If time is flying…

June  27th, 2013

Although time is the metronome of the Universe, perception interprets the beat. From my perspective, the sands of time dropped at a peculiar pace throughout the month of June. The days seemed short on hours; the hours built of too few minutes. Although June is not yet over, it goes without saying that I feel swindled out of a few whole days. Where did all my time go?

Reflecting on the month, I realized that each day was a fantastic story. Not that all stories were happy or even exciting ones. But, each day had its cast of characters, problems to solve, solutions to find, etc. I haven’t found the time to convert these experiences stories into a written format. What a shame, but oh well. That opportunity has come and gone, and now lives in a place called the past.

Supposedly the past exists, although I’ve never been there. In fact I’ve never met anyone who has, yet almost everyone I know is quite certain it exists. There is a general consensus that you’re not supposed to regret anything that happens there. However learning from the supposed past is a highly respected thing to do.

I’ve learned that writing about travel while travelling is more difficult than I expected. Also, I haven’t given up on the idea that I’m simply lazy and undisciplined; a procrastinator extraordinaire. It’s probably a bit of both, but one problem I can do something about, and one I can’t.

For much of June, I was ensnared in logistical time-sucks (where it went is anyone’s guess), and I was also engaged in more tiring forms of travel (think riding a motorcycle 10 hours a day while battling acute mountain sickness). However, now it is now, and all is well. I’ve safely completed my journey from New Delhi to Leh, and am feasting on alpine panoramas, and a tasty masala milk tea.

The trip here was incredible, and I traversed the most awe inspiring landscapes I’ve ever seen. Such experiences are famously hard to capture in words or pictures; that is unless you were born Ansell Adams or David Thoreau. Suffice it to say, it was pretty. However I will try, against all vanity, to convey my experience of a Tans Himalayan motorcycle journey to willing readers… as soon as I find that missing time.

Until then…

Afterward:

I’m pressing on with more adventuring to fairly remote regions where, hopefully, the motorcycle and my sanity will quit breaking down. I’m with my couchsurfing host from New Delhi, the cheerful and sage Dr Girish. He rode as my passenger for the most difficult 500Km from Manali to Leh, and he kept me laughing and smiling though the many breakdowns. We've got a week or so of mis(adventure) planned before he has to get back to work. Let’s go! 

June 17th, 2013

What a whirlwind the past ten days have been. They’ve been the most challenging days of the trip, but also the most rewarding. They have also been the most delicious days of the trip, as this is India, and I love Indian food.  

In the blink of an eye, I’ve had the bike crated and shipped from Thailand to New Delhi, then laboriously cleared through Indian customs, then reassembled, then laboriously pushed, towed, and parked at a police station after it broke down at midnight, just 200 meters outside of the customs yard, which closes its gates at midnight. I spent the following day arranging a “tow-truck”, and sat astride my bike as it traveled its first 40km in India in the back of a three-wheeled mini-truck.

I was supposed to be in New Delhi for three days, but ended up staying 8 days. I’ve been back and forth across New Delhi more times than I would like to count. I’ve been misinformed at least 10,000 times. I sweated through all of my clothes numerous times in the 100+ degree humid heat, and I never had time to do laundry. I worried over the bike, and questioned the sanity of this trip. I chased down rare parts, and learned all about electrical relays (I may even be able to install a fuel pump now). I relentlessly attacked the street food in New Delhi, and it has yet to bite back. Mostly, I have been helped by many. People have lent me their time, support, and resources with such regularity and sincerity that I’m at a loss to put it into words.    

Two customs officials took pity on me, and towards the end of my second day of getting stamps, signatures, and forms in duplicate and triplicate, were as helpful as the bureaucracy allowed them to be. The guys in the cargo yard were a blessing. An army of workers was asked to help me put the bike back together. They worked passed quitting time. They unexpectedly brought me much needed food and water, as I hadn't a chance to get any all day. They offered me their phone numbers, and told me to call them if anything went wrong. Things went wrong almost immediately, but help swooped in from another Indian who spent two hours with me after midnight. He helped me arrange getting the bike to a nearby police station. The mechanic was dedicated to my cause as well. He worked some late nights, and didn’t mind having me watch him like a hawk, asking him silly questions about the work he was doing. Each day, I was allowed to extend my stay with my host. Girish was helpful at every turn, and didn’t mind my bitching at the end of each problematic day. His wise an even tempered manner was most helpful.

Somehow, everything that needed to get done got done. I rode out of New Delhi at 4 a.m. with a group of 9 other Indian youths I met hanging around the mechanic shop. From the very first moment we met, they took me in, and they shared in my worries. They also helped to get the bike fixed faster so that I could join them. We rode for 12 hours, and had a wonderful night in the mountains of Himachal Pradesh, 500Km away from the noise, pollution, and heat of New Delhi. They were all young, unmarried, and highly educated. Over a bonfire, we exchanged insights into how our different cultures shaped who we were. We exchanged a bottle of whiskey, and a few laughs as well.

The following day, we parted ways and I spent the afternoon advancing into the Himalayan mountain range. I awoke today at 4:30am, and continued to wind northward at dawn. At breakfast, I caught my first glimpse of snow covered peaks. By dinner, I was surrounded by them.

I made it to the (overly)touristic town of Manali. I plan to get some supplies here and continue on towards Leh on the 22^nd. It’s a tough route. The road is only open for 4 or 5 months of the year, and the pavement is never in good shape. Landslides are common, closiong critical passes for days at a time. Potholes and mud are to be expected, as is the disappearance of what most would say qualifies as a road for miles at a stretch.

I didn’t have a clue what I was getting into when I landed in New Delhi. I haven’t a clue how this ride up to Leh will shake out, but I remain optimistic. During my first week in New Delhi, everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I lost my temper only once, and that was in private. I didn’t whine too much, or for two long, either. It’s easier for the mind to realize a broad perspective when the gravity of life sleeps in the streets, begs though the window, and lingers on the aged faces of people who've clearly led arduous and tedious lives.

It’s been a wild ten days filled with ups and down, problems, and the kind people who helped me solve them. Each day was a story; a complete cycle of problem, conflict, and resolution. There were innumerable interesting tidbits along the way. However, it was also a go, go, go time. I never had time to write anything down. However, I’ve got myself set up at a decent place with great food and a spectacular view. I hope I can remember the important parts: the people, and the stories we created together.

A Neat Trick: My Frist Day Back in India

June 8th, 2013

I was looking forward to returning to India. The night before the flight, my mind swirled with the chaos of India itself. I barely slept. India is one of my favorite countries, which bodes well; 1 in 7 people on Earth live here. I arrived in New Delhi yesterday afternoon,and I picked up a SIM card at the airport to called my friend Girish. I would be couch-surfing for the second time.

For those not in the know, couchsurfing.com is a website which connects willing travellers with willing hosts. There are better and worse way to “surf”. The website is not immune to all the inherent deficiencies of human beings. However, as is generally the case, the good in people has won out. If you can plan ahead and apply intuition, couch-surfing is a rewarding way to travel and meet upstanding people almost anywhere in the world.

I’m constantly amazed by the success of endeavors which depend entirely on the triumph of good over evil. All of humanity depends on just that. At the global scale, the stakes have never been higher, but it’s more difficult than ever to discern whether or not one is doing good or evil. However, its reaffirming to see it work for the little things. Hurray for couch-surfing and the good people that make it work.

The first time I used couchsurfing.com was Yangon, Myanmar. I connected with a 25 year old American named Colin, who was teaching a an international school in the capital. He gave me directions to his place, provided a place to sleep, and shared a few beers with me, simply because he’s a nice guy.

Girish has been no different. A born and bred Indian of 29 years, he’s a pharmacologist who loves all things travel. He shares the curious and non-judgmental attitude most Indians I have met have towards foreigners. There is an intense desire to exchange worldviews. It helps that they place a high value on education, of which fluency in English plays a large part.

In my opinion, Indian’s do a wonderful job analyzing and understanding the Western world and mindset. They have also done a great job preserving, analyzing, and understanding their own rich culture, and the Indian mindset.

Girish received me into his apartment with warmth and affection, and as soon as I was settled we launched into deep discussion about life, happiness, society, the brain, consciousness, and of course, travel. Girish has hosted a dozen or so couch-surfers, and had made time to travel around much of India. He wants to travel the world, but such things are hard for an Indian for many reasons. He took me for a bike ride around New Delhi, and as we weaved in and out of busy traffic, with horns honking and cars swooping past us by inches, we continued to converse about life in India.

Girish seems to be at an intersection in life. He understands both Western and Indian culture, and the juxtaposition of the two seem to be pulling him in different directions. He explained to me that he favors ideas of personal freedom enjoyed by many in the West.

“So long as you’re a good person, and aren’t hurting anybody, you should be able to do what you like, without being judged.” He said. “But it’s not like that in Indian society. You have to get married by a certain age, and have children, and work hard, and get a high-status job. And, your parents will constantly be reminding you ‘you could be doing better’! There is enormous pressure to please your family, and generally to conform to societal norms. ” He added.

Returning from the bike ride, we continued our frank conversation about such topics with his neighbor, a 53 year-old gentleman named Chandy Andrews. Mr. Andrews had a darker complexion, in total contrast to his silver-white hair. He often wore a smile, but his cheeks were beginning to droop with age. He was glowing to exchange worldly words with a foreigner.

“America! Great, great.” He began. “I’m am going to America soon. My son is about to graduate from Kellogg”. Perhaps he was glowing for other reasons. Kellogg is one of the best MBA programs in the world.

We continued to talk about Indian society and culture. Mr. Andrews was an forthright conservative when it came to what the youth of the country should be doing. He had genuine concerns for Girish.

“Travelling all over the world is fine for some people; if you don’t have to worry about money or a job and such. But, if you’re a middle class Indian, and go travelling all over the world by yourself, it would be very hard to be let back in to society. Who would marry you? Who would hire you? What would you family think!” He said.

“We very much have a money problem here in India. And there are money traps for the middle class, too. Loans are a new concept here. Interest is very high, and repayment is an issue. It’s very hard to escape this cycle. You need to secure yourself, and to do that, you have to play within the system.” He continued.

We talked about these matters; about how one make decisions on what to do with their life. He was very aware of alternative solutions. We talked about how different spiritual paths play into ones perception of reality. We talked about what is truly important to accomplish given our temporal existence.

“When choosing a life path, it’s like betting on horses. There are a bunch of different life paths; a bunch of different horses. You place your bets, and are stuck with that horse. You won’t find out if that horse wins until the race is over.” He said.   

“But what if you could climb up into the stands, and simply observe the race?” Was my reply. His response was instant, and genial.

 “Oh, that would be a neat trick.”  

I couldn't have said it better myself. 

I’ve Got Some Screws Loose.

June 6th, 2013

The last few days have been pretty stressful,  a state of mind usually labeled as ‘bad’. However, as with all interdependent pairs of opposites, expression of one necessarily casts a shadow of its opposite. Put another way: within every bad there is a good, and vice versa. 

Every adventure has stressful moments. To prevent or suppress the arising of stress is an exercise in futility. What matters is how one deals with stress once it has arisen. Life is fun, complex, and interesting. Stress of one kind or another is bound to arise. As was eloquently penned some time ago: Shit Happens. Such is the way of the Universe – a 13.7 billion year experiment with shit happening.

One thing that happens in the Universe is the intermingling of nucleic acids here on planet Earth. As these animate acids dance, prance, and get to know each other, they attract, quite magnetically, other amino-acids. Eventually this DNA dance causes, through myriad intermediaries, matter to be pushed, pulled, and jangled into an arrangement which can observe the Universe. It’s a pretty nifty trick. Thanks Universe!

Whether consciousness is what the brain does, or consciousness is that which observes what the brain does, is anybody’s guess. However, I suspect that it is the latter, and this has direct implications with how I try and handle stress once it has arisen.

Because I believe that stress is something the brain does, and I am that which observes my brain, the issue of stress less personal. I can take a step back and observe my brain on stress. This usually requires that I take a few breaths. In fact, it really helps if I park my attention solely on my breathing for a few whole minutes. The result can often be laughter. What was I so worked up about? Who or what is it that is stressed? Just my brain, just my body, just a dance of molecules. “Just This!” say the Zen masters.

“Stop searching for phrases and chasing after words. Take the backward step and turn the awareness inward. Your body-mind of itself will drop off and your original face will appear. If you want to attain just this, immediately practice just this.” – Dogen

However, the past few days I was put through some stress testing. I recently had the motorcycle crated for shipping to New Delhi, India. It’s a complicated process, but it was smooth sailing at first. My research indicated that shipping the bike would cost somewhere between $1000 and $1500. I selected a shipping company whose numbers indicated that my motorcycle would fall somewhere in that range. They diligently processed the required ‘Dangerous Goods’ permit within the necessary 5 business days. All was well and good.

   

Stress began to arise when the first firm estimate came in. Once the ‘Dangerous Goods’ permit was in order, I was instructed to dive the motorcycle to the warehouse, and have it officially measured and weighed. I drove through a Bangkok downpour, but arrived unstressed and optimistic. That is, until the initial measurements put my shipping cost closer to $2000. I was peeved. My body and brain were beginning to experience and generate stress.

I had a few options: find another shipper (and wait for the processing of another ‘Dangerous Goods’ permit), pay the $500 more than expected, or work the numbers. I didn’t want a long delay, and I thought I’d feel stupid paying far more than anyone else had paid for shipping similar bikes. I decided to take a look at the numbers, and find workable solutions.

Air-freighting services charge by whichever is greater: the gross weight or the volumetric weight (given by the formula (W x H x L)/6000 in cm/kg). The weight of the motorcycle, crate, and panniers came to around 300kg. However, using the initial measurements, I had a volumetric weight of 474kg. I had a volume problem. I had to shrink my motorcycle.

This would require removing some parts, especially those which stick out. Although I’m on a trans-Asia motorcycle ride, I’m no mechanic. Taking apart a motorcycle is something I’ve never done. Adding to the pressure was a ticking clock. I needed to shrink the bike and get precise new measurements for the crate builders in less than 24 hours. Of that time, the warehouse would only be open for 5 hours. If I didn’t get the crate builders the numbers by noon the following day, I’d lose my allotted space on the airplane. I had 2 business hours on day one, and 3 hours on day two, in which to do all the work. I’d have to do some research online, buy some tools, travel to and from warehouse several times, as well as put the bike back together in New Delhi. All in all, I estimated that I’d have to spend at least 20 hours running around, figuring things out, and turning such figuring into action.

One of the best things about life as a poker player is that you can accurately assign a value to your time. Back when I was a poker player, I may have simply played the extra cost, and put in more hours at the tables to make up for it. I would have saved myself the trouble of running all over Bangkok, disassembling, and reassembling the bike. However, the ability rationalize buying yourself out of time consuming trouble is one of the reasons I quit poker. You rationalize yourself right out of life. Life is full of problems that need solving. For me, poker didn’t encourage leaning about anything that was both time consuming and unrelated to poker or making money.

“Dude, you could have made like $10,000 in the time it took you to learn to play Stairway To Heaven!” – One poker player to the poker playing, guitar novice.

The scary thing is, depending on certain variables, the above statement would be true.

Taking apart pieces of the motorcycle has been, so far, a fun and interesting process. I love learning new things. However, it was stressful, and there seemed to be problems at every turn. Tools broke or were missing. Some pieces came off easily; other were seemingly stuck. I was, and still am, worried that I was doing costly damage to the bike with my neophyte tinkering. I was also constantly worried about how I was going to put the damn thing back together. I didn’t have the time or the means to label.

   

I lost my cool a few times: pounding the ground, yelling at air, getting angry at ideas and concepts in my head. These uniquely human abilities gave rise to the uniquely human experience of mental stress. At times, I mistook the occurrence of stress in the mind as my stress. For fleeting moments, stress and upsettedness became my entire reality. I identified with the stress, not as the temporary process of the brain over which I am the observer, but as a process which I am. This is counter to my belief of how I think consciousness works, and completely disregards any larger perspective.

When I became aware that I was identified with stress, I practiced mindfulness/ Zazen/ meditation/ awareness of breath/ calming the f@*k down/, whatever you want to call it. I tried, with varying success, to bring myself back to a common ground of experiencing Just This! At the very least, I remembered to come back to a larger perspective; of the trip, of my life, of the fact that inside my skull is a hunk of organic matter arranged in such a way that it allows me to observe the Universe. I remember to feel grateful.  

Calmed, I brought my attention to the task at hand. I watched my mind and the thoughts which arose in response to the taking the bike apart. My mind produced thoughts about design; why certain joints and fasteners were put together in a particular way, and how they might be improved. I watched my mind solve problems, learn things, and think about things in new ways. It discovered that there is more than one way to undo nuts and bolts! The most amusing thoughts my mind generated were about the numerous metaphors it detected in the relative tightness of screws.

Screws that are too tight can be just as problematic as screws that are too loose. With screws that are too tight, change is not possible. With screws that are too loose, things fall apart. If all screws are tight, the object is rigid. If all screws are loose, the object is precarious. I was removing mostly nonessential parts of the bike, and ran into several problems with screws that were too tight. For things that aren’t essential to the functioning of the device, screws that are too tight are the most problematic. However, put some loose screws at the core of the engine, and there would be big consequences. It’s important to know which screws to make tight, and which ones to keep loose.

After all my fiddling and twiddling, I had removed the rear mud flap and rack, which made the frame flush with the rear tire. I removed the handlebars and turn signals, which made the bike narrower. I removed the front wheel, which reduced the front length quite a bit. The guys in the garage were very helpful and were rooting for me. By noon I had the measurements I needed down to the centimeter. The volumetric weight had come down to 267kg. I no longer had room for the panniers, but set about to solve that problem with a call to the airline customer support. I found out I was allotted 30kg of luggage for the international flight. The panniers, completely empty, weighed 20kg. My backpack weighs about 10kg.  

When the crate arrived, it was ½ an inch too short for the motorcycle. The base plate which covers the engine prevented us from ratcheting the suspension down as far as we had anticipated. However, we meddled with the crate and made it work. We then set about placing the parts I had removed, and the contents of the panniers – all of my tools, bulky riding gear, spare parts, a hammock, and some books – in any available empty space. With the smaller crate and lack of panniers, the gross weight came to 267kg. By accident, I had located the minimum, the point where Gross Weight = Volumetric Weight, and ended up paying $1300.

The guys at the warehouse boxed up my panniers for me. I'll have to check them on the plane, locate the bike in the receiving areas of New Delhi airport, fill out who knows how many forms, get the first stamp in my Carnet de Passage to temporarily import the bike, pay some (hopefully) minor fees, and find a place to put everything back together in the 100+ degree New Delhi heat. The stress is not over yet. My biggest fear is that the bike will be damaged from the transit, or that I will not be able to get it back together properly. No matter what, all of this is all going to take me very long time to figure out. And, as always when travelling, things won’t work as expected.

I may forget myself again. I may punch the ground and yell at air. I hope I don’t. I hope that my desire to get my motorcycle back won’t unhinge me in the face of obstacles. I hope I maintain a broad perspective at all times. I hope that all that is good in me is securely fastened with tight screws, and that the screws which bind me to my needs, wants, desires are loose, for who knows where this adventure is going to take me.

I leave for the airport in 5 hours. I arrive in the stinking heat of New Delhi, India in 14 hours. I should probably pack. I should probably get some sleep. Clearly, I’ve got plenty of experience with loose screws. I wouldn’t be where I am without them!   

The Whale.

June 1st, 2013

May was a month of internal turbulence. There are several stages to long terms trips, and I now recall that these bumps are part of the process. Long solitary trips are equal parts inward journey, and outward process. As one slides deeper into the belly of the whale things accelerate, and the known world gets sealed off. Where are my friends, where is my family, where is a familiar place which I can call home? Going, going, gone! For now.

Indeed, new and unprecedented events in the Universe are about to take place. For the pervious thirty Earth trips around the Sun, a bundle of cells, known collectively as an ‘Andrew Overby’, have always found themselves in the same place during upcoming months. On this lap that bundle of cells will not, for the first time in their history, be in the place they’ve always been. Whatever it is that controls them is going elsewhere. With regard to the Earth, the Sun, and the location of a bundle of cells known collectively as an ‘Andrew Overby’, the Universe is trying out an as yet untested configuration. And people say there’s no such thing as progress.     

So where am I? I’ve returned to Bangkok to make arrangements for shipping the motorcycle to India. I’m looking forward to this change of scenery. It’s getting far too hot here. I plan to spend the summer in Northern India: Ladahk, Kashmir, and Jammu. Hopefully, I’ll be high, dry, and cool; the antithesis of SE Asia in the rainy season. Most of India will be in Monsoon, but I’ve heard that places in the north stay dry enough. I ship the bike to Delhi on Friday. The trip to Leh should take a few weeks and ought to be interesting.  

I was chatting with a fellow traveller yesterday, a French musician whose name I never got. I mentioned that I’d soon be shipping my motorcycle to India.

“India!” He said, with wide eyes. 

“Oh, I love India. I was there once for six months. In the middle of that trip, I’ve never felt so unlike myself. I forgot about guitar, and everything else. I had to keep reminding myself who I was.” He continued, expressing the requisite eccentricity of a proper Frenchman.

That was think kind of news I wanted to hear. Travel has yielded similar sentiments for me as well. I have described the simple act of long term travel as the most transcendent experience of my life. Away from all distractions the long term solitary traveller can gain insight into who and what they truly are. During long journeys, much of what constructs a sense of identity is absent. There are no friends to remind one how to act, no demands to be in a particular place at a particular time, doing particular things. Instruction from culture is largely absent. Automated behavior becomes discretionary behavior, which can be either good or bad depending on how one manages unparalleled freedom.    

The trip has officially swallowed me whole, and is taking me to a new place. What I’ll find, I’m unsure. Into the belly of the beast I go.