerous overlooks and pullouts that can make this seemingly short ride take 2-3 days.  This is especially true if you are taking in the hikes along the way.  The only piece of concern for this ride is the numerous road snakes in some areas of this ride. Otherwise its full enjoyment as you have a 360 view of the valleys below that outstretch clear into Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona.

Points of Interest.  Since this is a National Park there are ample amounts of short hikes and tours to break up the day(s) you spend in this magical location. A few of the more popular ones are outlined below:

    • The Cliff Palace requires purchasing a tour ticket at Park Visitor Center, but even without one you can walk to the overlook to get a spectacular view of the houses the Hopi built into the cliffs which are all but hidden except from this vantage point.
    • The Balcony House also requires a tour ticket but is well worth it as you can walk through the ruins and really get a sense of the
    • The Knife’s Edge Hike is a great 2-mile hike with little elevation next to Morefield Campground that has incredible sunset views, which enable the rocks to really light up and glow.

Where to Stay/Camp.  Morefield Campground- This is the only campground in the park so making reservations ahead of time is recommended. It is one of the better National Park campgrounds I have stayed at and includes free showers, great Wi-Fi from most campsites (antennas are off the bathrooms), and a launderette, gas, and fully stocked store for all your camping and souvenir needs. There are also several wonderful hiking trails right next to the campground.

Off-Roading.  This is one of the drawbacks of a National Park, as there is no off-roading permitted within the park boundaries.  The beauty and activities from hiking and riding makes up for this shortcoming.

Route 65: Grand Mesa Scenic Byway

Rated 5 Wheelies

Road Description.  Yet another beautiful Colorado mountain road filled with switchbacks that rise in elevation and bring you to over 10,000 feet up and onto the World’s largest Mesa. There are several pullouts along this route to take in the views, but no gas stations from Cedaredge to Mesa (50 miles, but can be close to 100 miles if you are doing the off-road portion) plan accordingly.

Points of Interest. The main point of interest the mesa itself and the amazing views, alpine lakes, dispersed camping, and off-roading.

Where to Stay/Camp. Dispersed camping is plentiful along Rte125 where you can get a lakeside campsite with little issue and make it your own paradise for the evening as you watch the sunset glistening off one of the many alpine lakes. There are also plenty of campgrounds along this way if you are looking for less primitive camping.  Hotels are scattered along this route in the towns of Delta, Mesa, or driving to up Grand Junction for a greater variety of lodging.

Off-Roading.  Route 125 Surface Creek Road is a great 15-mile loop.  This road has you experience the mesa while passing crystal clear alpine lakes with numerous dispersed camping areas.  There is also a 10-mile dirt road in great condition to visit the Lands’ End Observatory. The views off the mesa looking down on the plateau can allow you to see into Utah on a clear day with awe inspiring views.

Route 141: Grand Junction to Naturita

Rated 4.5 Wheelies

Road Description.  This is a low elevation beautifully paved road that is 105 miles long.  This road will have you leaning your ride until you feel the mist kissing your windshield from Dolores River as you pass amazing rust colored mesas that stretch into the sky and rival that of Monument Valley. The road has very little traffic which will allow you to enjoy some solitude as you embrace the scenery you ride through. The only reason this route is rated as 4.5 is the lack of amenities.

Points of Interest.  This road is in quite a desolate area, outside the tiny town of Gateway.  Gateway Canyons General Store is owned and run by the preacher of the church next door to it.  This is the only place to gas up between Grand Junction and Naturita so be sure to check your fuel levels.

Where to Stay/Camp.  Dispersed camping here is plentiful but mainly in one area just south of Grand Junction, Divide Road. This road is a steep switchback dirt road that connects to numerous other roads which are great fun exploring for campsites to settle down in.  There are numerous dispersed sites with beautiful views over the canyon in which you can see the Dolores River running far beneath you.

Off-Roading.  Divide Road also encompasses numerous off-roading opportunities that sprawl out across this mesa.  This is a perfect place to explore for that unique dispersed campsite while hitting some fun dirt to enhance your day.  There are however areas of slippery clay, so if it is raining it can become slick in portions of this road.

Routes 160 and 149: Pagosa Springs to Lake City

Rated 4 Wheelies

Road Description.  This route consists of 45 miles of a four-lane highway on Route 160 that will have you summit at over 10,000 feet.  The road will then drop you into South Fork, Colorado.  This is where you will turn left onto Route 149.  Route 149 will quickly whittle down to a tighter and quieter road for the next 75 miles, which are filled with mountain passes. South Fork is the only town between these areas so make sure you gas up and grab lunch before heading onto the second part of this amazing road.  The next portion will have you speeding across lower elevation prairies and then climbing high into the mountain tundra that will resemble something from another planet before descending into Lake City.

Points of Interest.  I specifically wanted this trip to begin (or end) in Pagosa Springs so you have an opportunity to experience the hot springs in Pagosa.

Where to Stay/Camp. Throughout the ride there is no shortage of camping in both dispersed and paid locations. In Pagosa there are numerous hotels. I prefer the hotel directly across the street from the spa as it is much more affordable then the spa and in a great location.  For Lake City, the Matterhorn is a beautiful Swiss style motel which will allow you a solid night’s sleep at a great price. It’s a perfect spot to recharge if you are going to take on some of the more challenging off-road portions in Colorado the following day.

Off-Roading.  Lake City is the starting point for some of the more serious off-roading mountain passes, such as a few of the most popular passes including Cinnamon and Engineer.  Both of these passes surpass 12,000 feet.  If you crave technical off-roading challenges with views that can’t be beat, these are the two passes I recommend.

Conclusions

Southern Colorado is a rider’s paradise, and a region that should not be missed for riders of all experience levels. Other avid motorcyclists have also recommended these roads to me, which reinforces my approval for these routes and motivated me to write this comprehensive layout to help others. I hope this breakout has been helpful and serves as a reason to visit Southern Colorado and have the riding experience of a lifetime.

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The Legendary Fung Wah Bus

By Mike Huber

Ok, so throughout my life I have tended to do a LOT of dumb stuff.  Almost daily anyone around me is questioning how I am still alive. This is no exaggeration, but there is one activity I partook in that is by far the most reckless.  That is riding on the Fung Wah Bus.  Recently I was in a bar in Boston (yes, imagine that) and I was telling the story of the Fung Wah bus, which entertained the entire bar for close to an hour. My stories of this legendary form of transit must have been quite epic  as when cashing out I was told my entire tab had been paid.  So I thought a write up on my experiences around this hazardous mode of transportation would make for a fun read.

The Fung Wah Bus isn’t in service anymore for reasons described below.  It was a $10 bus ride from South Station in Boston to Chinatown in New York City. I was 27 years old, living just north of Boston.  A close friend was in New York City.  The bus always arrived on time, there was no hassle with airports, and it was just easy.

I was alerted to the dangers of this bus when I arrived to work on Monday.  My manager asked what I had done that weekend.  I replied I had gone to Manhattan to hang out with a friend.  He asked how the flight was.  “Flight?” I asked.  “I didn’t fly. I took the Fung Wah Bus.”  He doubled over laughing and said he paid me enough to do better, which was followed by several explicit adjectives.  I still heard him ranting about it an hour or so later.  I was a bit taken aback.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the history of this bus and the numerous safety violations and failed inspections that made taking this bus not only risky, but in hindsight, downright dangerous.  Massachusetts had even shut the service down a few times over the years.  These busses were flipping over, catching on fire, and wheels were falling off.  Outside that, though, the busses ran on time, no matter the amount of traffic or weather conditions.  They had this trip down to an art.  It was so honed that once when I was stuck in traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway, a few cars in front of me I spotted a Fung Wah bus.  Here’s my chance!  I followed it off the expressway as it zigged and zagged through the narrow surface streets until it returned to the now less-congested expressway. I felt like a running back following a lineman as a blocker until I could see the end zone. What a rush!

With it being a 4-hour ride, the driver would always stop at a Roy Rodgers Restaurant for a few minutes to allow you to stretch, grab a bite to eat, and pray to the God of your choice for a safe remainder of the trip. To this day having driven that stretch hundreds of times in my car I never saw that restaurant unless I was on the Fung Wah.  Wherever the bus exited the highway, we all went into Narnia.

At the end of the day the Fung Wah never disappointed and although the bus was decommissioned like Old Ironsides, it provided some great stories and an economical way to get to New York City.  As I sat in a Boston bar finishing my Sam Adams, I was thankful to the mysterious patron who got my tab.  I am fortunate that this experience (riding the Legendary Fung Wah Bus) crossed my path.

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My New Home

By Mike Huber

Traveling and living mostly off my BMW GS1250 for the past six years has really taught me how to live in a minimalistic way, but travel with enough to be comfortable.  It is a rarity that I need anything more than what I have.  My organizational skills are honed to the point that I know where everything I own is at all times. Everything has a specific place and keeping items consistent with their location is key to organization.  I can get out of my tent at 2:00 a.m. and know not only which pannier any given item is located, but the exact location within that pannier.  It’s an art form that I take pride in. So you can imagine if things are flipped upside down and I am pushed into a new packing routine how it would take time to readjust my mindset to a new format.

This is exactly the place I have found myself in now.  Beginning January 10th I am converting from a motorcyclist to a backpacker as I begin a trip to Oceania for an unknown period of time.  Auckland, New Zealand will be my starting point and a 50 Litre Osprey Backpack will become my new home.  Relearning organizational skills as a backpacker will include a learning curve, albeit a fast one.  With a little bit of discipline my organization as a backpacker will become just as honed as my previous life was on the motorcycle.

Here’s my packing list:

Although this seems minimalistic it will be summer in the southern hemisphere so going light on clothing was an easy decision to make.  I am sure if I am missing anything it will be easier to pick it up along the way rather than carry the weight and bulk of unneeded items.  Being new to backpacking I am fully open to criticism and suggestions on anything I am missing or have over packed.  Let me know your feedback and items that you cannot live without that should be added to this list.

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My First Motorcycle Arrest

By Mike Huber

Instead of one of my usual blogs on motorcycles, I felt it was time to highlight some of my motorcycling shortcomings. Many of us when starting this magnificent hobby have had a few blunders along the way and, well, some of us have had more significant blunders than others.  Being who I am, it seems when I do anything it is extreme.  Over my 28 years of motorcycling, it is pretty obvious that riding is no different.

I was a young U.S. Army Specialist serving in the 82nd Airborne Division.  One of my best friends was about to go through a rough divorce at the same time that I felt the call to obtain my first motorcycle.  He let me practice on his bike and use it for the test if I purchased it from him.  Facing an imminent divorce allowed for an extremely generous discount (he needed divorce and beer money), and being flat broke, this was what led me to make the purchase.  The bike was a bright yellow Honda Magna 750 that had more than enough power (probably too much) for a first motorcycle.

The deal was pretty much done.  I passed my written test and was ready to take my driver’s exam.  I’m not sure if I was nervous or inexperienced (or both), but as soon as I started the test maneuvering around cones, I knew I was making a ton of mistakes.  The Honda Magna was heavy and not the best choice for a new rider taking the motorcycle license test.  Amazingly, though, I passed the exam.  I later learned my friend had been chatting up the evaluator while I was testing to distract him.  Regarding a successful test output, my friend had as much skin in the game as I did.   After passing the test, I paid him $3500 in cash that I obtained by somehow qualifying for a personal loan.  I became the proud owner of a 1995 Honda Magna 750!

It didn’t take me long to realize I was invincible on the Magna, even though I had no riding skills.  I was a 22-year-old unstoppable 82nd Airborne Paratrooper with a fast motorcycle.  What could go wrong?

Pretty much everything could go wrong.  Almost every evening when leaving Ft. Bragg there would be lights flashing in my rearview mirrors.  It couldn’t be for me as I was way too far ahead of them.  This, of course, was because I was going over 100 miles per hour.  Everything was distant in my rearview mirrors at that speed.  From what others had told me, the MPs were not allowed to leave post and had to call any pursuits into the local Fayetteville police.  By the time that happened and an officer would be dispatched, I was long gone and most likely home on my couch watching TV and having a beer.

This cat and mouse game went on for months.  Not daily, but usually one or two times every week.  I didn’t care as it was nothing but entertainment for me.  These near run-ins with the law helped my ego, but did not improve my riding skills one bit.  Until one day when the birds came home to roost.

Sitting at a light on Ft Bragg, I decided to teach myself how to split lanes.  Not noticing an MP (a Military Police officer) nearby, and noticing even less the car driver next to signaling the MP.  Instantly the lights flipped on and I heard the “whoop whoop” of a siren.  This happened at the moment the light turned green.  All traffic stopped to allow the MP to move forward but he couldn’t as everyone had frozen (except for me, of course). Clicking down into first gear and blasting off like a Shillelagh missile, I was out of there.  Knowing the MP would be able to catch up quickly (I was in the heart of Ft. Bragg), there was no running to the safety of the post border.  After a quick couple turns, I realized it was probably best to pull over.

It was no surprise that the MP was not too happy.  As he was listing my charges, I asked him if I could go inside my battalion headquarters to let my team know I would be late returning from lunch.  The MP agreed, and I entered the headquarters building and proudly announced “Hey, Sarge, I am gonna need a little longer lunch today.”

My sergeant asked why, and the MP promptly and quite loudly said, “His ass is coming with me to the station!”  As I rode to the MP processing station and received my charges, it hit me: It was my wedding anniversary.  Since my CQ (Charge of Quarters) shift was 24 hours, I hadn’t called my wife.   While the arresting officer was rambling to everyone in the station about my reckless driving, I thought this would be a good time to call her.  I asked and was granted permission to make a phone call.  I called my wife and wished her a happy anniversary.  She was quite pleased that I somehow found the time to call during my busy day.  The call was going great until my wife asked where I was.

“Ummm, jail,” I said.  “I am in jail.”

My wife was instantly very mad at me.  Prior to that she had been happy.  I’ll never understand women.

Once released from jail, I was not punished, other than receiving a written letter stating that I had embarrassed the battalion and the 82nd Airborne Division:

The letter was quite stern.  I could not ride a motorcycle on Ft. Bragg until I successfully completed a motorcycle training class.  The safety class was sorely needed, as my riding skills were horrendous (to say the least).  The one hope I had was that upon completing the training class my new riding skills would be used for good and not evil.  Sadly, there would be a Part 2, a Part 3, and even possibly a Part 4 to my maturing as a motorcyclist. For the time being, however, I was allowed back on post and I didn’t receive any military judicial punishment, and that was something to be thankful for.

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A Drought While Surrounded By Water

By Mike Huber

This year I decided to expand my hobbies while traveling across the United States by motorcycle.  I enjoyed camping and riding but felt with the long summer days I needed something to do once I arrived in camp (other than drink beer around a beautiful campfire, which will still happen no matter how many hobbies I take up).  Fishing seemed to be a perfect way to spend early evenings once my campsite was set up. I was going to become a successful motorcycle fisherman.

OK, well the successful part ended rather quickly.  I started off just crushing it and catching fish almost every time I went camping.  I was fishing lakes around Arizona and thought that once I was in California it would only improve.  It didn’t.  In fact, I didn’t catch a single fish from July to the end of August.  In my own defense, I was fishing rivers where most were fly fishing and not using lures or worms.  But still, to be skunked day after day for a few months was demoralizing, especially one day when fishing in Lassen National Park.  There was a couple next to me, literally right next to me, using the exact same power bait and reeling in bass after bass.  As soon as he landed a fish his wife would clean and cook them on the spot. Meanwhile, I wasn’t even getting a bite.  I may have cried that night in my tent a little (or a lot).  I kept a positive outlook, as I was just starting my trip and had so many states to visit that my luck would surely turn around.

My luck did not turn around.  It got to where the fish were mocking me jumping all around my lures.  Even when I changed from power bait to spinners to gummy worms every 30 minutes or so, it just wasn’t happening.  This is where my friend said to me “That’s why they call it fishing, not catching.”  Ugh.  I clearly need better friends.

As my travels (and my fishing drought) continued, I camped and fished in 14 states without a bite (AZ, CA, OR, WA, ID, MN, PA, NY, VT, NH, ME, NJ, VA and MD).  Talk about a drought. This was awful.  I think what made it worse was my BMW GS1200 was so loaded down that I had the pole visible on the bike held by ROK Straps which invited people to come up and talk with me about my fishing success and comment “oh, you will definitely catch something here…I’ve never been skunked there.”  Well, I didn’t and  I was skunked.  Repeatedly.

On November 1st my BMW was stolen.  The steering column was cracked open like a lobster and it was pushed into an alley where the thieves pried open my panniers and took only a few items.  One of them happened to be my trusty $40 Walmart collapsible fishing pole. This was the ultimate insult to wrap up an unsuccessful fishing year.

Not being one to give up, the first thing I bought after the BMW was recovered was another fishing pole.  Over the winter months my plans are to start watching YouTube videos and reading how to improve my chances on the waters I travel along next spring throughout this great country.  2024 is my year to catch fish!

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The Great Flood of 2023 in Augusta, Maine

By Mike Huber

I found myself without my motorcycle spending the holidays with friends and family in my hometown of Augusta, Maine.  Normally Augusta is a pretty low key (boring) town to me.  I pass my time here watching my favorite evening news show 207.  The show covers local hometown people, their unique to Maine hobbies, and the lives of those that reside in Maine.  The show is hosted by Rob Caldwell, and my favorite, Samantha York. It’s always a pleasure for those who are within earshot of me during this show.  I constantly blurt out entertaining Maine stereotype commentary throughout the show.  Everyone really loves and embraces my unedited commentaries as the show goes on (no they don’t).

Sadly the week or December 18th would not be a week of me watching my beloved 207 news show due to a massive rain and windstorm that blew through the state that Monday. In all fairness to my obnoxious sidebar comments it was a hell of a storm.  Up to 5 inches of rain and winds topping out close to 70mph.  Although we made it through with minimal power outages, we were in the minority as close to 80 percent of the largest power company’s customers were down. Throughout the state about 400,000 were out of power (about a third of Maine’s entire population).

The following day I decided to go for a ride into the bustling city of Augusta to see what it looked like after the storm.  I thought it would be quiet in the city; boy, was I incorrect.  There were lines for gas that were easily 40 cars deep in almost every gas station.  An attempt to go to a local grocery store was quickly shot down when the line to just get into the parking lot was about as long as the gas lines.

Now my biggest concern at this point was when the internet and cable would be restored so I can watch 207 and continue to absorb Maine life through their perspective. It was another letdown on Tuesday as when 19:00 came around, there was still no cable, which meant no 207.  I had a bit of a cell phone signal to help pass the time and a decent book to read, but it just wasn’t the same without 207 to light up another dark evening.  My mom helped me pass the time by having me engage in crosswords, and as I did it allowed me to reflect on my poor decisions in life that led me to this point. Either way as 19:30 approached that constant red light on the modem continually reassured me this would be another night without 207 had come and gone.

At the writing of this on Wednesday morning the water of the mighty Kennebec River has crested and I can only assume it will be another quiet evening without the internet (or 207) as the river level lowers and the heroes who work at the power companies restore power.  We are all maintaining continued optimism for a speedy internet and power recovery so that we can enjoy 207 during the holiday season.

Stay strong my fellow Mainers!

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Digital Nomad: The Seattle Years

By Mike Huber

I wasn’t thrilled the first few months in Seattle after having moved from Victoria.  The timing of my move didn’t help since it was at the end of summer when the sun almost totally gives way to the gloomy gray clouds.  It wasn’t so much that it rained there but you absolutely could feel less energy around you due to a serious lack of vitamin D in everyone’s system. Nonetheless, I was here and had signed a one-year lease in a high rise in the Seattle neighborhood of Belltown, so I had to make the best of it.

It didn’t take too long to feel closed in living in the city.  Seattle isn’t a big city but what was missing is the nature that had engulfed and spoken to me over the past year.  My “office,” which I went in maybe once every few weeks to meet the team for coffee or happy hour, was in Bellevue.  I am usually not one to badmouth areas, but instead I like to look at the positive side and its attributes. In Bellevue I couldn’t find any.  It was a suburban plastic city with nothing but cookie cutter restaurants and bars.  It was like the Truman show, but with a “keep up with the Jones” mentality.  Everyone had expensive cars and would even move parking spaces to flaunt the material items they had become slaves to.  When asking them what they did on the weekend it usually entailed going to Costco and dinner at a Chili’s or Cheesecake Factory to wrap up a day at the mall.

Thankfully, I rode my Ducati Monster M1100 out from Maine.  This became the best way to leave the beaten path and explore the state of Washington, and boy did I explore it.  It was a quick learning curve to find incredible roads and remote camping areas that most people not only didn’t dare to explore (there were no Chili’s out on the Olympic Peninsula).  This was fine with me.

Once again, every weekend was like a vacation for me as I explored Washington.  When I went into the office my peers would gather to hear about where I went over the weekend and what I had experienced.  There were numerous challenging hikes, remote beach camping on the Olympic Peninsula, motorcycle rides through the Cascades, numerous volcanos, and countless treasures I discovered by talking to fellow hikers and riders.  I was starting to love Washington.  The diversity inspired me to explore the region and it was a rare weekend when I stayed in Seattle.

It didn’t take long before I got over the fear of city life, built a circle of great friends, and became fully acclimated to living in Belltown.  The weekends involved traveling through the state or up to Vancouver, BC and weekdays I spent in coffee shops and bars with my new friends. Life became pretty routine (which was odd for me), but it was enjoyable.

One of the cooler things I loved about Seattle is how dog friendly of a city it is.  For years they had a dog that rode the city bus with a bus pass to the local dog park.  Also, dogs are not only allowed in most bars but actually sit at the bar and the bartender provides a water dish and treats for them.  I have been in bars where at times there are more dogs than people.  This just added to my feelings for this city.

Although after almost three years living in the Seattle area and exploring most of its secrets, there were a few moments that told me it was time to return to my nomadic lifestyle.  One was during a Seattle Seahawks playoff game.  It was on TV and I went out on my tiny balcony to get some air, I looked around at all the high-rise apartments next to me and EVERY television was on the same channel watching the same thing. It was a scene out of George Orwell’s 1984.  It freaked me out and that was one of the seeds nudging me to move on.  The other was the gray skies. I was beginning to become depressed from lack of vitamin D and no matter how many supplements I took I could feel I was sinking into a depressive abyss. My parents, always ones to come up with creative solutions (that’s where I get it from) sent me a mood light for Christmas. It didn’t help.

That one final Seattle winter only provided the city with 20 hours of sun from mid-October until May.  I decided to take action.  I threw the mood light in the trash and devised a plan to leave Seattle and spend a month in Montana.  Little did I know that this decision would morph into a series of life changing events.

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Mount Rainier

By Mike Huber

Mount Rainier, just a two-hour drive south of Seattle, was something I became obsessed with while living in the Pacific Northwest.  I loved looking at that volcano.  Mount Rainier often wasn’t visible during the winter months due to the cloud cover, but when it was visible it was a sight to be seen, especially at sunset.  The entire volcano would glow orange, almost as if it was a 14,000-foot candle. It was magical.

To summit this peak, one has to be extremely skilled as a mountaineer or have a guide due to the multiple avalanches. This was something I had to experience up close, but I didn’t have the climbing talent.  I would have to find another way to experience this.

The following August I began training by spending two months climbing numerous peaks in Washington until my body felt solid enough for an attempt to climb to Mount Rainier’s base camp, Camp Muir.  I drove to the base of Mount Rainier in Paradise, Washington, and slept in the back of my car that night.  That gave me a better chance of snagging a camp permit for Camp Muir in the morning.  This mountain base camp was mostly for those who dared to summit this volcano, and it was nothing more than a hostel at 10,000 feet.  It was a small wooden shed with two levels of plywood that held 12 hikers.

The hike up to the camp was a smoker.  I left at 7:00 a.m. and didn’t reach Camp Muir until 14:00.  It was like climbing up a black diamond ski slope.  I didn’t have crampons and my pack was quite heavy as I had loaded it with a lot of water (a rookie mistake).   Once arriving at the camp and securing a spot in the shed, I spent the rest of the day talking with those that would be summiting in the early hours the following morning.  They summit at night to avoid warmer periods of the day when avalanches were more prevalent.

The hikers all woke around 2:00 a.m. to begin the summit.  Even though the temperatures were low I decided to get up and see them all leave. This provided the opportunity to view all the stars as well as the entire Milky Way spread across an otherwise dark night sky. As the hikers made their way I could hear the loud cracking of avalanches in the distance.  Camp Muir was angled so it was well protected, but that loud thunderous sound sure got the hairs on the back of my neck up.

In the morning as the sun came up I could see 270 degrees around me, and volcanoes were visible in every direction.  It was a site to behold as I finished my breakfast (the remainder of a crushed Subway sandwich).  It was time to begin my descent. The coolest part of this hike was going back down.  I brought a large black garbage bag with me on this hike.  The reason being is as you descend there are luges carved throughout the path down the mountain.  This allowed the opportunity to glissade, sometimes picking up an unreal amount of speed to the point where I would use my legs as brakes to ensure I didn’t get too out of control.

Once returning to a much lower elevation the snow began to disappear and it was time to pack the garbage bag up and hike the remaining 2 miles down.  Not having slept much the night prior due to the higher elevation I was looking forward to hitting a breakfast place in Paradise to refuel as the crushed Subway sandwich gave way to hunger.  I could tell I was close to the base as the people I ran across were less and less in shape or prepared and once I saw a family wearing crocs I knew my breakfast had to be within a ¼ mile or less.

As I entered the café, I got a coffee and a breakfast sandwich.  I felt fulfilled because I was able to experience the hike even without summiting.  The hike to Camp Muir was still challenging and I knew it would leave me sore for the next few days.  It would also provide memories that have lasted.  Every time I see Mount Rainier in the Pacific Northwest, I am able to relive my experience and appreciate that magnificent mountain in a more personal way.

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Digital Nomad: Returning to the USA

By Mike Huber

I had been living and working on the beautiful rain forest island town of Victoria, British Columbia, but I had noticed the past couple of times returning from my work trips to Seattle that the Canadian Immigration people started to take notice of me and were more than aware that the stories I was feeding them weren’t true (they could see my entry/exit dates and they did NOT track with what I was telling them).   During one of the last times I crossed the border I was pulled aside.  They ran my Massachusetts driver’s license and the agent quickly stated “You’re a long way from home, son.”  To which I provided my normal reply by pointing at my backpack:  No, sir. My home is right there.  He didn’t find it funny (they never do).  He returned my IDs and had me move through Customs without further issue.

It was definitely time to return to the United States.  It didn’t take too long over the next week to pack up, deflate the leaky air mattress I had been sleeping on for 8 months, and place the Good Will furniture on the corner (the furniture and I shared the same situation; we were both looking for our next home). Loading everything into the car was the final step before getting on the Tsawwassen Ferry, which would bring me to Vancouver.  It was a short and uneventful 3-hour drive to my new residence in Seattle, Washington.

Victoria was one of the very few places that made me cry when I left.  I had a beautiful eight months living there and felt so fortunate that I was not only able to experience this island and the great people who live there, but that I was able to stay for so long.  It is one of the few places I have lived that I proudly called my home.

I was back in the United States after a year and a half.  It was time to get an actual apartment and furniture that wasn’t from Good Will.  Belltown in Seattle seemed to be a no brainer as far as a location.  There were tons of bars and restaurants, it was next to the Olympic Sculpture Park, and the Victoria Clipper was right there (if I felt the urge to jump back to Victoria on the high-speed catamaran).  Maybe the coolest part of Belltown was that my apartment was in the shadow of the Space Needle, which is one of my favorite buildings.

The one big lesson I learned in my vagabond, digital nomad travels is it is much easier to get back on the wheel than it is to exit it. Getting an apartment and having my furniture sent from Boston was easy.  Leaving the wheel required a ton of planning and preparation.  It took months to downsize, find a storage for my vehicles, rent my condo, etc.  The tasks seemed to never end when I prepared to leave the wheel, and as I completed each task I found myself constantly questioning my decision as I counted down to Day 0.

I was now a Seattle resident.  Over the past 18 months I left from the start of I-90 near Fenway Park to the end of the same road at Safeco Field.  It would have only been a three-thousand-mile trip on I-90, but I took the longest route possible by meandering through five countries.  I was anxious to meet new friends and see how being back on the wheel would treat me, and more importantly, how I would adjust to this old lifestyle I had left 18 months ago.

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Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy.  I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat.  I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process.  Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction.  Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better.  As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be.  With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called.  Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose.  I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine.  It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again.  As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side.  All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body.  It was beyond overwhelming.  Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations.  As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe.  I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia.  Did the plant have a problem with soldiers?  Paratroopers?  Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker.  Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia.  Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell.  Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me.  It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs.  I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it.  The medicine was showing me what my purpose was.  It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose.  I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track.  As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine.  It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

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