It has been bothering me for months now about how this breakup has wreaked havoc on my emotions. As someone who studied neuroscience for half a year, it is painfully evident now: my brain chemistry has changed.

I lived on an island off the coast of Maine for a winter by myself. I once went 5 years without dating. Solitude and having a strong sense of self were my natural state for quite a long part of my adult life.

And then I got into a strong, healthy, fun, and ludicrously happy relationship for years, and we built a home together. And that is all gone. While she jumped into something new almost immediately and stayed in our home, I am still out here in the wilderness, alone, with no way to rebuild yet. And there is a gigantic void in my life where she existed that I can only view with profound sadness and pain. My brain is having an exceptionally hard time adjusting to this new reality.

After driving down to Vancouver, Washington on Friday afternoon, I had planned a ride up Larch Mountain in the Gorge on Saturday morning before the temperature really started rising (forecast was low to mid-90s). This was all part of my plan of making new memories in old PNW favorites to help my post-breakup healing process. While I did not sleep terribly well, I got my spandex-clad bottom to the Women's Forum early that morning and had a reasonably fast ride up. I had done a hard gym workout Friday morning, so my legs were not exactly fresh but I really enjoyed the effort and the forest was delightful. As hoped, the views from the summit of Larch did not disappoint. Mt. Hood, Mt Adams, St. Helens, and even Rainier were all out and looking lovely. Had an enjoyable 15-minute chat with two other cyclists and a couple up there too while my sweaty self cooled down. All in all, the day was going well.

But then, oh boy! Just as I really started putting the power down for the descent, I got a sidewall cut on my rear tire about 100m from the parking lot at the top. Sprayed out a huge amount of sealant pretty quickly and two smaller Dynaplugs inserted quickly did not seal it. In my attempt to keep enough air in the tire to put in a large plug, I broke off the valve core head completely (it was on its last legs anyhow). Got a new valve core from the dynamic duo of Aaron and Dan, whom I had met on the summit, but alas a large Dynaplug did not seal the cut either.

Naturally, I did not bring either a tube or tire levers on such a short ride (Bad Paul!), so I had to beg a tube from a passing cyclist. Got the tube in and, given I was standing on hot pavement in direct sun, my sweaty hand slipped as I put wheel the back on resulting in me losing a nice chunk of skin off my hand from the cassette. The broken valve core seemingly damaged my pump's O-ring too, which made pumping up the tube to full pressure impossible. Finally I was able to head down, being calm and gentle as there was still a decent slash in the tire wall and the pressure was not quite where I wanted it. 4 miles from the car, the inner tube punctured — not in the same area of the cut, which I had protected with some stiff paper — and I had to beg yet another tube AND a pump from a passing cyclist. Finally made it to the car over an hour after planned. No PR on that descent!

Who knew one needed a second pump, spare valve core, and two tubes for a 28-mile road bike on clean and smooth pavement?

With a strong impulse of Needing To Fucking Go Somewhere after a bit of unpleasant news Sunday night, I almost bought a one-way ticket to Iceland on Monday morning but after a few hours settled for a loop through Oregon with a visit to Sisters, Oregon. Sisters has been on my mind for years as a possible re-location spot as it has excellent skiing in winter, is close to multiple mountains, has gravel and mountain biking, world class rock climbing, and many people would be significantly closer for a visit.

There are many memories of this area that are no longer fondly remembered thanks to the breakup, so I also wanted a chance to make fresh, hopefully fun, memories. This partly happened. I definitely had fun: with friends, while descending McKenzie pass on my bike, and just taking deep breaths and admiring the views. This is a lovely area. I have really good friends. I had great conversations. There was much to discuss and I learned things I never expected. Reconnecting with people was delightful. 5 stars.

And yet, the trip felt like a bit of a bust as nothing in my life became clearer, in fact things got a bit more muddled. While biking up McKenzie Highway twice (the road is still closed to traffic) did remind me of why I love that route, Sisters is not my place.

The traffic in and around town is exceptionally bad: large SUVs, wide pickup trucks with huge mirrors, and RVs that are the length of a semi with a car towed behind them. I started a road ride that was not on McKenzie Pass one morning and turned around. I felt completely vulnerable with a 2 foot shoulder containing debris and cars going past me at 60+mph. This brings it to a clear point: the bike lane actually disappears in the center of town, when it is probably most necessary. And even the nearby gravel roads and more remote paved roads felt busy with traffic.

Maybe it is the knowledge of the multiple bicycle fatalities in Boulder in the last two years, but it always feels like a when and not an if for getting hit. I am a risk taker, but I do not want a guaranteed way to die. That’s dumb. Getting murdered by an idiot driving too fast with their cell phone in their hand is a shit way to die. And the traffic I saw in Sisters was during the middle of the week before summer has even started. Bleargh. No wonder the majority of bikes in the local bike shop were mountain bikes. All of this makes me miss the road and gravel riding in Boulder, honestly.

Also, I still feel weird traveling by myself. My brain continues to expect someone to be there holding my hand and chatting with me about what we’re seeing. I do not enjoy the sense of missing an important part of yourself everywhere you go. No way to solve that but more time, but it does lessen the experience of traveling.

Did find a bookstore that I am mildly in love with. And the Sisters Coffee shop was solid for working two of the mornings, if a bit warm with the heat and no cooling. The people were quite friendly and the local athletic club has a three-lane lap pool that is salt water – dreamy. Did run into two MAGA idiots who were disparaging Portland and how the liberals ruined it. Icky poo-poo heads.

With all the driving, I ended up spending quite a bit of time in my head too…just processing so many thoughts. Many of my one-on-one conversations during this trip were deeply personal. People who are new, people who I have known for decades, old friends found again. And there was much ground covered. The country, parents, relationships, kids, mental health, and how going to the gym is more important than ever.

At the core of my thoughts, I am still wondering: How did I mess up so badly? Did I actually mess up badly? What are the crucial components of not messing up badly? Can one badly mess up messing up badly? Shit. Too meta. Pull back, Paul, pull back!!

Way back in March, when I met Amelia for coffee in Boise on my way to the PNW, I predicted Tina would start dating Lesley in the next couple months — funny how it happened immediately after she returned from Mallorca with weekend after weekend of photos of them having fun together on Instagram.

I also exclaimed to Amelia during that exchange: “I’m fun! When did I stop being fun?!” which earned me a hearty laugh from her. During this Oregon trip another friend pointed out that she had forgotten how much I just think about everything. Under normal conditions, I have around 4 trains of thoughts puttering around my head with sporadic stops where I consciously realize what my mind is working on. My friend's observation made me realize that, for the past couple years, I had rarely entertained more than a single train of thought—and it usually was a boring monorail always focused on cycling.

That epiphany has stayed with me: I had become boring in Boulder. No real adventures, few moments of zany fun, no longer exploring, and a drought of great stories. That’s pretty darn sad.

So. You cannot think yourself out of needing to take time and be patient with the process of healing, but you can try and figure out what your mistakes were and how not to repeat them. Mistakes in relationships (both friend and romantic), mistakes in living, mistakes in goals. Much to think on.

As I edit this, I want to be crystal clear: I genuinely appreciate the immense effort the State of Washington has invested in its biking infrastructure. Some of it is truly magnificent and noteworthy for America. However, there are significant problems. Many Americans own large, noisy, and smelly vehicles that they love to drive at high speeds, and unfortunately, many drivers show no regard for cyclists. Certain sections of my circumnavigation route were unequivocally hazardous for cyclists, including parts of the Olympic Discovery Trail. As much as I can appreciate what was good, it would be a disservice not to mention that which is bad and requires improvement.

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There are really only two ways I enjoy adventuring: 1) fully invested in a journey for weeks or months (PCT, Tour Divide); 2) settling into a basecamp and just exploring out from that point (Mallorca, Maine, Boulder). When I pointed myself towards Ocean Shores back in March, I knew there were plenty of areas of the Olympics I had not seen, despite having lived in the Pacific Northwest for decades.

The Olympic Discovery Trail has been on my radar for over a decade. During COVID, it became even more intriguing because some intrepid cyclists used it as part of their circumnavigation of the Olympic Peninsula during the Festive 500. So, during my first forays into biking over here, I started poking at the nearest portions of that circumnavigation route and read up on the Discovery Trail.

My original intent was a 4–5 day bikepacking trip, but the stubborn snow up high scrapped that idea for at least another 2–3 weeks. So, naturally, I focused on making it a faster, more pavement-focused route. While I still have the fitness to do the entire 340 miles in one go — with a silly amount of suffering — I decided to make it a (somehow) more reasonable two-day blitz of approximately 170 miles each day with an overnight in Sequim, WA.

Unfortunately, my weather window was not exactly ideal. The Olympic Peninsula, an idyllic land of rainforests, is fairly well known for its precipitation. Still, I started on cool, grey Tuesday morning where Donkey Creek Rd meets Highway 101 and headed clockwise. The first part is, frankly, kind of tedious. The beginning of the Olympic Discovery Trail is about 90 miles of pavement away, primarily along Highway 101. The shoulder was mostly good — if quite filthy (one of many reasons I chose my gravel bike) — and the traffic relatively light. However, you are still on a road where a logging truck traveling 65 mph could pass you with 2-3 ft of space. Not exactly a zen ride. The 30 miles on the Hoh Mainline was super quiet though, glad my route went that way.

Onto the really good stuff. When you turn off 101 near Sappho, Washington, things change dramatically for the better. You are first on a quiet road and then you see the entrance to the vehicle-less paved path. IT’S ALL YOURS. No cars, no trucks, and perfectly quiet and safe. Around this point, the sun finally came out too. I loved this section of the route. Around 115 miles in, I saw Lake Crescent on my right through the trees. The trail here is older and the roots pushing up the pavement require you not to get complacent, but it’s a nice ride through the forest. I started seeing more and more trail users here. The trail finally descends to the waterfront and the views of the path are simply delightful. The two short tunnels are a hoot. My only usage of my bright front light was for about 20 seconds here.

Past Lake Crescent, the route is decent — a mix of vehicle-less trail, quiet roads, and busy highways. The busy highways are not where I would take an inexperienced rider. The road shoulders were narrow and dirty at points, and I do believe many American drivers have a troubling inability to find their brake pedals. As a highly experienced cyclist, I did not feel safe on those sections.

The journey into Port Angeles is a bit of a cruise and mostly flat or downhill. Alas, the route, on its way to a less developed part of the waterfront, requires you to travel on narrow sidewalks along a busy road. It was a stark contrast to what came before. It really makes you want to beg on your hands and knees for better bike infrastructure in cities. It’s appalling how cyclists feel even less than an afterthought for city planners and more of a “they’ll get what they get and like it!”

Anyhow, you get through the disappointing section and then you are on another quiet section of bike path right along the sea. Perfection. Loved this section — wish I had taken a video with the crashing surf. As you leave Port Angeles, you get on an older section of trail connecting to Sequim. It’s still good, but the pavement is rougher and the grades less friendly. I distinctly remember zooming down a steep path to a wooden bridge and immediately hitting a 20%+ grade to push up. A bit rough on the legs after 150 miles of riding.

The way into Sequim was fairly pleasant. My legs were quite tired but still working well, the wind was mild, and I knew super nice accommodations were less than 30 minutes away. Definitely felt the weather shifting though. Darker clouds, cooler temps, and a sense of foreboding. Oh, sorry, that’s just me naturally.

While investigating this circumnavigation, I knew Sequim was roughly the halfway point and thus a good place to rest for the night. Good hotels were found at a reasonable price, but then I stumbled across the Olympic Railway Inn. A literal block off the bike trail, old railway cars on the outside and upgraded interiors (hot shower! tub! Wi-Fi!), and only a few minutes’ ride to groceries at QFC. Sold! And each railway car is themed, so if you reserve early you can have a bit of fun with your selection. Since I reserved at the last minute, I had to “settle” for Casino Royale. It was a hoot. So worth it.

At the core of long-distance biking is the fact that it is as much an eating contest as it is a ride. Strava estimated I burned 7400 calories on this first day — and the second day had even more miles and climbing. Despite carbs in my hydration pack and a steady stream of snacks, I did not come close to breaking even. Dinner was just one long string of snacks while I cleaned gear, cleaned myself, and vegged out with some Star Trek TOS on the TV. As I drifted off to sleep at the early hour of 9 p.m., I had a small pile of food and drink right next to the bed for nighttime snacking.

Day 2. Knowing it was going to be a long day and with iffy weather in the forecast, I woke up early, fueled up, cleaned my chain, and rolled out just after first light. The Discovery Trail does not fully connect up to Port Townsend and ends just at the junction of Highway 101 and State Route 20. Along the way, you go through 7Cedars, home of the Jamestown S'Klallam Tribe. Everything was closed at that early hour, but it looked like a fascinating place to stop, especially the totems, which I’d love to come back and see. You could also stay at the resort and/or use the 7Cedars Market & Deli as a stellar resupply spot.

The route ends somewhat abruptly at the base of Discovery Bay, and you are forced onto 101. My plan was to avoid the 40 twisty miles along 101 down to Skokomish by heading to the Hood Canal Floating Bridge and using back roads. With a foolish blind obedience to technology, I merely put a couple of points into RideWithGPS and used the route it provided. This was a horrible mistake.

First, I had 2 miles on State Route 20 — a two-lane road with no shoulder, a deep drainage ditch, and speeding vehicles. No cyclist should ever take this route. It was harrowing. Getting off it was a relief, and the rolling back roads were far better, but then the forecasted weather showed up, and my rain gear came out. The rain finally abated near the Hood Canal Bridge, and in need of a morale boost, I headed to Port Gamble’s Steel Bridge Coffee (@steelbridgecoffeestand) for a pick-me-up.

What a brilliant decision that was. There is something about being wet, chilled, tired, and in regular fear of being squashed like an insect that wears you down. That espresso and cookie gave me a much-needed mental boost. Bonus: they had a lovely bathroom where I could wash the mud spray off my face and feel slightly more human again. Only three hours into the day, and I ended up taking a 30-minute break there. I seriously considered hopping onto the bus. The worst was yet to come.

I am not sure what algorithms RideWithGPS used to plot my course, but it took me on multiple super sketchy and steep car routes. On the computer screen at home, it looked promising — not on highways, not on state routes, and past multiple resupply options. But oh boy, those idiotic giant pickups with the large mirrors were gunning past me on uphills, belching diesel fumes while I am struggling to climb at 5 mph. Frequently the shoulders were nonexistent or were gravel-rich mud. And then the drizzle reappeared before turning back to rain again. Jane, stop this crazy thing! 

Reviewing my route here at home now, I think Strava’s route suggestion might have offered a far safer and more enjoyable path —possibly on heavier trafficked roads with far wider and safer shoulders. One does wonder if 45 miles on 101 might have been preferable just to get it over with too. Who knows. I am not intending to explore this route again anytime soon; did that, done that, onto the next thing.

Seventy-ish miles later, with a small diversion from my original route and after hours battling a headwind, I finally made it to the quiet backroads of the southern Olympics. While it was a long struggle to get there, I do really enjoy this part of the Olympics. My body was fairly knackered, and the sky had greyed up, but the roads were quiet and in excellent condition. Just you and your bike cruising through the miles.

The only notable bit: the gravel connector to Wynoochee Road has a short section with a 20% grade. At 135 miles into the day, I hopped off and walked five minutes instead of straining up it. It also gave me a chance to get off the bike and use different muscles, which was pleasant.

The paved section up to Wynoochee Lake, which has been on my ride list for a few weeks, was windy but smooth. I am definitely coming back to do it on my road bike at some point. And then once you reach the turn-off for the lake, you have a bit of rough gravel, smooth gravel, rough road, and then a fairly chill cruise down Donkey Creek Road. And fin.

Closing thoughts: 

Over these two days, Strava calculated my calories burned at 15,000. I took drink mix in my backpack and lots of snacks in a top tube bag, with a mid-day resupply around 80 miles. There are plenty of gas stations and tiny stores along the route for quick breaks (Pure Leaf Sweet Tea and a bag of chips, ftw). While I had carrying capacity for 3 liters of liquid, it was so cool and damp that I only used the 2L in my hydration pack plus an occasional store-bought drink in my frame bag. I always forget how much food my body craves on rides like this, and I really enjoyed buying a family-sized bag of M&Ms and just pouring it straight into my top tube bag.

I basically never stopped biking, so I did not explore the areas I biked through. There are more than a few museums and scenic spots worth a true visit. The Olympic Discovery Trail would be a really solid e-bike route for those with that mindset. Port Gamble is the one place I wish I had lingered longer. It’s got a cute small-town vibe.

Jefferson County has funding to expand the Olympic Discovery Trail and explore ways to fill the gaps near and past Port Townsend. This makes me ever so happy as this trail is 85% of the way to being a fun and safe way for bikers to get from the Pacific to Puget Sound. On the flip side, the problematic sections are a painful contrast to the rest of the trail. And those manner of unsafe sections is the norm for America, which frustrates me greatly. I want to ride more on the road, without feeling like I could become just another ignored statistic.

Day 1 on Strava.

Day 2 on Strava.

RideWithGPS route

I had a lovely ride up in the southern Olympics today, deep in the National Forest. I saw only one hiker and two cars the entire ride. Blissful. But about six miles from the car, I noticed smoke drifting across the road. Odd. I passed a pullout and spotted a fire burning. Surely someone was nearby? I circled back—no car, no person, just a fire smoldering on the ground.

There on the ground were a couple of large branches—one with a small, steady flame—surrounded by coals and ash. No fire pit, no ring of stones, and dry fuel all around, with the coals still quite hot. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Near the end of my ride and low on water, I used what I had (both inside and out of my body) to douse the flame. I pulled everything into a tighter circle away from the dry debris and spent five minutes searching for water nearby. Nothing. I biked back to the car to return with more.

At the car, I stowed my gear, filled a jug at a nearby stream, and drove back. Even with the extra water, it wasn’t enough. Luckily, a passing truck stopped when I waved them down. They buried the fire with a shovel while I went to find more water. A few miles up the road, I found safe access to Donkey Creek and brought back over a gallon. The fire was mostly buried by then, and I doused the last exposed hot spots. Once home, I sent the Forest Service the coordinates, hoping someone might check it in the morning.

In case you haven't noticed, the Western US is a tinderbox starting in June. If I hadn’t spotted that fire, it could’ve sparked a bigger blaze—even with the current dampness. In a month? It could’ve torched thousands of acres. This is why I’m simply against campfires unless the situation is truly dire. I’ve walked through too many burn areas. On the PCT, I passed trees still steaming. From the summit of Mt. Adams, I once watched a wildfire ignite on my exit route.

Nearly 85% of wildfires in the U.S. are human-caused. It’s not worth it anymore.

So. Real talk.

After posting about updating my living will and power of attorney on an Instagram story, a bunch of people messaged me saying things like, "I really need to do that" or "it's on my to-do list this year."

Here's the thing: if you are in your 30s, 40s, 50s, own a home, have kids, or have any assets — you need to stop putting this off.

None of us are going to live forever. And realistically, when something does happen, it’s often either a sudden accident or a longer illness. In the last couple years alone, my best friend got cancer, I had a pretty serious bike crash, and one of my favorite people died unexpectedly. Let's be honest, the number of times I've been a literal foot away from serious injury or death is without count at this point.

I’ve had my legal documents — living will, power of attorney, basic will — in place since I was 25, because even back then I had to admit: I’m not going to be around forever.

Without these documents, if something happens to you, your loved ones are stuck second-guessing your wishes, tangled in court for years, or left to make heartbreaking decisions without guidance.

You can avoid all of that with a couple hours of work and some serious conversations. It doesn't have to be expensive. LegalZoom is around $100. Plenty of local lawyers can help too. The important part is getting it done.

I get it — talking about death or illness is uncomfortable. But not having a plan is so much worse.

Take care of it. Seriously. It’s one of the biggest gifts you can leave for the people you love.

People of Earth. This is my 2024 Year in Review post. Will it be funny? Will it be introspective? Gosh, I dunno. I read the news tonight and the temptation to go to bed three hours earlier than normal is strong. Let’s crack on and see where the muse takes me.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK WAS THAT FUCKING YEAR?

::cough:: Sorry ‘bout that. The muse has been up since 3am and is suffering from caffeine withdrawal.

As a whole my year was not so bad. Lots of training on the bike, did a few races, went to Mallorca (lovely!), spent time outside in Nature, read many books, watched quite a few good TV shows and movies. It was good. Stayed mostly healthy except for a moderate crash and a sinus infection. Colonoscopy was clean, Cardiac CT Scan was clean. Really not much to complain about.

On the flip side, an erratic and occasionally threatening coworker led me to quitting my job. The election was a gut punch and then a hard smack to the head followed by a full body dunking in snot. While school was amazing, it drained my savings and provided zero clarity as to what my future should hold. The three job hunts all ended up being a lesson in how much I am exhausted by tech and late state capitalism. And my social network seems to be dwindling down to what can only be described as threadbare.

Also. Entering 2025 feels like the start of a horror film. You saw the trailer. You want to yell, “No, no, don’t go in there! The MAGA! Run you fools!” It’s a tale absolutely terrifying in its inevitability of chaos, pain, and a constant disruption to our lives. The struggle to keep sane this year is going to take more patience and perspective than I am entirely sure I can bring forth.

But…we struggle anyway. Not because it will fix everything or even anything, but because the struggle itself defines who we are. We resist, we care, we engage, we joke, we try to be kind—because that's the version of ourselves we want to believe in. It matters little that the world shrugs at our efforts; what matters is that we chose to continue to be ourselves when giving up would have been so much easier.

I still do not know what will come or what I will choose. I am trying to keep true to a certain blue box loving character though: "Never cruel nor cowardly. Never give up. Never give in."

Last week I got a coronary calcium scan (aka CAC score or Heart Scan), and my score was 0. That means no calcification in my coronary arteries and a very low likelihood of coronary artery disease. Woot! Let me tell you why I decided to do this test in the first place—and why you might consider it too.

A coronary calcium scan is a noninvasive CT scan that takes a detailed image of your coronary arteries to detect calcium deposits (plaque). A score above zero means some level of plaque buildup, and the higher your score, the greater the risk of a blockage.

So why did I, a 45-year-old endurance athlete who doesn’t smoke, rarely drinks, eats healthy, exercises 12–20 hours a week, and has the most lovely hazel eyes, get this test? Well...

• I was diagnosed with high cholesterol earlier this year. (Thanks, family genetics. 🙃)
• There’s a history of cardiac events on both sides of my family.
• And lastly, a study Brendan Leonard (@semi_rad) shared in a blog post. It found that male marathon runners who had run at least one marathon a year for 25 years had 58% MORE calcium in their arteries than sedentary men.

It's been known for a while that daily exercise at a moderate intensity is a great preventer of heart disease. However, more and more research shows that endurance athletes are not bulletproof from heart problems. Brendan himself got this test after multiple friends discovered major blockages despite being fit.

So, I booked the scan. It took all of 20 minutes and cost $200—I literally spend that much on groceries in a week. The peace of mind and one more data point to help maintain my long-term health? Priceless.

Nearly every health issue I have had has been from injuries (so, so many). However, I have come down with a serious and ultimately fatal case of O.L.D., Onset of Lamentable Dilapidation. No more devil may care attitude. I waited over 10 years between physicals and that is simply no longer going to fly. Reaching middle age needs to start factoring into my approach to life.

Is it worth YOU getting this test? Maybe! Only you know your health and family history. I am sharing my story to raise awareness and nudge you toward it if you’re on the fence.

When you did not sleep well, still have a busted toe, the skies are grey and the temps are cool, and yet there is 5 hours of riding on the training plan for the day. Time to pull out the pre-ride music and dancing to find the energy to get out.

When you had 9 hours of biking planned for this weekend (not including prep or cleanup) and then you slammed your little toe into a box full of books Friday night causing quite a bit of cursing. It is slowly recovering but even with pain relievers it does not want to be in a shoe, especially a bike shoe. So. I’m essentially stuck at home with my foot elevated trying to entertain myself with books, shows, and little projects. I am so incredibly bad at sitting still.