About the Alliance

Empty.

Most of what I do in life is in search of a clear mind. I’ve learned to numb it, that’s easy. I’ve learned to shut it off, put my head down and spelunk through the pain cave as a way to push out the garbage bouncing around. And, after years of bouncing around this planet searching, I’ve learned that it isn’t hard to find empty, I just have to go to empty. Empty places, landscapes that have defined my life and allow me to completely clear out the debris hiding in the corners of my brain.

For years, I had a theory that most mental health issues were due to a disconnect with nature. This theory was based on limited observation and a bit of judgment. I’ve never been a big fan of city folk. Never once did I realize that these mental health issues I was theorizing about, were a lot closer than I thought. It wasn’t until I met Mama Bear and through countless conversations, realized that not only does my family suffer from many mental health issues, but that I was not immune.

With recognition comes observation. I spent the last several years trying to understand what, why and how all these things work. My theory took into account how I felt when I submersed myself in the wilderness but failed to account for what happened when I got back. Post Epic Adventure Depression, while something I named and not sure if anyone else experiences, is a reality for me. The level of clarity I get from the wilderness is matched by the darkness and garbage that follows. Typically, the darkness lasts much longer than the adventure did and the only way I’ve found out of it was trying to bring myself to plan or prepare for the next foray into clarity.

In November 2018, my little sister almost died.

Leading up to that event, I was experiencing a darkness that felt like the only real solution was a terminus. There wasn’t anything wrong with my life. Nothing had happened. We were preparing for a trip to Mexico that I had been stoked on for a few years, my strange dedication to an industry that doesn’t lend itself to economic security, had actually given me that. Things were ticking along and yet, the only thing that was going on in my head was a drudgery that wasn’t worth continuing even though logically I knew that wasn’t right. When you enter darkness, logic does not help.

We spent 11 days traveling to Mexico and then pedaling around the desert. It was amazing. Somewhere around the 3rd or 4th day, I fell asleep for the first time in recent memory without the aid of alcohol. It felt amazing and I slept for almost 12 hours. A few days later, I realized I felt alive and had pretty much since the beginning of the trip. Sure there were anxious moments, but they were few and far between. I found a clarity with pedaling for most of the day with little more to worry about than where we were going to get water, food and shelter. This clarity, this emptiness of my brain was the reason that I keep going to the backcountry.

As that trip neared its end, there appeared this fear in the back of my thoughts. A shadow lurking, waiting for its time to come to the forefront. I knew the PEAD was already queued up and ready to pounce.

And like clockwork, it did. Within a couple of weeks of returning to my normal, a deep depression settled in. The thoughts of no escape, of needing an end to the shit bouncing around in my skull came back with a vengeance. I knew I needed to do something. Thinking back to Mexico, I linked the clarity of brain that I experienced for over a week with the research I had been doing on physical activity and its benefits in helping curb depression. It was cold in SG and I hadn’t exactly left the house in a while. Prior to our trip, I had promised Mama Bear that I would try running. I bought some shoes and we ran the trail that I used to run on a regular basis in high school. It felt good. My brain cleared. The simple, non-stop aerobic exercise offered by running became my medicine.  I made sure to get out a few times a week, running through the dark on trails screaming out the jams that no one else could hear. The depression lifted.

I wasn’t cured. I don’ t believe a cure exists for depression. That shadow that was lurking in Mexico is certainly hiding in the back of my brain and screams its way to the forefront on a regular basis. At the same time that no cure exists, I have found myself managing the cycles. In place of a binge where I numb my brain to find a bit of solace, I force myself to put on the running shoes or grab my bike and get even just 30 minutes of nature and movement to clear my head. And if the 30 minutes isn’t enough, well, I keep moving until it happens.

That theory I have about nature, well, apparently the research is mounting to show that it is a reality. You’ve probably heard of Forest Bathing in Japan. Certain countries have gone as far as having a recommended monthly dose of nature, a minimum of 5 hours seems to have huge benefits. As research into the nature connection or disconnection continues, I have a strong inclination to believe that we will find that most of the currently common ails will be linked to this disconnect.

The Alliance began as an advocacy group, specifically for cycling. We’ve morphed a bit since then. Cycling is a big part of what we do, I mean, how can you deny how rad it is to coast, but in the bigger scheme of things (read: now that we are getting older and things seems less clear) cycling fits into this broader narrative of connecting to nature and managing the health issues that we believe come from that disconnect. We go out adventuring as therapy for our own issues. We share those stories as motivation for others to do the same. We hope that by experiencing nature on an up close, personal level, will not only help alleviate some health issues, but inspires others to action. Our public lands, our open spaces are under immense pressure and direct attacks. The best motivator for protecting them is getting to know them on a personal level. It’s going to take all of us fighting to make sure we don’t lose them.