The Blue Light and the Baxter Hotel

I've been taken in by so many charming elements of Bozeman, but if I had to choose my favorite thing in town it would be the blue light on the Baxter Hotel.

From City of Bozeman Resolution No. 4229:
WHEREAS, the “Hotel Baxter” roof sign exhibits a unique character that can easily be described as one of the most significant visual icons in the Main Street Historic District and contributes to the entire community, and the blue light on the sign’s structural supports also contributes to the community, and the freestanding pole sign’s Victorian style contributes to the Italian Renaissance architecture of the building.

The blue light shines whenever 2 or more inches of snow fall on Bridger Bowl. I love the idea that a town could be so committed to powder that the blue light would be considered a core contribution to community life. Somehow, this seems completely logical to me. Connections made over pow turns, lift rides, and long skin tracks have led to the community I have built over the last 10 years. Though I seem to wander across the map, friends made in the heart of winter have stayed with me. So even if I'm heading to the hospital more than the ski hill, seeing the blue light shining on the top of the Baxter Hotel warms me with thoughts of friends and past and future adventures.

First Turns of the Season

After a late night out and a long week, it would have been nice to sleep in this morning....but instead, I crawled out of bed bleary eyed, scraped off the windshield of the truck and headed up toward Bridger with some friends. There weren't many folks in the lot; today was the infamous Cats v. Grizzlies game, so I can only assume that much of town was keg and egging instead of skiing. I think I skied Bridger Bowl once 10 years ago, but driving up the canyon was unfamiliar and strikingly beautiful. The canyon floor was wide, with gentle walls that rounded up to steep, rocky ridge lines. We started skiing in the shade with frozen fingers, skins gliding over packed, wind buffed crud and hoar frost. As the sun rose higher in the sky, I ascended too, fingers thawing. When we crested the ridge, the views to the west opened. The flat, brown fields rolled out in small square parcels. To the east, there were several distinct mountain ranges which deserve further exploration. We dug a quick pit to examine the layers of snow and saw a firm layer 8 inches down, another crust several inches deeper, and sugary, unstable layers above the ground. The snowpack in Montana is quite different from Washington. The days of high pressure between storms dry out the surface crystals and compromise the snowpack. But today, the top layers were solid enough for a nice descent. Our path was slightly tracked powder, and the turns flowed smoothly (except for the occasional piece of barely covered rock). I'm sure with a bit more coverage the possibilities are tremendous. And even with the thin snowpack, the turns put a smile on my face. It is officially winter.

Intimacy vs. Isolation

In 1959, Erik Erickson described psychosocial phases of development that he believed all humans pass through from birth to death. He believed that personal development was a conflict between the needs of the self and the needs of society; each of his stages reflect this view. Erickson believed that successful completion of each stage led one to a higher level of self-awareness and better functioning within society.

The stages are:

Stage Basic Conflict Important Events Outcome Infancy (birth to 18 months) Trust vs. Mistrust Feeding Children develop a sense of trust when caregivers provide reliabilty, care, and affection. A lack of this will lead to mistrust. Early Childhood (2 to 3 years) Autonomy vs. Shame and Doubt Toilet Training Children need to develop a sense of personal control over physical skills and a sense of independence. Success leads to feelings of autonomy, failure results in feelings of shame and doubt. Preschool (3 to 5 years) Initiative vs. Guilt Exploration Children need to begin asserting control and power over the environment. Success in this stage leads to a sense of purpose. Children who try to exert too much power experience disapproval, resulting in a sense of guilt. School Age (6 to 11 years) Industry vs. Inferiority School Children need to cope with new social and academic demands. Success leads to a sense of competence, while failure results in feelings of inferiority. Adolescence (12 to 18 years) Identity vs. Role Confusion Social Relationships Teens need to develop a sense of self and personal identity. Success leads to an ability to stay true to yourself, while failure leads to role confusion and a weak sense of self. Young Adulthood (19 to 40 years) Intimacy vs. Isolation Relationships Young adults need to form intimate, loving relationships with other people. Success leads to strong relationships, while failure results in loneliness and isolation. Middle Adulthood (40 to 65 years) Generativity vs. Stagnation Work and Parenthood Adults need to create or nurture things that will outlast them, often by having children or creating a positive change that benefits other people. Success leads to feelings of usefulness and accomplishment, while failure results in shallow involvement in the world. Maturity(65 to death) Ego Integrity vs. Despair Reflection on Life Older adults need to look back on life and feel a sense of fulfillment. Success at this stage leads to feelings of wisdom, while failure results in regret, bitterness, and despair.

Ericksonian stages are the stuff of first year med school last minute cramming. And they are also on my mind as I look forward to the years of medical training ahead of me. Working all day every day isn't conducive to good interpersonal relationships outside of the hospital. And I do think there is some truth to the conflict between society and self in my current stage of Intimacy vs. Isolation. I do want strong relationships. Society reinforces the belief that we should all be partnered, possibly with children. As I get older (and ostensibly progress through this stage) I do feel a sense of isolation from not remaining in the same city for long, from not having a stable life. This isolation does not consume me, but it is no surprise that psychologists have recognized a somewhat fundamental need for humans to be connected to each other. It does cause me to reflect on how fortunate I am to be connected to many people in my life. So, while I may be off in the middle of the mountains, I am also seeking that which we all seek, intimacy in the face of isolation. And someday I may stay a while.

Things we would laugh about.

That the sticker over the electrical box in my apartment says "We still hang bike thieves in Wyoming."
That the first person I met when I got to town was on their way home from skiing and invited me to drop by anytime.
That the bar across the street from my house has a doorman whose name is John. I know because he was wearing a sweatshirt with a picture of himself on it that said "My name is John."
That the only other cyclist I saw on my ride was an older gentleman with a large gray mustache.
That my house has two bottle openers and a ski waxing bench but no can opener.
That the hotel in town has been "fluffing your pillow since 1978."
That the storm is blowing in so hard I can't tell the difference between falling leaves and falling snow.

When medicine is enough

Some days I leave the hospital and I'm almost shaking with excitement. When I roll down the hill toward town I hardly notice the giant, cold induced rifts in the pavement. Those days I know the diagnosis, I can find the treatment, my clinical decisions help guide patient care. Yesterday was one of those days. I was on the inpatient service, my patients were sick, but not too sick to talk with me, and not too sick to get better.

I've realized over the course of the past few months that treating the long, intractable course of a disease like hypertension takes a special kind of doctor. And that I may not be that kind of doctor. I find satisfaction in getting my hands dirty, in fixing a discrete problem. Maybe I'm terrified by the commitment that being someone's internist or family doc implies, or maybe my brain is wired for immediate reward, maybe both.

Yesterday, I was glowing. Today, I was completely stymied by a patient with terrible chronic pain with a clear organic, yet untreatable cause. I can't make his pain go away. I can't even make it a little better. And that's frustrating.

On days like today, I come home to a house that's not mine, in a town where I know one person, and it's hard. And I spend the night studying so I can repeat the process again the next day. It makes me wonder why I wanted to do this in the first place, why anyone would do this. My life has narrowed in the past three years as medicine crowded out things I used to love. I've been uprooted, skipped countless powder days to study, and felt an underlying current of uncertainty about passing exams, choosing a specialty, picking a residency. And yet there are days like yesterday. Yesterday, I came home from the hospital with the conviction that doctors really could help people. Yesterday I wanted to learn more about medicine. I wanted to read journal articles, devour everything I could find that might explain what I saw at the hospital earlier in the day. On those days, medicine is enough.

So I rode across America...and just now remembered to blog.

The Ride has been over for months now. Almost exactly 6 months, if you're counting (if any of you are still there).

I wondered what I would carry with me from the 67 days on the road; now I've had sufficient distance to appreciate how much the Ride Against AIDS has meant to me. I see it in subtle ways: how I can recover easily when the slippery Seattle pavement threatens to bring me down, my decently fast flat changing abilities, the way my laugh has become a bit more like Audrey's.

Some changes are not so subtle. I feel strong, not in that my toothpick arms have gotten huge, but more that I can get through hard times and laugh like I mean it, laugh until my belly hurts. I'm not sure I would have ridden across the country in a saner year, but I know I needed to do it, and that it helped. Riding broke my year long spell of sleeplessness, it gave me time to be silent with my thoughts, to feel my legs burn, to feel truly tired, and to be mentally renewed. And now, I miss my ride mates and being on the road, but the calm has remained. I sleep, I ride my bike, I study, I laugh, I remember those I've lost, and I smile. I'm grateful. Thank you for your love and support.

For Contrast, Things We've Grown to Dislike

Bars (any sort of energy or granola bar)
Sprinklers (when they drench us in the middle of the night while camping)
Train track crossings
Bad street signage
Pushups (because we do them every time we stop for a water break)

Semi trucks

Flies

The vans

The much too small bike racks

Places without ice cream

The fact that there's less than 2 weeks left!

Things We've Grown to Appreciate on the Road

Ice Cream
Seeing friends and family along the road
Chocolate milk
Hot (or even warm, or sometimes cold) showers
A dry floor to sleep on
Bushes (to pee behind)
Milkshakes
Clouds
Tree-lined roads
Shade
Dipped cones
Paved bike paths
Dried mango
Nutella
Ice
Washer and dryers
Egg casserole for breakfast
Gas station ice water
Root Beer Floats
Bike lanes
Shoulders
Rest days
Cycling
Public transit
Small towns
The entire midwest
Soft serve (especially chocolate vanilla swirl)
The Quadruple (def. the act of having ice cream four times in one day)
The Wee Fee (known as WiFi to most people with the exception of Nancy from Johnson Lake, NE)
Wool socks (nearly odorless, always comfortable)
Chamois Butter
A+D diaper rash ointment
Local bike shops
Costco (because we eat lots and lots of food)
Music (though I've grown sick of everything I own and have begun to trade with teamies)
Podcasts (including This American Life, Radiolab, Savage Lovecast, the Moth, Slate Political Gabfest, and Dirtbag Diaries)
Smartphones (and their magical navigational abilities)
Smoothies
Fruit
Sports
Church gyms (which many congregations have generously allowed us to sleep in)
Puppy Chow
Vegetables
The riders of RAA 2012 (otherwise known as the Iron Horse AIDS Fighting Riding Team)

List compiled by Meghan, Flannery, Alice, and the RAA team

Long Overdue. Now we're in Indiana.

I owe you more, but for now, please accept the blog post I wrote for the FACE AIDS blog:

So many things to look forward to in Chicago….deep dish pizza dinner with Lauren's family, two nights at the Patel house, and an appearance on Wrigley Field at the Cub's game.  But before that, we had to navigate about 80 miles from Peru, IL to Elgin, IL.  The day began a bit misty, with some light rain and a lingering fog.  We rode down sandy bike paths along the Illinois River for part of the morning, then hopped on the northward highway.  Following a delicious lunch, which included cheesy potatoes provided by our hosts from the night before, we hopped on the Fox River Trail.  The system of bike paths in the greater Chicago area is amazing.  We rode for over 40 miles on the Fox River Trail, winding along an old railroad grade, crossing back and forth over the river on solid steel bridges.  There were lots of people out, strolling, biking, enjoying the sun that appeared in the afternoon.  Zipping northward, we saw a heron perched in the middle of the river, stopped for lattes, and finished up at a small park.  The park featured water spouts which were entertaining splashing little kids.   Since the afternoon was quite warm, we decided we should hop in the water too, and had a good time splashing around, cooling off.  We then headed to Lauren's house for the night.  I saw some of both her parents in Lauren, the way she talks, her sense of humor, her lively spirit.  It was great to meet them and share their home for a night!  Let the Chicago adventure begin!

Thoughts on the end of Nebraska. And....Iowa??!!!

Sometime in the past few days we passed a sign at what could well be the mid-point of the Ride.  I say "could," because though the aforementioned sign (and dilapidated cows and covered wagon) seemed quite certain that they were located 1,733 miles from both Frisco and Boston, it's just such a darn big country that it seems too early to celebrate any sort of victory.  Though I have the means of calculating the exact distance, I'm content to continue to roll along with only local maps and mileages, and to occasionally be very surprised when I look at a map of the whole country.

Thoughts on Nebraska (and on riding in general):
The people are so darn nice, kind, friendly, and helpful.  And, Lincoln, NE holds a tiny oasis.
Thanks to some amazing cycling shops (including CycleSport in North Platte, and Wayne Cyclery in Grand Island), bicycle culture is alive and well in NE.
Trolli gummy apple rings are refreshing, even when it's over 100 degrees (and especially when they are donated/gifted by the kindest Sinclair station attendant in the history of gas stations).

Convenience store beer caves are a great place to cool down on a water stop.

Trampolines are always fun.  And can get really hot on a hot day.  Good cycling technique translates well to good jumping technique (as demonstrated by Sam below).

Ice cream (or, on occasion, a root beer float) is the perfect way to finish a long riding day.

Omaha is a lovely town.  Really.  It is on my "places I'd be happy to do residency" list.  Of course, I'd need to fly to Alta on occasion to get some pow.

Now, on to Iowa.  Hard to believe, right?  We crossed the border last night, and are currently in Atlantic, IA.  The states keep rolling away beneath my wheels, the hosts keep showering us with generosity, the towns keep on being charming, the ice in my water bottles gets more and more necessary, and summer feels like it is flying by.

Nebraska

About 10 miles into the morning, one of my teammates had a rough fall, so I went with her and several other riders to the emergency room in Sterling, CO.  While sitting in the waiting room we began talking with two women who were there visiting their mother.  Fortunately, the doctor doesn't think my teammate did any serious damage, and she will be back on the road soon.  Later, as we were walking into town, one of the women happened to drive by us, then picked us up, bought us lunch and donated to the Ride.  I am continually amazed by the kindness of the people we meet on the road.

We crossed another state line this afternoon, with storm clouds on the horizon and cornfields stretching ever eastward.  Tonight we are staying at McConaugey Reservoir, near Ogallala, Nebraska.  As we rolled in, I immediately noticed the low water levels.  A woman I spoke with at the gas station said that at this point in the summer last year, the water was over 10 feet higher.  The drought is clearly taking a toll, the land is dry, and the fire season has been fierce.  Still, the land is beautiful, a strong contrast to what we've seen to this point.  The ever so slightly rolling hills and the incredibly friendly people continue to make the Ride enjoyable, even with the high temperatures.

Also, Sterling Colorado had more to offer us than just a good ER doc and a very lovely generous woman.  While celebrating 7 Eleven's birthday with a free Slurpee, we met a radio show host for KSTC 1230 AM, and he invited us to speak on the radio.  I threw in a short plug about FACE AIDS and the Ride Against AIDS, and had a great time being a media star for about 15 seconds.

Rocky Mountain High and to the other side

We rode over the Rockies this past weekend.  It was amazing.  As amazing as I expected.  Vail Pass was a breeze (with the exception of "the wall", a short, very steep section of the bike path), and Loveland was a slog, but we all made it, and the descent made it well worth while.  While riding down a winding canyon on the east side of the Rockies, I could finally feel the magnitude of what we had done.  The Rockies are big.  Each day of the trip has been about riding a small section of road, and the ultimate goal has felt so distant.  It's been hard to believe that the Rockies are officially over.  After a few more days of riding the flats, it might start to sink in, but for now, I think we're all just basking, and hoping our sore muscles recover quickly.  A short rest day in Denver, then a 115 mile ride out to Fort Morgan, I'm exhausted yet again, and looking forward to a short 60 mile day tomorrow.

Some photos from the last week or so