On Options

~ Nate Andrew

I’m in Flagstaff. My wife had to re-cert her WFR and I guess this was the closest place. I tagged along because we haven’t been spending a ton of time together lately. It’s been a whirlwind month of travel and work and illness and whatever else you might imagine that could make a swirly out of life. I brought my bike along and a little bit of work. She has class starting at eight in the morning and we try to wake up early enough to scoop some classy continental breakfast from the over-priced hotel we’re staying at before finding a good coffee shop. 

This is where the problems start. 

I’m not talking about the continental breakfast. Who doesn’t love a fresh waffle made from stagnant batter paired with a side of microwave bacon and those sweet cereal dispensers? Probably plenty of people, but who is counting? 

No, the problem is not the continental breakfast or the hotel. The problem is the coffee. 

If you know me, even a little bit, you know that I’m a big fan of a nice cup of Joe. And while I don’t know if lattes and espresso qualify as “cups of Joe,” it still has a nice ring to it. So, I’m going to use it. Wherever I am, I love to find a good coffee. I’m not a big alternate milk guy and I’m not the person who orders six different flavor shots in a 12 ounce cup. I’m also not typically the guy who orders a drip coffee. Call me un-American. That’s fine. There is a reason the Italians and the French call it an Americano and it’s not because they think we have good ideas. No. For me, just give me a straight 8 ounce latte. 2 shots of espresso (because that’s the way it should come) and whole milk straight off the teat of a Holstein in Wisconsin. If that’s not American, by god, I don’t know what is. 

So when we arrived in Flagstaff at 2am Friday morning, I was absolutely buzzing. This is a big(ish) town, there is bound to be great coffee. I promptly fell asleep and woke up at 5am like it was Christmas morning, jazzed to go into town and find a place to drink some of that delicious brown liquid. (I realize that doesn’t sound that appetizing out-of-context and I just don’t care). We ate our breakfast, got ready for the day, and Emma found a place to grab a coffee before I took her to class. 

It was a drive thru joint. 

As an aside, I’m not going to name names here because I’m not an internet troll and don’t want to be a part of the Yelp brigade. If you’re looking for reviews, you’ve come to the wrong place. 

That said, when I think drive thru coffee, unless we’re talking Dunkin’ Donuts, I’m not super interested. As a Northeasterner, I am bound by blood to never besmirch the name of Dunkin so I will not do that here. It’s delicious and that is a fact. 

Anyway. This place was fine. It was your typical shed setup with two windows and lines of cars on both sides. There was one person working both windows. I did not envy them. When we got to the window, we had some time to look at the menu and make some decisions. I decided long ago but Emma likes to look through the specialty drinks and pick one that sounds intriguing. No judgement. It’s just not for me. She made her choice, we ordered, got our drink, and pulled away. Emma got something called a chunky monkey. I didn’t get anything. Not because I was too good for this place but because I was planning on finding a shop to sit and work at. Believe me or not, that’s the truth.

I dropped her off at class and started perusing the old google machine for a good spot to kick it and sip it (what do we think of that phrase?). I hit the search bar on maps and typed in ‘coffee shops’. The swirling google-colored circle popped up and I waited for a moment.

Then…

…Disaster struck. 

Layer upon layer of mugs side by side with ratings popped up and overtook the map.

One might think “Wow! What a great opportunity to really dive in and pick the best one!” Not I. And maybe some folks are with me. Maybe most folks are with me. This was far too many options. So many options that I couldn’t even discern where they were on the map. And we are talking Flagstaff. This isn’t New York or LA or Chicago or…Seattle. This is Flagstaff. Not exactly a raging metropolis.

Now, if you weed out the Starbucks, the Dunkins, the gas stations, and the more restaurant style cafes, we start to get a clearer picture of the viable local options. Still, the options seem endless. And how is one to know which of them is the best spot? You could go by the ratings and let that direct your decision-making. You could look at the pictures, find the one with the best latte art, and let that guide you. You could base your choice solely off the name, off the vibes, off the pastries, off the location, off the menu, off the prices, off the dog-friendliness or non-dog friendliness. 

Why does any of this matter? Just pick a place and go dude. 

You are SO right. Just fucking pick a place and go. Easy.

Maybe it is for some people. Maybe. I think for most of us, it’s not that easy. If you live in a place or know a place well, yeah, you start to know your options and the decision making becomes easier. Sure. But this kind of thing can be paralyzing.

Picture this: It’s 7pm. You and your partner have just wrapped up a nice home cooked meal of Spongebob shaped Kraft Mac and Cheese and you decide to watch a little Netflix. You don’t know what you want to watch so you start looking through your options. You don’t find anything good so you back out and go to HBO max. Again, nothing is speaking to you. You open up amazon prime. Again, nothing. You crack open Hulu and find something one of you likes but the other doesn’t. It’s 10pm and it’s time to go to bed.

If you’ve never experienced something similar to that, you’re a liar. But really, good for you. 

Options are paralyzing. When we have less choices, it’s easier to choose. When we have more choices, it becomes harder. It’s not complicated, it’s not news, and I’m certainly not claiming any “discovery” credit for saying it. But damnit if it’s not true. 

An old co-worker, friend, and legendary wordsmith often used the phrase “paralysis by analysis.” In this context, we see all of the options, we try to figure out which is the best choice by however many potential variables there are, and get stuck in in-decision limbo for a myriad of reasons. Maybe all of the options are so similar it’s tough to pick one out from the crowd (i.e. coffee shops). Maybe all of the options have good ratings (i.e. coffee shops). Maybe all of their latte art looks awesome in the photos (i.e…duh).

We see this in SO many facets of our day to day life. And the bigger a place is, the bigger our pool of options becomes. That’s why the Netflix example is so great. I grew up without cable television. We had one TV and six actual channels. Three of them you couldn’t quite get the bunny ears in the right spot to get a clear enough image. So, now we’re down to 3 options. Well, we can’t watch the Simpsons because my parents deemed it inappropriate and we can’t watch sports because my sister didn’t like them. I guess we’re watching PBS. Lucky for us, Nature is on and I fucking love lions.

Nowadays, there are infinite possibilities. The internet, and TV as a microcosm of that, presents a multitude of options. It’s absolutely insane. I cannot imagine being a kid in this world. It’s hard enough being an adult who (sort of) knows how to make decisions. (In fact, maybe it’s easier to be a kid because you don’t know as much…..but we’ll leave that talk for another time.)

Back to the coffee shops and I’m thinking about how options can be a good thing. It’s capitalism, right? It is Americans seeing opportunities and taking advantage of them, right? It’s fostering competition, and inevitably a better product is provided…right?

Wrong. It doesn’t always lead to a better product. Sometimes, people just see an opportunity and want to make a quick, efficient, and profitable business. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with that. And I’m not sitting here suggesting we need to dissolve all of our options, rob us of choice, steal our freedoms, and create some dystopian society where all of our 8 ounce lattes are delivered by robots and are exactly the same wherever you go. There is an argument for that being a utopia and I’m not arguing that and I’m certainly not going to argue the politics or the reasons for why options exist.

All I’m saying is…it can be hard to make a choice and the more choices there are, the more not-so-good choices there will be. And I’m not sure I totally trust random people online (or in person) to tell me what’s good. I’m a coffee snob dude, I know.

When you become familiar with a place and have your local spots you know and love, it becomes easier. Especially with coffee. When I lived in Milwaukee, at least for my last few years there, my options and choices were simplified. The same could be said for living in Moab or Westbrook, or Logan. You get used to a place. You find the spot you like and you stick to it. Or, you don’t, and you make the choice to keep venturing out and trying new spots. There is joy in that too.

Even in my lifetime, society has sped up, and options continue to increase exponentially. Add to that that all of our options are now at our fingertips (thanks google machines) and you’ve got a real cocktail going. There are pros and cons. For instance, I like my freedom. I like having the information about my options and the ability to choose based on that. I also hate it. I think that’s part of why I like small towns. Less options…less analysis. Less analysis…less paralysis. 

This morning, I picked a coffee shop based on it’s name. The coffee was good. The people were nice. I didn’t sit and work there though as the seating options left me wanting. I went back to the sort of rundown hotel. I pulled my laptop out. Kicked it. Sipped it. And started to work. 

(As I was writing this, I chuckled upon realizing that the hotel was definitely part of the problem. Emma considered hotel options for no less than an hour of our drive, perched on her seat, agonizing over prices…and stars…and locations. The breakfast choice wasn’t as tough though…waffle or bust.)

New Year

~ Nate Andrew

A little washed out in the video. A little blown out in the audio. I’m enjoying myself though. And what better time than May 1 to release a song titled ‘New Year’.

On Wilderness and Accessibility

~ Nate Andrew

Whenever I think about the accessibility of wilderness and the numerous national and state parks spread wide throughout the country, I remember a very specific moment during my first visit to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. It wasn’t the moment we watched Old Faithful blow, surrounded by a mass of roughly one thousand other tourists far cleaner than myself and my Australian companion. It wasn’t angling for a prime photographic framing position at one of the myriad thermal pools and it wasn’t walking across the fully accessible boardwalks surrounding the most objectively beautiful features in the park. It was the moment we drove past the southern entrance station and saw giant tour buses towering like iron mammoths, parked along the side of the road, dwarfing the twenty or so family-sized SUVs (behemoths in their own right), expelling several hundred passengers so they could take a picture of a quite peculiar sight; a large wooden sign, painted brown, bearing the badge of the National Park Service, and naming the once quiet and hallowed grounds beyond: Yellowstone National Park.

The line bore several hundred patiently waiting their turn to gather family or companions in front of the welcoming billboard, eager to prove their travels and memorialize the moment in this grand American wilderness. We drove by exclaiming our amazement to each other while in our own iron transportation and began winding our way through that past haven for bison, grizzly, mountain cats, and various antlered creatures.

I haven’t always felt the way I do now. Certainly not when I took that trip three years ago. We rode from Milwaukee to Seattle on four wheels and pavement for most of the way, occasionally breaking stride for a dirt road to a trailhead or campground, typically maintaining a steady eighty mile per hour pace, cruising from park to park on I-80. We got into the wilderness, sure, but not without the help of that tiny red two-door coupe (RIP). I’m not writing this to villainize pavement or mechanized transportation. These are necessary, if not extraordinary means to bring us closer to nature and solitude. But, I am writing to say that a line must be drawn. Whether by us, the people, or those sworn to protect the lands in an official capacity, it doesn’t quite matter to me. Maybe this line is curved, slanted, squiggly, dashed, dotted, bold, or straight. Draw it any way you’d like, but draw it in an effort to weed out those willing to put a bison calf in the back of their aforementioned SUV and those dumb enough to put a human infant on the back of an elk for a cool picture.

Both of these things have happened, in or near wildly accessible parks with not so great of consequences following the action (the baby human was ok, the baby bison didn’t fair so well). In both of these cases, there is meant to be a line. A line between what is wild and what is not. At this point in our human evolution and development, we are no longer wild. That is OK. But, the necessity for a distinction between the two has grown incomprehensibly for some and beautifully for others. The ignorance of this separation between what is wild and what is not is often the cause for these ridiculous occurrences, and can be avoided through education, the limiting of accessibility, and just basic human intuition. If you see a bison, don’t pet it because it looks furry. It literally weighs a TON. Even the most obese human beings don’t come close to that (maybe some do). It has horns. You do not. You have a relatively soft skull and even softer limbs. In really simple terms, if you hear thunder and see lightning…take shelter or get the fuck out of there.

Obviously and somewhat unfortunately, the majority of the infrastructural improvements to parks throughout the states cannot be undone. Pavement is here to stay. Lodges and cabins and massive visitors centers are going nowhere. And at the end of the day, I am OK with that. It’s sad, a bit boring, and a bit disappointing that those of us interested in visiting these places without such interference, madness, and human intervention are now unable, but I am OK with it. These ‘improvements’ offer a lot to a lot of different people.

They can enable access for those that need it or those not geared toward immersing themselves in the primitive and fully self-reliant environment known as the backcountry. And though I may think there is something comprehensively wrong with the latter group, there is not, and I believe they deserve to appreciate and view the world in at least some manner. Whether or not that manner aligns with my personal desire and views, people deserve to see it. And if that provides enough stimulation for a person or family to share in joy with each other, than who am I to judge? What I would ask and ideally require of those or any people travelling into public lands is to take a moment to educate themselves on where they are going, what to do and what not to do, how to limit their impact, and why all of it is hugely important.

The other day, a coworker of mine hiked into The Narrows in Zion National Park and relayed to me a story of denim-clad tourists wading through knee-high water over river stones and a slow current, jeans absorbing nearly the entirety of the Virgin River. She recommended to me that people should be required to participate in some educational component before being allowed to venture through The Narrows. We pondered and concluded that something along the lines of a video presentation that states the simple “Don’t wear pants,” would do the trick. (Often times, there is a required presentation before visitors are allowed in certain areas, but if the percentage of people who absorb that information is over ten, I would be shocked.)

In theory, especially at Zion, an educational component is present through the countless interpretive signs and exhibits in and around the main visitor center and fairly thoroughly throughout the majority of the accessible bits of the parks. So, in theory, people should be reading these signs, preparing before they make their trip, and making somewhat conscious decisions based on the knowledge they gain from that wildly intensive research. And yet, people march through the Virgin River in Jeans, climb Angel’s Landing in flip-flops, and go into the backcountry exclaiming “Where is the water fountain?!?!”. (Hint: there isn’t one.)

I can’t help but wonder what the areas of National and State Parks would resemble if not segmented by tarmac and guardrails. They would likely be as they once were, appearing as inhospitable lands to the naked eyes of foreigners and pioneers, seeming as vast expanses treacherous to cross, inviting only to those that desire something greater than photographs as a return for exploration. The footprints would belong mostly to the great old bears and beasts we now hear about in stories and books, their skulls attached to their necks commanding fear and respect rather than displayed in glass cases smeared with the fingerprints of four year olds.

The desert, mountain, and seaside landscapes would resemble their actual qualities. The desert teeming with inexplicable life and contrast, the mountains verbose in their enormity and conspicuous in their lavish flora and fauna, the seaside violent and unforgiving, a beacon into a largely unknown realm. These places haven’t ceased to exist, nor have their qualities, but often times they are masked by the imposition of people. There are places left significantly untouched, like the immense wilds of Alaska, or Wyoming, or those left in Maine. And though the establishment of national parks and monuments and forests may change the composition of these lands, these establishments, though oft bound by money, protect the land more than most would. Overall, I believe there are good intentions somewhere within the Department of the Interior, the National Parks Service, the Bureau of Land Management, and within whatever other bureaucratic bodies govern the use of our lands. But, there needs to be a stopping point. When can we begin protecting lands without developing them? Without labeling them Parks or Monuments? When can we begin protecting lands without constructing roads that cut through massive troves of trees and habitat? Without using them as profitable businesses? When can we begin protecting lands without making them overly accessible and removing the wild qualities that make them….WILD.

There must be a stopping point. The access we have built up to this point is beyond sufficient and we need not introduce more of the wild realm to four-lane traffic, indoor plumbing, and the stink of human waste. The areas unaffected by infrastructure and the dream of accessibility should remain as they are, untouched and inaccessible for those that really want to discover wild isolation, for the untainted habitats, and for the health of our beautiful blue ball. Allow those who desire something more than a boardwalk to be unceremoniously harassed by mosquitos, chased by mountain goats, and confronted by bears. Allow them to experience wilderness in its fullest and richest state, unabated and unknown, overflowing with mystery and isolation. Allow them to abandon accessibility from time to time and visit that which so few in this day understand.

We are bored with accessibility. We are incensed by the need to bend over and pick-up chewing gum and banana peels discarded without care. We are lost among the many. We are dirtbags hoping to avoid public showers and restrooms, only to bathe in rivers and shit in holes. Please allow us this. Please allow us the privilege to grab our map and compass, some cheese wiz, whiskey, and water, stretch our legs, bushwhack into the backcountry, stumble through quicksand in the desert, scramble up scree-fields in the Rockies, and maybe one day die in a place unbeknownst to you.

How I Will Grow Old: A Cliché in Two Sentences

~ Nate Andrew

I’m not going to grow old to be the man sunk in his couch disgruntled and grumpy about the choices he could have and should have made rather than becoming the man who made those choices and took those risks to ensure he remains on the edge of his seat with a smile reaching from ear to ear and an eagerness to live and to dream each day as if the next day he would be relegated to his bed permanently horizontal and looking up at the world from his back as it passed by in fluorescent color. And on that day that I become afixed to my pillow, I will remember the colors, which, I have painted for myself and for others and those brighter colors which have been painted on me while I took in the world and its people and made choices to live and to breathe with a satisfaction in every breath and an astonishment at every curve and corner of the life which I have come to lead.

Minneapolis to Glacier.

~ Nate Andrew

Minneapolis. Badlands. Black Hills. Big Horn. Grand Tetons. Yellowstone. Glacier.

Right now it’s 10:24pm and we just left Helena, Montana headed north on I-15 for either a cheap motel off the highway or a comfy parking spot at a visitor center inside the park. Chances are this wi be the second time I roll into Glacier after midnight. We started the day driving through Yellowstone, seeing all the geysers and all the hot springs and all the thousands of tourists poised to capture the perfect shot of old faithful. It’s been a long day. I can’t complain. Yesterday, we hiked 25 miles round trip up to hurricane pass in the Tetons. It gave us a backside view of the three Teton peaks (Grand Teton, Middle Teton, and South Teton) a lot of people never see. It took a few of Dan Ouellette’s “Hey Bear” war cries to get us there but it was well worth the switchbacks and snow hazards once we arrived. Yellowstone’s features are cool. No doubt about it, it’s some of the most unique and beautiful stuff that I’ve ever seen. But it’s all connected by massive parking lots, paved sidewalks, and boardwalks like those found on popular beaches. Even the most uncommon and dramatic scenery doesn’t seem as mystifying if you are plopped right in the middle of it with no effort. Plus, they charge 3 dollars for a can of Pringles.

Before we made it to the Tetons, we drove through the black hills of South Dakota and saw Mount Rushmore (another tourist trap for sure, but all the same it would have been un-American not to stop and see George Washington externalized in a granite cliff). We stopped at a brewery on our way out of the hills and got a flight of some decent brews. There wasn’t anything too special about them, but maybe our judgement was hindered by the brews of Minneapolis, exposed by my good friends Jeff and Taylor. Minneapolis was an awesome place, but seeing any city without good hosts would never do it justice, so for that and Jeff’s uncanny ability to make everything an unforgettable experience, I’m real thankful.

After Minny, we set out for the Badlands of South Dakota on some back roads. 

There was a shit load of corn.

 Like, only corn. 

No grass.

We got to the badlands just as the sun began its trek below the horizon, and just after we could sneak through the gates without paying the fee (don’t worry Barry O, we bought the annual pass). A couple bison greeted us on the dark ride to our campsite, crossing the road with little care and nothing but a few tail wags in my huge 2 door Honda Civic’s direction.

The badlands liked to play tricks on the eyes, the red and beige layers of the rock formations blending with the same ones in front and behind. The coolest part was the “hike wherever you want” rule. For time’s sake, we kept to the trails.

After the badlands and the drive through the black hills, we spent a couple nights in the Big Horn mountains of Wyoming. Our camp neighbor was a local and he gave us some tips on our hike to the twin lakes the next day. He also charcoal grilled our burgers and gave us the last couple pulls of whiskey he had to boot. He tried to explain a route through the Tetons and Yellowstone but his bottle was pretty much empty before we got there. 

Been working on a few ideas, one in particular seems to be taking a pretty good form.

We’ll be in Seattle in a few days, but Glacier National Park for the Fourth.

Happy Independence Day everyone!

-slif

Milwaukee, WI.

~ Nate Andrew

9 West. Schroeder Hall. Marquette II. The Barn. Webster Place. Stowell Avenue. North Prospect Avenue. North Cambridge Avenue.

I took the scenic route through it.

Off to the Pacific Northwest tomorrow.