Would you have ever guessed Haiti – literally “Land of Mountains.”  It is one of the least explored countries in the western hemisphere, and offers thousands of miles of epic trails for hiking, climbing and mountain biking.

Through our partnership with Extreme Bike, we can offer fully inclusive tour packages.  Click on facebook.com/MountainBikeHaiti to join Haiti with a new chapter in sustainable adventure tourism.

I will use this forum to journal about my personal journey over the course of the year.  Aside from the self-doubt and logistical concerns, I am actually quite excited to be creating the first ‘cloud-based’ Failure Club, and am eager to work with these folks on some very cool projects.  If you would like to follow some of the projects, check out http://thefailureclub.org as we start tracking progress.

Also, if you are interested in submitting a project for consideration, click on http://thefailureclub.org/projects/

Onward and Upward,

Taste-Testing Heirloom Tomatoes — New York Magazine.

So, I bought my third bike ever—following in the pedalsteps of an ill-fitting 10-speed, and a pink Huffy with decorations on the spokes. In between hearing how crazy I was to take this on (and simultaneous looks to Philip, silently saying “Are you nuts? She’ll never make it. You will hate this!”), I bought a great pair of bike shorts and jumped on the bike…and then fell off. Falling off a bike at 28 is much different—it hurts the ego (not to mention the body) a bunch more, especially when your boyfriend is your coach. I’d heard it took time to master the clipping-in/out skill; but time definitely wasn’t on my side and I was short on patience and tall on pride. Besides learning how to handle a bike, learning how to receive help, coaching and advice was equally as challenging.

Looking back, it probably was a hair-brained idea—and biking for 200 miles in any condition is challenging, much less through 13,000 feet of vertical climbing, with very minimal (if any) opportunity for support/water/help along the way if something happened. Lest it appear we were reckless, I was always 100% confident that my biking partner had all the potential disaster scenarios covered—the real unknown factor was whether or not I could do it at all.

After my first 50 mile ride a few days prior to our departure, Philip asked me why I wasn’t more pleased with myself. Then, days later when our departure plans were disrupted by airline difficulty, and our Day One became an 85 mile marathon—complete with an 8 mile sprint at the end in order to make it to the lodge before dark (or, more importantly, the kitchen closed)…again, he seemed way more impressed with me than I was. It’s not that I didn’t realize the magnitude of it all; it’s simply that there wasn’t a bail-out option—we had to make it, giving up or quitting would have been impossible and/or dangerous…plus, we had run out of bear pepper-spray.

This morning, the only wheels I’m on are the four that scoot my office chair around my desk—and last night when we arrived in new york city, the SawtoothMountains were replaced by similarly soaring high-rise structures. In a few days I’m sure that the trip will be a fond memory, and an amazing one at that, but it will be only as real as the epic photographs we took along the way. I imagine too, that the next time I’m on a bike, it won’t be nearly as hard, or scary, or frightening. I may even, one day, be an adequate biker. Only now am I looking at this experience and finally giving weight to what we accomplished—and Philip deserves equal credit, not only for the immense amount of planning and safety and coaching, but for taking a leap of faith that he wouldn’t have to be pushing me up the mountains. How rare is it that we get put ourselves in such precarious or challenging situations that we’re actually not sure we’ll make it? Or even more so, that we make them so intense that there’s only one outcome—you have to succeed?

By nature, I’m not a risk-taker—I like planning and preparing and finalizing details. I like to be pretty confident that I’ll come out the other side having succeeded. I say that this trip was one of the greatest experiences of my life because not because of the epic views, or stunning vistas, or the hot springs, cold rivers, sourdough pancakes, bikers-eye-view of the SawtoothMountains, the endless climbs up peaks that afforded 6-mile descents… It’s that most everyday I do things that I’m fairly good at; with room for improvement of course, but there are very little surprises or challenges. And that’s ok, it’s a secure way to live and enjoy life. It’s not often that we test ourselves; physically or emotionally, to such extremes. But when we do, that’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world. That’s why the trip was great; it was something I didn’t think I could do.

The real question is; what would it be like if I did that more often. And of course, Philip has to be asking himself that question too…and since it’s only fair that I tried biking, he ought to try swimming. I hear England is lovely in the summertime…

Thanks to our family and friends who trusted us to come out unscathed on the other-side, and held tight when cell service was suspended and you couldn’t reach us (though that didn’t stop mom from calling every lodge on our itinerary and checking in on her daughter and that “tall guy”); and for being there at the very end when we finally rolled into Ketchum—it’s pretty rare to be able share that moment with close and extended family all at once, and our gratitude goes well beyond 13,000 feet…

The journey started with a picture next to this car in Idaho Mountain Touring, so it was fitting to get a final picture here, this time relaxing in lounge chairs with a fishing pole and picnic basket. Oh well, maybe next time…

We’re starting day 3, and gearing up for the last 60 miles–which should be relatively (see below) ok, after we crest a near 3,000 ft climb halfway through.

The first day was a 85 mile trek–to make up for lost time from flight delays, and also a nice, casual way for Katoe to get used to long rides. It involved an epic (and I don’t use this word lightly) two-peak climb–that took nearly 3 1/2 hours to summit. It’s a challenging grade, but doable–it just wears on tour legs an spirit; and becomes nearly as mentally challenging as physical. Why do it? There’s a reason you see a view from 6 or 7 thousand feet up and feel entirely small–(even PK feels small!)…how you arrive there is personal I suppose; a car would do just fine. But when you get to zoom down a switch-back filled mountain for 45 minutes (yes, it takes that long to get down); suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a fool’s errand.

Yesterday was a mere 50 miles–20 of which were another 2k summit. I felt a little better when Philip said: “This is by far the longer sustained climb I’ve ever done. Not the steepest, but the longest”. Phew! Someone else was suffering too. More details on the climbs, the roads, the fact that there wasn’t a house in sight for 50 miles (or anywhere to get water)…later.

The whole trip has been on highway 21–from Boise to Stanley thus far. As we climbed around mile 17 yesterday; there was a moment of delirium, because each turn around the jagged, spring-filled mountainside only gave way to another huge hill… Says Philip: “Highway 21 is like our relationship.” Katie: “All uphill?” Philip: “It just keeps on going…it won’t end!”

Truth be told, highway 21 ends today, and at the dead-end we turn South on 75; the trick is, when you climb it just seems never-ending, impossible, and like you’re not going anywhere. I imagine life, and relationships, feel that way too. But when you stop for a second and turn around, you look down and see that in the meantime, you’ve climbed a mountain. Highway 75 cannot possibly be as “epic” but it’s not an end, either–simply another journey.