Living Life Large

Thank You Donald Miller: Let Story Guide You

2012-02-02T22:58:00.000+02:00

A couple of weeks ago I listened to a "sermon" from Donald Miller, Let Story Guide You. I say sermon because every Saturday I take a break from all the craziness of life and I try to get back to my foundation. Generally by Friday, my house has shifted. Life, busyness consumes my days during the week. I read the Bible, listen to sermons online and try to remember that ultimately God is guiding this life, not me, no matter how much I think I can control its direction. Frankly, I also do this so I don't snap! When I do, its not pretty.

Ironically this sermon, this talk, was about to go in the recycle bin to make room for more hard drive space. The nanosecond before the click and delete it was saved, again restoring my belief in everything happens for a reason and nothing is random. I was supposed to hear this.

I found a link to a very similar version on YouTube as I cannot for the life of me figure out how to put up an MP3 on Blogger. If you listen to it first you will understand the rest of this blog, if you listen afterwards the pieces will fall into place.

Let Story Guide You

I was at the five year Volvo plan of life and panicked. I wanted a better story, this was not how life was supposed to end up. I had the dream job and it was a nightmare. I needed a story, a big story, an all encompassing story of my passions in life. Sadly, yet hopefully, I gave up the current story I was living for the story I live now. Not all endings are happy endings....at first.

Now my story is tightly intertwined with the stories of the riders of Team Rwanda.

We are in the fourth week of training camps and everything with the riders is really starting to gel. They are stronger, faster, smarter and eager for more. More anything, better food, nutrition advice, good vitamins, they want it all. It wasn't always this way. Tonight as I started to write, Nathan was saying how this year is so much different than last year. He said everything is much better. That is no accident, it is all part of our story.

When you step out to live a larger story of your life you are bound to connect and influence the stories of others. This week Rocky showed up at the house at 8:15am for a 10:00am dentist appointment in Kigali. It takes exactly an hour and 45 minutes to get to Kigali. Rocky has been battling an abscessed tooth and root canals and was now in need of oral surgery since November of last year. Can you imagine riding an eight day stage race needing major oral surgery? But that is Rocky, that is who he is. Rocky spends most of Monday in the dentist chair and comes out of the office looking like he's gone a few rounds with Apollo. Today is Thursday and finally he has returned from his cauldron of constant pain. He is on the road to recovery and after being on antibiotics off and on for three months, he should take his last pills on Sunday. Then, his power will begin to return.

Imagine how different Rocky's story, his life would have been without the Team. He would have an empty eye socket and the dentist. if he would have gone or had the money to go, would have simply started pulling teeth. His life is changed from one split second on a single speed bike when Jock and Max passed him on the road. He took the initiative, showed up at the house and opted for a better life story.

Last Friday, as I was waiting in the truck at the intersection of the road back to Musanze and the road to Gitarama where the riders had just finished their first race of the season, a woman comes up to the window. I didn't recognize her at first. It was Monique, Rocky's wife. She had come to meet him at the intersection not far from their mud brick home. She smiled and said, "Kim, it's me, Monique!" Then she went on to tell me, "Thank you, thank you, thank you for Rocky." I shudder to think of what life might have been for these two and their two young children.

Out of the blue, random searchings for new stories intersect. Last week I met Megan Smith, a yoga teacher and studio owner from New York.

Megan came, very spur of the moment, to Rwanda to teach yoga instructors at a small organization in Musanze, home also to Team Rwanda. Ubushobozi was founded to teach young girls to sew, to give them a life skill whereby they can earn a living. Two of the women from the US who run Ubushobozi are clients of Megan's in New York. Megan found Team Rwanda, contacted Hilary in the US and connected with us when she got to Rwanda. My thought was to have her use the Team for a couple of instruction classes with the girls so that I might have some options for yoga instructors during training camps. The first three weeks of camp I had been leading yoga. Note, I am not a yoga teacher. I like yoga, have taken a ton of classes, but frankly you do not need a Type A, workaholic freak that can't slow down long enough to sleep teaching you yoga. The word relax is not in my vocabulary.

But then Megan's story forever changed Obed's life.

Obed is 32 and will probably not be strong enough to race internationally anymore. There are just too many up and coming riders who are stronger and faster. For Obed, where one career is waning another is now on the front burner. Obed is a natural at yoga. He has such a calm presence. Obed is one rider along with Adrien who we have never had any issues with, never asks for money, there are never any, "Coach, I have a big, big problem" statements. He's quiet yet commanding. The man has presence. Within a week, Obed has gone from a strong yoga participant to leading an hour long class for the team (under the tutelage of Megan). In addition, he is the rockstar of Ubushobozi. The young men and women look to him. He's their hero. Today, he took a bunch of his autograph cards with him to class. They loved it.

This is the most important part of this story.....The young man to the left of Obed is Faustine. Faustine is an epileptic. A social curse of death in a country like Rwanda. There is no "ADA" here. People with physical, mental or neurological disorders are outcasts. I have heard the most horrific stories of the lives of people with disabilities. Faustine was no exception. One school dealt with Faustine's epilepsy by putting a rugby helmet on him. No one thought to look for medical help, for a possible solution to the seizures. He was mocked and one day attacked by a group of school children, beaten and his "helmet" stolen. Faustine finally received adequate medical treatment, a rarity in this third world country, and with medication his seizures are under control but the mental damage of unchecked seizures has taken its toll. He is simply, different. Obed took Faustine under his wing and today, Team Rwanda gave Faustine a job teaching yoga during training camps. Obed, who has continued to ride and train with the team every morning, then spend four hours in yoga training in the afternoon and then teach an hour to the the Team in the evening, is creating his new story, his new career and his new future. It is all his doing, we simply kicked open the door. I believe Obed will be even that much more financially secure, stable and successful in this next phase of his life.

All because one woman, Megan, decided to change a bit of her story.

All week I have been thinking about how drastically my life story has changed over the past three years. I thought about it while I watched Joseph brush Zulu. Six months ago Joseph was a surly young new rider who I thought would never make it. Today he smiles, he is happy, he is riding like the international cyclist he is, and he likes Zulu. The craziest things make me happy. Watching Zulu stand there in dog scratchin' heaven while being brushed by Joseph made my day. Seeing the new riders like Jean Bosco and Hassan and Emile gradually release their fear and tension and embrace all that is Team Rwanda training camp makes me happy.

Seeing Max ride again makes me happy. Max's story is complex. He receives too much outside pressure, pressure making him feel like what he does here isn't important in the real world, that he needs a real job. Max has no idea how many lives, how many stories he has influenced. This week he hired Kiki to work on a bike with him. He later told me Kiki was good and that he has a knack for mechanics. Like Obed, we are looking for the next phase for Kiki as well. Max is part of that.

I am so thankful my life is part of all these evolving stories, these stories of a better life. I need to make sure everyone knows more about the stories of these riders. I need to keep telling their stories so that others may be part of the changing stories, just like Megan. Ironically, I left one story to live another and my biggest fan and cheerleader for telling my next story is my ex-husband. He too is responsible for more than just a 5 year Volvo savings plan. Story characters come from the most obscure places....

Stories Within Team Rwanda

2012-01-23T21:34:00.000+02:00

Before training camp started a couple of weeks ago I was in a bit of a panic. Petty, our cook who has been preparing meals for the Team for almost a year, was unavailable until mid February. She is employed by another organization who is currently renting out the front portion of our Team house and they needed her to cook for their volunteers for six weeks. Who was I going to find, in Rwanda, to cook nutritious, very unlike Rwandan, meals for 15 hungry riders five days a week? I also had no additional staff to assist with teaching another cook our way of menu planning and meal preparation. Seriously, I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and go to sleep until February.

And then came Celestin.

Celestin was the former cook for the French family Jock lived with in Butare his first year in Rwanda. He's an older gentleman, okay 60ish but that's really old in Rwanda, and after this French family left he worked for a couple other people but really had fallen on difficult times. Jock has always stayed in touch with Celestin and every year when the Tour of Rwanda stops in Butare for the day, Jock and Celestin always reconnect. He is a very nice man, of course I have no clue what he's saying because he doesn't speak English and I still don't speak French.

This year when we stopped in Butare Jock met up with Celestin and found out that his former boss, a Rwandan, skipped the country unexpectedly and apparently "forgot" to pay him his salary for the month. Celestin never asked for money he was simply stating the simple truth of his life. He told Jock he had faith God would provide as He always had and he was thankful he was able to reconnect with Jock again. Jock came back to the hotel in Butare where we were all staying and told me he was going to give him $100 just because that's what friends do.

Celestin was surprised and grateful.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks prior to our first camp and my stress freak out about no cook and Jock mentions Celestin. He did not have consistent employment, he wanted to work and we could give him a job, a good well paying job. But, all I thought was, "He doesn't speak English!"

Celestin came the Sunday before our first camp and has been here every week since. Whenever you have one of those moments when you think everything is going south quickly, sometimes, when you least expect it something truly amazing happens.

Celestin is a phenomenal cook but that is just the surface of why he will remain with us for as long as he will have us. He actually knew Abraham, Nathan, Kiki and Obed from the early days when the riders used to train in Butare. The guys were so happy to see him that first day. He has this amazing quiet, calm energy. We need that. There is never stress over when the meals are going to be ready. We show up and they are ready. The kitchen is immaculate, and the pride in his work, his meals is unmistakable. He orchestrates the most incredible salads, tonight the riders went back for seconds....on salad? His food is infused with love for these riders. We give him purpose again in his life, and he gives us the fuel to race and perform, and it's all done with his calm energy, his calm, hopeful energy.

Celestin's life embodies hope. During the 1994 genocide Celestin, fearing the worst, sent his seven year old son to stay with an aunt. The aunt was murdered during those 100 days in April. Before she was killed, the son was sent to another Aunt. After the genocide Celestin had no idea where his son was and if his son was still alive. Many people took years to reunite with family and loved ones after those horrific days of summer 1994 in Rwanda. Celestin took 14 years.

His son had ended up in a tea plantation in or around the Burundi border south of Rwanda. He was a slave at the plantation. He had no idea if his father, Celestin was still alive.

Celestin never gave up hope.

Fourteen years later his son came home.

Celestin encompasses everything that is this Team....Hope is an amazing ride.

Team Rwanda Training Camp Week 1...1.5

2012-01-18T22:07:00.000+02:00

It's already Wednesday night of our second week of camp. I was hoping to write about camp each week. One of the reasons I need to write more often is that so much happens in one week, one day, one waking 12...18 hour period that if I don't it piles up and writer's block sets in. It's more like writer's panic as to which story should I tell. I have said before, never have a lived a life like this where every night when my head hits the pillow I marvel at the thought that it was only one day. How possibly could that much happen in one day? I'm a week and a half into our 2012 Season and I'm thinking, how did that all happen in the last 10 days?

We started our first training camp of 2012 last Monday, January 9th. We had thirteen riders, veterans Kiki, Obed, Nathan, NicNic, Gasore, Rocky, Emmanuel "Boy" and Abraham, more about him in a minute. We also have our newer riders some of whom rode in the Tour of Rwanda in November, Jacques (who now writes his name as Jock) and Kadona (super new kid), and Tour riders Emile, Janvier and Joseph, the winner of the final stage of the Tour. This year started off very differently. We came off such a great training season prior to the Tour and then incredible success at the Tour. The riders stayed in shape and trained during their six week hiatus and all came back ready to amp up their training and eager to learn more about the effects of nutrition and their new found love of yoga on their racing. Everything seems easier, in a typically exhausting way. We have limited camps to only 13 riders for economic and staff bandwith issues. We continue to live in four month financial increments and we do it with only the three of us. This time, however, the rider's have definitely pitched in more, especially the veterans, teaching the newer riders.

Abraham is back and he's happy....it makes us all happy. 2011 Abraham spent most of the year off the team and only returned shortly before the Tour. It was a tough year for him emotionally and financially. For us, it was hard to watch him battle the forces around him. Finally, near the end of the year he came to us and asked for another chance. This is Rwanda, Team Rwanda forgiveness is granted. This man has a story that I believe no one has ever really heard. I think he still battles demons. He was a teenager during the genocide, he lost his first wife to a mysterious death and then had to put their newborn up for adoption. Abraham is stubborn, more stubborn than anyone I have ever met, that is probably what has saved him in the long run. But, Abraham seems very different and he is here and he is laughing, riding hard and embracing yoga, he is the total team player again. He has the best laugh.

Obed, Kiki and Nathan are all leaders. It is so comforting to watch them handle situations that even two years ago, we would have to deal with. Tonight Nathan led the stretching class. We used to call it stretching and then when our volunteers extraordinaire Mel & Jess started leading "yoga" in October of last year, the boys latched on to it and now I'm teaching 45 minutes of yoga every evening. Very happy I had all those yoga classes in Kenya last year and a handful of old DVDs.

Janvier is excited about heading to South Africa to train for two months in February and March. He also just bought a new house for his family from his Tour winnings. Today we got his passport!

Rocky is well, Rocky. He got his glass eye, he still kills it in the sprints every day during training. He is the jokester of the bunch, his English improves daily and he finally can touch his toes in yoga. Today he was riding "wheelies" in the lawn at the Team house on a mountain bike and biffed it. I just shook my head and told him no more doctors (he has major dental issues we're still dealing with). He just kept laughing, all the riders watching him were laughing saying, "Doctors...it is finished!"

We spent the first couple of days last week laughing at all the pictures of Joseph's win where he collapsed in a spread leg position immediately after the finish line. He had never seen the pictures. At first I think he was embarrassed but then really, how could you be, it truly was the funniest finish ever. Don't think Lance Armstrong has ever had such a classic finish!

The riders come in on Monday afternoon. They train Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and leave Friday morning back for their homes throughout Rwanda. After their training rides we have lunch, our team meeting, 2-3 hours of down time and then yoga, core workout, dinner and then bed. We generally head to Kigali on Friday's for supplies and then regroup Saturday, do all our paperwork, accounting, admin on Sunday and we all start over again on Monday. It's week two and camp fatique has already settled in.

My days start at 6:00 making breakfast for half the group, then helping with rider testing, slamming out emails, coffee, coffee and more coffee, feed the dog, the cat, make sure Felix knows what he needs to do for the day and has money, get the laundry off the line from the day before. Get the Cytomax made, the water jugs out, bananas, find my bike, fill my bottles and try to find my clothes in the pile of 13 rider kits. I usually roll out right before the boys, sometimes with them depending on how brutal I want my ride to be. I get home about an hour to an hour and half before them, grab a shower, do my marketing/logistics work, make the hard boiled eggs and recovery drink right before they walk in. When they get in from their training the riders have it down. Within 10 minutes I have a bucket of dirty kits, and the riders at this house are already in and half way through their showers. I get the laundry started, head to lunch, sit in during the team meeting, yes, the riders all want to know how my training was and why they dropped me on the hill. I did attack them today on the flats! Then back to the house by 3:00, try to do some writing, you can see that's not going so well, get the laundry out on the line, thank goodness for dry season. Then answer all the questions, "Kim, can you print a picture for me? Kim, can I use Facebook? Kim...." Then head to the Team house for 6:00pm yoga and stretching, 7:00pm dinner and back to work at my computer by 8:15pm. Welcome to my glamorous world! I would not trade these days for anything. Today during yoga, when Nathan was leading the class, I just thought about how far we all have come, that we really are building a sustainable team. I am so lucky to work with these guys.

But, I'm tired....very tired...so, before you armchair internet quarterbacks throw in your two cents about, "Why don't you not ride and save a couple of hours a day?" I ride for two main reasons, my sanity and freedom from my bitchiness for those around me. The third would have to be respect. Respect from the riders that I know what I'm talking about when it comes to cycling and that I'm willing to train hard for no real reason. Not like I'm going to be starting a racing career at 45! Plus, they see I do that and take care of them. It ups the respect factor in a traditionally patriarchal country.

The best thing lately on my training rides has been the women. The women walking along the roads I ride. The young girls are generally quite obnoxious and sometimes even rude, but the older woman, the ones hauling 50 pound bags of potatoes on their heads are my biggest fans and I am theirs. They always make my day when they see me coming up the road on a long climb and they're looking and looking and then they smile and wave and cheer, Komera, Be Strong. Lately, we are starting to pass each other at the same time and place every day. They make me thankful for growing up as a woman in America and to never take my lot in life for granted and hopefully I show them that women can do more than haul potatoes. That we all have opportunities. I love these women.

The regroup Saturday last weekend was not so much. Monday came again too soon and here it is Wednesday. One more day of training and then Friday back to Kigali. Tomorrow NicNic goes back to the dentist in Kigali and Janvier goes for the first time. I truly opened a Pandora's Box in the dental arena with these riders. After Janvier we might need to take a break, a financial break! NicNic goes to the hospital on Friday for xrays on his ankle he broke in the 2010 Tour of Rwanda which continues to plaque him.

Next week we have a Dutch journalist from South Africa coming along with a photographer. Philip Gourevitch is also going to stop hopefully for a day or two to catch up with the team. NicNic will go one afternoon (3 hour off road round trip) to a doctor in Butaro who just happens to be an American Foot/Ankle Orthopedic Specialist living in Rwanda and working at a Partners in Health Hospital. We went there the first Wednesday of camp to take a Brazilian ER doctor up there to meet Dr. Geoffrey Tabin who was here doing cataract and cornea transplant surgeries. She had heard of us from the Tour of Rio, small world. We also have a real yoga instructor coming to teach some Rwandan girls to be yoga instructors. Our boys will be the guinea pigs for a few nights.

If this blog seems like story arrows shot from all directions, it's because it is. I seriously can't even remember everything that's happened in the last 10 days. I guess the most important thing, however, has been the announcement of Forest Whitaker as the narrator of our Team Rwanda documentary which hopefully will be premiering in the US in April. Keep your fingers crossed and I will keep you posted on when and where.

6:00am comes early....it is finished....oh, and I haven't even told you the story of Celestin, our new cook. For another day....

Gasore Gives a Cow

2012-01-09T14:07:00.000+02:00

Dowries are alive and well in the Rwandan culture. Well, technically it would be the "bride price" according to Wikipedia because Gasore, the groom in this case, forked over a $700 cow to the uncle of a young woman named Marceline.

According to Wikipedia: Bride price, also known as bride wealth, is an amount of money or property or wealth paid by the groom or his family to the parents of a woman upon the marriage of their daughter to the groom. (Compare dowry, which is paid to the groom, or used by the bride to help establish the new household, and dower, which is property settled on the bride herself by the groom at the time of marriage.) The agreed bride price is generally intended to reflect the perceived value of the girl or young woman.

Either way, Gasore is getting married and none of us knew about it. So begins the untangling of misinformation, lack of information and withholding of information and Gasore admitting to the truth, a very painful and embarrassing experience for Gasore and his new bride to be.

A few weeks ago we heard that Gasore had bought a new house. The reason, we found out, is that Gasore and Janvier asked for an advance on their January salary because they had spent all their money on a house and didn't have anything left for food. Forward thinking is not their strong suite. However, we were happy they had taken their race winnings from the Tour of Rwanda and put it towards a house. We also believed they bought the house together.

A few days after giving them an advance, a group of us rode up to Sashwara, Gasore and Janvier's home town, to see their purchase. Gasore took us to his new house where the current owner was still living. He told us they were moving in the next day.

Last week Jock was talking with Felix Sempoma, Gasore's cycling club president, and he asked if we were coming to the "cow giving ceremony". What? That's when Felix filled us in on the real story. Gasore and Janvier bought separate houses and Gasore was getting married. Felix had found out through the grapevine about this "marriage". Gasore had told no one from the team, not coach, not even Kiki. When we asked Felix why he was getting married he told us Gasore said when he travels his stuff gets stolen and he needs someone to look after things while he is gone. (Gasore is an orphan) True love, Rwandan style. He most likely was afraid to say anything because we are always talking to the boys about working hard, saving your money and not having children out of wedlock and not getting married until the end of their careers. Family drama is the worst thing for a cyclist and family drama in Rwanda rivals the lives of Jerry Springer guests, especially when it comes to money.

I saw Kiki lose a year in his short cycling career dealing with his 16 year old girlfriend who he truly loved and adored and who was the mother of his child Jonathan. Kiki wanted to get married and have a happily ever after family. Instead, Kiki's girlfriend took the baby and essentially exhorted money from Kiki using the child as the pawn. Team Rwanda riders make over ten times the national salary of an average Rwandan. In the eyes of the local girls the riders are their ticket out of the field and into a better life. Kiki was a mess for such a long time we thought he might never find his way back. Today he has full custody of his son and is a good father. The girl, paid off.

Adrien says his girlfriend is his bike.

Gasore knows how we feel about this subject. To think, however, that he could hide this ended up costing him weeks of agony.

We didn't attend the cow giving ceremony as we were not invited. Instead we set a time this past Friday to meet with Gasore, his bride to be, and Felix, who also has a vested interest in Gasore's career. Here's the brutal honest part, I did not want to like her. I figured she would be like all the other girls who are rider groupies. I understand these girls have few options, however, snatching on to a rider and popping out babies is an option that I will stop at nothing to squash.

Gasore most likely had the worst week of his life waiting for our "meeting".

The afternoon before we went up to Sashwara I simply said a prayer asking for calm, patience, understanding and an open mind.

We met Gasore at his old place (we found out the other owners hadn't moved out yet) and there was Marceline. She was an attractive young woman who impressed me from the first hello....she looked me in the eye, that rarely happens with women in Rwanda. The conversation was all in French and Kinyarwanda which isn't necessarily a bad thing for me speaking neither language. I'm able to tune in much more intently to body language and Gasore's spoke volumes. He was embarrassed he didn't tell us and the guilt he was feeling was evident in his downward gaze and hunched shoulders.

Marceline is 22 and is also an orphan, that is why the cow went to her uncle. She works for the government and speaks French. She is an Adventist, same as Gasore, and she has been to secondary school, a feat for a girl in Rwanda, especially an orphan. She essentially was interrogated by Jock and Felix with questions such as:

Do you know what a professional cyclists life is like?
Do you know he will travel for months?
Do you plan on continuing working?
When are you getting married?
What do you plan to do for Gasore to help him?
How many children and when?

Again, since I could only understand body language I was impressed by the way she answered every question, looking the men in the eye and also asking for help. She said she would like to learn how to help Gasore with his nutrition and I offered to have her come to a training camp and work with one of our cooks to learn the best meals for Gasore. She asked when she could come. She admitted what she did not know and she showed initiative in learning more.

Through translation I learned she was unaware Gasore had spent all his money including his monthly living money, which bought food, in order to buy the house and cow. She also had no idea Gasore did not invite us and she was embarrassed and a bit upset with Gasore. She understood the Team is Gasore's family and that she was essentially marrying into this melting pot of people. She invited us to the wedding....sometime later this year. I think she might be just what Gasore needs!

In the end, Gasore looked over at her and she smiled. Her smile is radiant. Without understanding any of the language I understood one thing. It's more than just someone to watch his "stuff". He really cares for her, his smile and the way he looked at her said all I needed to hear.

Meanwhile, Janvier was sitting behind us the entire time and I'm sure he learned a very valuable lesson, best never to hide anything from us. We will always find out.

When we were leaving, Gasore was back to his normal self. The stress of lies and omission had taken their toll these past couple of weeks. He pounded on his chest and said he could breathe again.

As we were leaving we headed up to see Janvier's new house.

This house sits up on a hill as you head down out of Sashwara. The view is gorgeous and when it is finished he will move into this house with seven of his family members. It is not more than 500 square feet, no running water but it does have electricity. Janvier appeared a bit embarrassed that it was such a small house with so many people. He has nothing to be embarrassed about, this is a culture that for better or worse, takes care of family.

“Be awesome! Be a book nut!” ― Dr. Seuss

2012-01-05T21:38:00.001+02:00

I love books...I used to be a semi avid reader and now thanks to moving to Africa sans television I am now a voracious reader. When I was thinking about writing this blog I "googled" quotes about books. I was looking for a title for this blog and found thousands of quotes that made me think, laugh, want to read, however, the best quote about books I found is attributed to the great filmmaker, John Waters,

“If you go home with somebody, and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em!”

This reminds me of a time when I knew my friendship with a girlfriend I regularly hung out with on the ropes. She said, "I don't read and have no desire to do so." That was the beginning of the end of our friendship.

The hardest thing I had to do when selling my house in Las Vegas with its office with a wall of books, was to give them all away. It was like parting with a litter of puppies.

Equally hard was moving to and living in a country that has NO books...Rwanda. For a country touted for its stance on education I am continually stupefied by the lack of books. There is, I think, one book store in Kigali which I haven't been able to actually locate. Nakumatt (the Walmart wannabe of East Africa) has a few books, mostly religious, not that there's anything wrong with that unless it's televangelist religious people you only hear about late at night when you don't have cable. Oh, and they charge you, on average, $50 to purchase one of these mesmerizing tomes.

Yes, I have heard of Kindles, iPads, iPhones and I can download everything I need in a nicely weighted electronic gadget, but remember, I am 45, old school, I like books, their smell, the feel, writing all over the margins. It is just not the same experience. So gradually over the past 2 1/2 years I have started amassing a library in Rwanda. It's only a small bookshelf but I actually had to get a bookshelf....a start.

Since I don't do resolutions as you know, I will set a goal for 2012 and books. I want to read more, will smuggle more books to Africa and most importantly I will write about the books I read in hopes that they inspire some of you to read more. Also, I want to be more diverse in my reading. When I lived in Las Vegas I was a member of an incredible Reading Group which still thrives. I loved that it made me read books I most likely never would have picked up. The Red Tent, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, South of Broad were all books I read as part of this group. However, I did still boycott the Jane Austen months. Sorry, have always disliked Ms. Austen, nothing personal, just can't do ancient chick lit. Sorry Jane....

So, if anyone has suggestions please feel free to share. I hope to write about a book at least monthly hopefully more.

What do I read now mostly? African history and current events. In the last month I finished two very different books on Zimbabwe, The Fear by Peter Godwin and The Last Resort by Douglas Rogers. I first traveled through Zimbabwe via motorcycle in December 2009. The trip originally was not planned for a jaunt through Zimbabwe, however, a friend, Linda Davidson, who runs the Zimbabwean Cycling Team in Harare said everything was fine as they had just gone onto the US dollar currency. Little at that time did I know the violence that occurred just a year or so prior during the 2008 elections.

I had read another of Peter Godwin's books, When A Crocodile Eats the Sun back in 2007, before the horrific violence of the 2008 elections. Zimbabwe is a sad place under the rule of Robert Mugabe.

The beauty about books is they cause you to think, they challenge. They can be controversial, in your face, emotional shaking to the core. That being said, here are some facts you learn from books that you won't hear on CNN. Zimbabwe was originally Rhodesia. Rhodesia was under white rule and there were issues as there always are when the minority rules the majority. But where the BBC and CNN were reporting that "whites owned seventy per cent of the land in Zimbabwe" and "white farmers had seventy per cent of the fertile land in Zimbabwe." the truth is "Commercial farming makes up only 28% of this country's land. But there's a black farmers' union that represents 6% of that. The Development Trust, which is government, has 3%. There are black tenant farmers with 4% and Forestry has 1%. That leaves whites with about 14% of the country's land...and that 14% produced about 65% of all agricultural produce and 50% of foreign earnings, and employed or supported almost two million people. But all you ever heard about was us greedy white farmers." When the MDC, the opposition party, tried to secure political seats through real democracy they were met by the terror machine of Robert Mugabe who has been in power after changing the constitution and rigging elections for over 30 years. Zimbabwe was once the bread basket of Africa, today they rely on World Food Program.

This is the stuff you don't learn from television or in school. This you learn by reading books such as these.

The Fear, which I read first, was a depressing read. Well written but sadly depressing with graphic descriptions of the reign of terror on any person even suspected of opposing Mugabe. I left that book feeling completely helpless and hopeless for the people of Zimbabwe. Their fate cannot even be compared to the seven levels of Dante's Hell! Peter Godwin depicted a tough contingency of opposition leaders and supporters, but the violence they lived through was mind numbing.

A friend in South Africa told me about The Last Resort. It is a book about living in Zimbabwe as a white family from before independence until the present day. The author's father hadn't left Africa until he was in his 50's. His family had been on the continent for 350 years. He was Zimbabwean. I left this book feeling hopeful and knowing why I love Zimbabweans so much. They are the toughest most resilient people you could ever hope to know...white or black. It is a country that despite being strangled by a power hungry, out of touch, greedy, excuse making leader, they survive and they stay and they fight.

I remember being at Linda's house in December 2009. She lives in this nice house her and her husband built themselves. They have three children and a South African Boerboel who guards them to the death. Buster has to. They hadn't had power for days, it was cold and rainy and when they don't have electricity they don't have water because the pump cannot run. They sleep behind a locked gate inside their house which is surrounded by a barb wired wall and guarded by Buster. Can you imagine locking yourself and your family inside your bedroom with an iron gate? That is their life, yet they stay. They're Zimbabwean. Just like the couple in The Last Resort, they stay because this is their home.

I think I will take a break for now on African history and current events. I need a breather. It is a heart wrenching genre. I'm thinking about reading, Hell on Wheels, by Amy Snyder next. Fits with my 2012 goal of riding 6,000 miles this year and racing in the Race Across America in 2013.

I'll just finish with a quote which sums up my thoughts on books from one of my favorite authors:

“For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

Rocky Gets a New Eyeball

2012-01-04T18:06:00.000+02:00

This past summer, Innocent "Rocky" Uwamungu lost his right eye in a freak accident. He was walking back to his rural home behind the Gapco station on the road to Gisenyi when he passed by a man pounding and pulverizing volcanic stone into gravel. People actually get paid to do this in Rwanda for the roads. A split second later, a shard of volcanic rock flew into the air and torn into his eye. Within days he had completely lost his eye.

Who knows if proper access to good medical care could have saved his eye. Unfortunately, we will never know and we had to move forward. Rocky did not stop riding.

Philip Gourevitch wrote a blog about Rocky in July. As an aside, interestingly, when I went to find this blog for this blog I realized it appeared in the Sporting Scene of the New Yorker and this is the only blog Philip has written for the Sporting Scene. Rocky Uwamungu, a former Rwandan farmer turned Team Rwanda cyclist is on the same pages as pro US football, baseball and basketball players.

During the Tour of Rwanda, Pierre Carey from Cycling News interviewed Rocky about losing his eye.

I wrote a blog about the Soul of a Team right before this year's Tour of Rwanda where I talked about Rocky's request in front of the team for help in getting a glass eye. The meeting with the team happened right after lunch during a training camp. Rocky asked for financial help in getting a replacement eye. He had some money saved but could not come up with the initial $800 required by a doctor in Butare, Rwanda. I went back to my computer after the meeting, posted Philip's blog and asked for help from our Facebook fans and within 30 minutes I had the money.

This was October....

Fast forward to December 28th. Rocky still was without an eye. I was so beyond frustrated. We had spent over two months dealing with a doctor in Butare who said, "Just send him with the money and we will work it out." My response, "Yeah, that's a NO! Give me details, specifics and we will meet you in Butare." After two trips to Butare by Felix Sempoma, Rocky's Cycling Club President, we were told there were no eyes available.

Felix then took Rocky to King Faisal, the main hospital in Kigali along with two other hospitals and was told that there were no eyes and they don't handle glass eyes but to wait and perhaps if they do they will call. Yes, that's what I'm going to do, wait around for a call from someone who will never call. I'm just going to wait until Rocky's 87 and I'm long buried in America. Yes, that's exactly what I'll do.

This is when my American can do, frustrated in Africa alter ego takes over.

Seriously, we can't get one glass eye for one Rwandan!?

On December 28th, I was out riding and venting to Jock about how much I can't stand this country sometimes (debilitating frustration talking), and why can't we get one (F*(&ing) eyeball, when he mentioned a friend of ours, Dr. Geoffrey Tabin. I met Dr. Tabin here in Rwanda a couple of years ago when he was in country conducting much needed cataract surgeries. He's a cyclist which is a plus.

As soon as I got home from the ride I emailed Geoff and with God like serendipity, I got an email the next day saying he was actually going to be in Rwanda in a couple of weeks and he copied Dr. John Nkurikiye, a Rwandan ophthalmologist at King Faisal and told me to contact him.

Two more emails and a couple of SMS messages later, Rocky had an appointment at King Faisal with Dr. John on January 3rd.

Yesterday at 11:00am Jock, Rocky and I walked into King Faisal, an hour later Rocky walked out with a new prosthetic glass eye.

When we went into the examination room and Dr. Nkurikiye began looking at Rocky I figured he would be measured for an eye and then we'd have to wait a few weeks to a month to get an eye, then come back. When Dr. Nkurikiye walked over to his desk and pulled out a black case and opened it up to reveal several dozen glass eyes and all of them the dark brown of the Rwandan eye, my heart literally skipped a beat. This was it, after months and months of frustration and diversions and time and expense, Rocky was getting an eye. When Dr. John put the eye into Rocky's empty eye socket and Rocky looked over at me and smiled I lost it. Tears were right there. Sometimes I mask all my emotions with fierceness and I push and push and fight for what these riders need and then, in a split second when I see it finally happen I become human again...and I have a good cry.

I will not know why we were able to finally get it done. I'm afraid to ask the questions. I believe Felix really tried, did he not ask the right questions all these months, did he not push hard enough? God forbid, was he told there were no eyes for another reason? I hate to even think about it, although I continue to wonder why it only took me a couple of emails and Rocky had his eye, an eye we had been waiting for months.

All I know is it is damn good to see Rocky smile, really smile and have this burden lifted off his shoulders and feel good about himself again. Of course, we have had quite a few good laughs from the team and others wondering if Rocky can see again....I just smile. Rocky sees just fine....with one eye!

How to Wash a 130 Pound South African Boerboel

2012-01-02T09:45:00.000+02:00

It's that time again. Zulu is scratching a bit too much and the thought of a potential flea infestation along with the continuing war against ticks, bed bugs, Nairobi flies and a variety of other bizarre African biting insects is just too much to take. So, time for a bath and another dousing of Frontline Advantage Flea and Tick control for Zuboy. Bath, yes, how to wash a 130 pound South African Boerboel who is not particularly fond of getting wet.

1. Wait for the weather to clear up. It is rainy season in Rwanda, raining everyday, mud everywhere. A sunny day is a must as all the blankets he sleeps on must be washed which requires sunlight to dry the blankets. Yesterday the sun came out, the first time in four days....Hallelujah, it's bath time!

2. Go for a bike ride. Yes, this is part of the overall strategy. First, to plan the military maneuvers necessary to complete the washing task, secondly, to psyche out the dog. He feels the "wash the dog" energy and is already becoming a bit tense, if you go for a ride you throw him for a loop.

Plus, it's sunny today and I need a ride...see #1. Also, after two hours on the bike in Rwanda, 16 Muzungu Amafarangas (Whitey give me money), two near miss collisions with clueless taxi cyclists turning directly into your path and one bus/cow accident, you have enough adrenalin cursing through your body that tackling a 130 pound dog is akin to lifting a 2 ton vehicle!

3. After ride, go for a quick mountain bike ride to wear the dog out. A tired Boerboel is a washable Boerboel.

4. While one person is taking the dog for the mountain bike run, another person must prepare the washing theater. This particular Boerboel, disdains the shower so a large wash basin, pitcher and bottle of shampoo must all be in place when the dog is sneakily ushered into the bathroom after his run. It also pays to have a really crappy bathroom/shower area so nothing is destroyed in the process.

5. Wash dog.....once Zulu gets wet, generally it becomes a bit easier, however, no camera was allowed in the bathing room as it wouldn't have survived the onslaught of water and soap.

6. Assess the damages....as noted in step #4, a crappy bathroom is a must if washing a Boerboel indoors.

7. Let Boerboel dry in the house...make sure all doors to the house are secure as once the dog is released from the bathing room the first order of Zulu business is to race into the muddy yard and rub his body "dry" on the wet grass.

8. Make peace...with lots of love, brushing and a good long walk. Zulu is clean, Frontlined and now sound asleep in his half eaten banana leaf bed with two clean and DRY blankets and all trauma is forgotten....until the next time!

Another Year in the Books: Thoughts on the Good, the Bad and the Ugly of 2011

2011-12-31T17:45:00.000+02:00

One word sums up 2011...FAST. Everything went fast this year. I started 2011 on a warm beach in Zanzibar and am finishing it on a cold, rainy night in Rwanda. In between I lived in Kenya, had an extended stay in the US this summer and moved back to Rwanda to work full time with the National Cycling Team. I have, in my estimation, traveled very little....Wyoming, Colorado, California, Washington DC, South Africa and Uganda. There's way too much to see!

2011 was a year of building Team Rwanda Cycling and taking it to a new level. We separated from our founding organization in 2011 and never looked back. We started the year with enough money to fund the team for a month, today we have four months banked. Baby step progress. Adrien Niyonshuti is going to the Olympics this coming year, our Team finished first in the Tour of Rwanda and our new rider, Joseph, a former bicycle taxi driver won the last stage of this year's Tour of Rwanda, a first for a Rwandan since it became a UCI sanctioned race in 2009. NicNic and Gasore went to Switzerland for 6 weeks to train and then to South Africa for another 6 weeks of training along with Joseph. We had amazing press from Philip Gourevitch's article, Climbers, to the French Sports News, L'Equipe and the German's "Newsweek", Der Spiegel. And most importantly we were blessed with amazing volunteers (Mel, Jess, Hilary, Jeff, Dan) for the Tour and all in all we scraped by financially. Life was good for Team Rwanda in 2011.

2011 for me personally was...transitional, less adventurous, and I think somewhere along the way I lost a bit of my moxie. Or perhaps I put it on the shelf and just forgot to dust it off. I did what I do best, make things happen. I secured the 501c3 status for Team Rwanda, finished my contract with WBR (World Bicycle Relief) in March and started pounding the pavement for funds to support the Team and to be able to pay our staff, Jock, Max and myself. I took quite the pay cut financially to work with the Team but it paid dividends in Team success and "feel goods". I just put my head down and went to work. I need to dust off the moxie box though as I can feel my restlessness knocking at my soul.

But 2011 also gave me some frustrations, especially this holiday season. Some times I look around at the world and I really wonder, why bother? I never want to impose my life choices (no money, third world living, real meaning to life) on any one else, however, it was so difficult for me this Christmas to watch the Facebook posts/status updates tick away....so much shopping to do, not enough gifts, haven't found that "insert whatever is the latest/greatest thing people can't do without". I read people complaints about all of it but yet, they still do it, people still give and receive gifts simply because they are compelled to because someone, somewhere might be offended. Perhaps you should offend them, they're really not your friend anyway if you HAVE to give them a gift. However, just when I was about to lose hope in mankind I read a blog from my amazing friend Lori, My Crazy Friend Renee. Lori, a real friend who I did not buy a gift for this year, or last, or the year before, was there for me when I had a rocky patch a few weeks ago and told me straight up what she thought...(because that's what real friends do)...wrote about serving those in need. If you have that after Christmas blech about the consumerism, ungrateful people and unnecessary returns due to the unnecessary shopping to begin with read this blog and get a reboot.

Of course living in Africa you are constantly bombarded with some really crappy shit that happens as day to day events. Most days it is truly mentally and spiritually overwhelming from the famine in Somalia and the accompanying rapes of women, to the corruption in EVERY African country which delays, denies and slows the pace of every possible positive advancement laid out before them. I have just read The Fear about the 2008 elections in Zimbabwe, a country that has been destroyed slowly and methodically by it's leader, Robert Mugabe. It has been going on for 30 years and for some reason no one can stop this killing tyrant of a leader. Perhaps if they discovered oil in Zimbabwe? Just a thought....Every day I'm frustrated, some days I'm pissed off and once in a while I can't hold back the tears.

A couple of weeks ago I went to the Thula Thula Game Reserve in Zululand, South Africa. I went because I had read the book by the owner of Thula Thula, Elephant Whisperer. It was an amazing book about Lawrence Anthony and his passion for saving the last surviving wild animals in Africa. In fact, the rogue herd of elephants he saved by taking them on to his game reserve were the first elephants on this land for over a century. They once roamed free. While at the park I saw the two newest editions to Thula Thula, two and a half year old male and female rhinos.

I've never seen such beautiful creatures. Sadly, the jeep you see in the background is one of the several 24 hour guards these animals must have so they are not killed for their horns. That is disgusting, that is sad. Mahatma Ghandi once said, “The Greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." We have much to learn. This year in South Africa alone over 400 rhinos have been killed for their horns all because of some idiotic rumor started by an Asian that rhino horn dust cured their cancer. Now you begin to understand my vehement hatred for the activities of African countries selling their souls and their animals to the Chinese road companies building roads through game parks and even the Serengeti. Luckily that project has temporarily been halted. I know in America with all of "life" going on, how possibly could we think, care or recognize the impact of losing an entire species on this planet. It's Africa...you can see these animals in the zoo. If you've ever seen a rhino, an elephant, a giraffe, zebra, wildebeast, lion, leapord or gorilla in the wild you might just understand. Time magazine published one of the few articles about the poaching of rhinos this year, Killing Fields: Africa's Rhinos Under Threat . Take the time to read this article, I warn you the photos are graphic, if they don't move you, sadden you, horrify you check your soul.

Why do I write about these things? Maybe, just maybe it will cause any of you to stop and think about life, the world and the people beyond your circle. Maybe if all of us just stopped thinking about our problems, which in America are pretty benign, unless you are dealing with health issues, and started caring about other people and even animals more perhaps, just perhaps the world would be a scosh better and maybe we all would realize how good we really have it.

So, that's it for the stump speech for 2011. I ended this year with a 40 mile ride to Sashwara and back. Sashwara is Gasore's hometown. I went to see his new house.

It's beautiful....it doesn't have running water, but it does have electricity and Gasore is so proud of it. Next month I'll be up there painting the inside with him. Gasore came to Team Rwanda two and a half years ago with nothing but the clothes on his back and a beat up 40 pound bike. Today he owns a home and is heading to South Africa and Switzerland for more training to become the best cyclist in Rwanda. THIS is what's right with Africa! It's not about hand outs it's about hand ups and we've got ahold of Gasore's hand tightly and we're not letting go.

Resolutions for 2012? I don't do resolutions. They are the quickest way to set yourself up to fail and then spend the next few months beating yourself up. What I will do is tell more stories about the people I meet and the places I see. I will keep speaking my mind....all you negative internet armchair quarterbacks in life can keep posting your misinformed and misguided comments about my life all you want, I'm going to keep telling it EXACTLY how I see it. Will it offend some, probably, will it be anything but the truth, doubtfully. And I will live 2012 with a much renewed moxie.

Happy New Year and God Bless...yep, I believe in God and I just blessed all of you with God's love...take that political correctness!

Tour of Rwanda/Team Rwanda: More Than Just a Race...More Than Just a Team

2011-12-12T09:03:00.001+02:00

It's December 12th, weeks after the Tour of Rwanda and the dust has finally settled. Every year our lives from the end of September through the end of November are a glorious study in workaholism and controlled chaos. Every moment of those proceeding months leads us to the nine days of the Tour of Rwanda every November. Every year about this time, after coming up for air, I finally get a bit of contemplative time.

This year was Team Rwanda's most successful year. We had five riders in the Top 10 in the General Classification, Team Rwanda Karisimbi took top Team honors and Joseph, our young new rider, pulled out a nail biter final stage victory into Kigali, a first stage win for a Rwandan. Joseph was so shocked by his win, he unclipped BEFORE the finish line and then after crossing the line, collapsed off his bike and sat down. I have never seen anything like it. Cycling News reported on each and every stage and captured his incredible win in words and picture!

Once again this year, Team Type 1 participated in the Tour. Last year they came thinking this was just a little African race and promptly felt the pain of the Land of a Thousand Hills. This year they brought their A game and it showed right from the start.

What is most important about Team Type 1's participation in the Tour of Rwanda is what they have done for the people of Rwanda who are suffering with diabetes. Last year they provided testing, education and test strips to all the diabetics in the country. Rwanda does not receive funding for diseases such as diabetes as most of the international medical aid money goes to AIDS and other infectious diseases. This year they continued their education, testing and supply distribution. In a remarkable serendipitous twist of fate, the driver for their Junior Team, a friend of a friend of ours who drove the TT1 group around to their education seminars, began listening to the programs in the various cities the entourage traveled. One day he spoke up, "Could you test me? I have many of these symptoms." Claude tested off the charts and it was confirmed this man was a diabetic. He immediately began treatment. Driving for Team Type 1 saved his life...the Tour of Rwanda saved his life. Without cycling there would be no TT1 working throughout Rwanda. I got chills hearing this story. Often times skeptics and cynics poopoo my perhaps melodramatic talk about how a bicycle can change a country. A bicycle changed Rwanda. Tell that to Claude.

From Stage 3, the Team began to gel. I had never seen the Team race so well. They had never raced like a cohesive group of individuals. From Stage 3 Team Karisimbi secured the top Team spot and held onto it until the end. Watching them was nothing short of inspirational and downright spectacular. Gasore and Abraham, who recently was invited back on the Team, gave it their all into Gisenyi that day pulling the Team into first. Janvier, our young new twenty year old rider in his first multi stage race, hung in there, his young underdeveloped legs begging to stop. Nathan, Mr. Populair, was fourth overall. Emmanuel, who fears riding in a pack, conducted breakaways almost every stage to keep the pressure on. And Nicodem, always appreciative always realizing everything around him, always understanding the big picture. They were a team, a real team!

I cannot put the 2011 Tour week to rest without a huge thank you to all the people who made this Team win possible. Our riders had one thought the entire race, to race, that was it. Hilary took care of making sure their hotel rooms were secured and their bags were waiting for them. The other teams sat for hours before getting into their rooms every day. Mel and Jess, took care of all the logistics for moving this caravan around the country of Rwanda. They were also the food goddesses! Our boys always had good breakfasts and healthy snacks. Jeff, Dan, Bert and Matt, the motorbike dudes made sure photographers got the pictures and made it through the Tour without a scratch. Issa, our alternate rider for the Tour, traveled with us and made sure every day the boys kits were washed and dry by the next morning. Marnitz, Line and Conrad, our South African contingency, mechanics and massage therapists extraordinaire and loads of fun. The South Africans always are. We were all a team in the best sense of the word.

NicNic summed it up best on his Facebook page a few days after the Tour:

Thanks all teams rwanda,and our big staff ,you worked hard for us,I am very happy for you!!

Yes...more than just a race...more than just a team.

RunLikeAGirl: Pedaling for the Women of Rwanda

2011-11-17T21:21:00.000+02:00

RunLikeAGirl: Pedaling for the Women of Rwanda: “Race what you bring” is the inclusively spirited motto for the monthly races run by the Rwandan Cycling Federation. In July, Angel...

The Soul of a Team

2011-11-13T11:58:00.001+02:00

soul(səʊl) -- n

1. thespiritorimmaterialpartofman,theseatofhumanpersonality,intellect,will,andemotions,regardedasanentitythatsurvivesthebodyafterdeath

2. Christianitythespiritualpartofaperson,capableofredemptionfromthepowerofsinthroughdivinegrace

3.theessentialpartorfundamentalnatureofanything

4.nobilityofspiritortemperament:aman of great soul and courage

5. aninspiringspiritorleadingfigure,asofacauseormovement

6. aperson;individual:anhonest soul

Ihave been thinking a lot about all the stories, everything that happens in onegiven day in Rwanda with this group of cyclists and staff. Once again I find myself in a quandary over whichstories to tell, how do I choose the best story to convey to the world. Every story is inspiring and heart wrenching,hopeful and tragic. Every day feels likea lifetime. Every night I collapse intobed and think, “That was just one day?” Every night I think of all the things there are to write about and thenbefore I know it I’m on to the next day. As the days mount my nagging procrastinator voice keeps telling me, “Youneed to tell these stories, you need to write. Get in front of that computer, tell the world.”

Theother day on a long mountain bike ride through the hills of Rwanda I thoughtabout the Team, the stories and the soul of this team. When I got back to my computer I looked upthe various meanings of the word “soul”. Every rider, every one of the people here trying to keep this teammoving forward, all our supporters around the world, all of us, all of ourstories make up the soul of this team.

1. the spiritorimmaterialpartofman,theseatofhumanpersonality,intellect,will,andemotions,regardedasanentitythatsurvivesthebodyafterdeath

This Team will survive long after all of usour gone. From the dream of a few, tothe tenacity to stay and make a life in Rwanda, to the vision that has beencast and grasped by the Rwanda Cycling Federation, the clubs and the riders atthe lowest levels of competition, this team will live on and continue to changethe face of cycling in Rwanda and in Africa. At the Federation’s Press Conference several weeks ago I sat inamazement at all the clubs and riders who came out to show off their “new”bikes, all ready to rub shoulders with the elite of the elite, the boys of TeamRwanda. We just provided the access tothe donated parts, clothing and bikes. Rwanda took ownership in the distribution and future growth of cycling.

2. Christianitythespiritualpartofaperson,capableofredemptionfromthepowerofsinthroughdivinegrace

This team is redemption, the riders, the coach…Max,myself. Adrien, a Tutsi, mentors Gasore,a Hutu, they are friends at the deepest level. Gasore looks up to Adrien, aspires to be like Adrien. Adrien is a hero to this country, a symbol ofall things good from a country where the adjective “good” is very seldom used. He inspires so many children in Rwanda and ofcourse, up and coming cyclists view him as the hope of Rwanda. They want to be Adrien.

3. theessentialpartorfundamentalnatureofanything

More and more over the past couple of months the riders havebecome stronger leaders. The veteranriders, Kiki and Obed, who came to America this summer, are leading theway. To watch them hold the Teammeetings every afternoon after lunch, to discuss what went right and what wentwrong on the morning’s training ride is impressive. Jock and I sit quietly by as these ridersdiscuss their performance, their good and bad days on the bike. The openness they have with one another, theability to voice their true feelings safely and to learn from each other isunique to this country. This doesn’t happenanywhere else. Rwandans are guarded,they lie not out of deceitfulness or malice, but because they are fearful tosay something “wrong”. They will tellyou what you what to hear, not necessary the truth of where they are. This has changed within this microcosm of TeamRwanda life. If someone has a bad day,someone needs something, someone is not happy with their teammates performanceit is voiced, discussed and resolved. This is the soul of Team Rwanda.

4.nobilityofspiritortemperament:a manofgreatsoulandcourage

Innocent Uwamungu aka Rocky aka Rockstar…our young man whorecently lost his right eye in a freak accident. Rockstar who took 5^th last monthin the Kigali to Butare race, who was 6^th Thursday in the Nyanza toKigali race, the man with the most infectious laugh one that sucks you out ofthe depths of a “bad” day and fills your soul with joy. There is no finer example of “nobility ofspirit of temperament: a man of greatsoul and courage”. When the Team wasdiscussing the poor performance of several of the riders on a descent in therain, the riders in question were complaining. Rocky spoke up and said, “Cover one eye and in the rain it comes in yourother eye and you can’t see at all, that is me. Why do I beat you?” Complainingceased. Rocky takes every single excuseaway.

A few weeks ago Rocky spoke up at the end of a Team meetingand said he needed help. Rocky neverasks for anything. He said he had about$100 saved and that Felix Sempoma, the Club President he rides for at the ClubLevel, had offered to kick in another $150-$200 towards getting Rocky a glasseye. Rocky still needed about another$500. I told him I would put his storyon Facebook to see what we could do. Within 30 minutes the Jorgensen family and two others had donated morethan the needed $500. That night atdinner we told Rocky….he was speechless. All he kept saying was, “Thank you, thank you, thank you coach.”

5. aninspiringspiritorleadingfigure,asofacauseormovement

Adrien….quiet, introspective, disciplined, devout, evoking aspirit that fills a room with hope and peace. Adrien is the center of the soul of the Team

6. aperson;individual:an honestsoul

Thereare many “persons and individuals” all contributing to the soul of TeamRwanda.

Jeande Dieu “Rafkiki” Uwimana can animate a story and make the team laugh more boisterousthan any person I have ever witnessed. He embodies the spirit of storytelling. When Kiki holds an audience, even though it’s all in Kinyarwanda, Ilaugh. His mannerisms, his expressions,his animation is contagious. Kiki lovesthis team and this Team is part of his soul. His son bears the name, Jonathan, after coach.

Obed Ruvogera, Museho, the old man on the team. Obed is observant, quiet but when he speaks he carries the authority of a rider who has been there, experienced the pain. Obed is the even keel positive energy of the team.

JanvierHadi, a new rider, Gasore’s roommate, his story unknown. Smart, young, sweet and a fantastic riderfollowing in the footsteps of Gaso.

GasoreHategeka, orphan, quiet, polite, helpful and truly always always thankful foreverything he has experienced through this team. Team Rwanda is Gasore’s family.

Coach….hecame and stayed. He stayed for Adrien inthe beginning, he stays for the rest today.

Max…perfectionist,troubled, searching always wanting to be the best mechanic, frustrated everyday in Africa always working to stay on track. He’s still here two and a half years later.

Volunteerslike Melanie Dries and Jessica Niles, teaching yoga and English, doing mealplanning and simply making my life a bit more sane. There will be a void when they leave afterthe Tour.

…andme, I’m just one person along for the ride, giving a little tough love andkeeping it all close to the vest where it’s locked away until I have a time andplace to release all the emotions of the past two and a half years.

Allof us are the Soul of Team Rwanda…..

RunLikeAGirl: Just Quit & Just Do It

2011-11-01T18:20:00.000+02:00

RunLikeAGirl: Just Quit & Just Do It: To find our way in life sometimes we have to just quit, and other times we have to just do it. In Kimberly Coats’ case, she did both....

The Unpublished Blogs: Wisdom From a Friend

2011-10-14T16:33:00.000+02:00

I was on a roll today getting done everything that was on my "to do" list that I really hate "to do" so I procrastinate until I have to "to do". I was on an organizational crazy train so decided to clean up my blog, do a little redecorating, but then the ADD took hold and I started reading my "unpublished" blogs.

Some of these blogs were published but then taken down because I offended some people. I think I might put them back up, we'll see. Some of them I just started writing and then stopped. Some I have no idea why I never published. In all there's 11 lost blogs. Of the eleven, this was my favorite which never got published. It was written January 26, 2010, not sure what I was going through but as always my dearest friend, Johnny Muzungu made my day. Here's to you Johnny M...I miss you!

Yesterday was one of those days....a day when no matter how much I tried to stay positive the onslaught of negative events continued. I prayed...a lot....I wondered why I was experiencing the things being thrown at me. I continually had to "check" my attitude and nothing seemed to keep me steady. Until I had a talk with my dear friend Johnny M. Actually not a "talk" but a series of "IM chats". We're on two different continents.

So it seems, if you are having a less than a stellar day and people are behaving poorly towards you and heaping on piles of grief to your life remember these words, the words of Johnny Muzungu.

"It was great talking to you today. I am sorry that you are down. One great indication of character is the willingness to be responsible for difficulties. You have this because your care is genuine and deep. Try not to abuse your love and caring nature by taking responsibilities for things that are controlled by others. You can't prevent certain people from being douchebags. Some people look for any excuse to reveal their inner douchebag. It is a force more powerful than good because it can strike at any time and without warning. Randomness is a classic requirement of douchebaggery. You must not let the douchpectations and douchpotential of the general population change who you are. If you are overwhelmed by the act of douchbagetry, then douchbags everywhere win. You can't let them win. The world needs you to be you. The world needs a champion of common sense and logic.

Quick sidebar, not real sure where I was going with this, I was going to lead up to you being some sort of anti-douchebag super hero but I don't know what an antidouchebag would be. I drew a blank. Sorry."

Everyone needs a friend like this to make you put everything in perspective, and to pee your pants laughing! Now where can I get that ADB superhero cape?

Johnny...Thanksgiving 2009 Rwanda

What Drives Me to Drink Bad South African Boxed Wine

2011-10-13T16:20:00.000+02:00

Yes, I drink wine, bad wine...perhaps too often. When I'm in America I drink great wine, not as often. But then again, in America the stressers, triggers, or crap that just plain irritates me is of a different caliber.

In no particular order.....

Actually I take that back...this jumps to the head of the line. Lying, incessant, indeterminate, random, lying.

This is a culture based on lying. I have never seen anything like it. Rwandans will lie about anything and nothing. For example, when we asked Angelique how many days she was training prior to her attending her first camp she quickly told Felix, the interpreter, "Everyday!"

Jock just looked at Felix and told him to give her the rundown about lying if you're on the Team. We do not tolerate lying, plus it really doesn't matter how often she's training at this point as she wasn't on the team yet. When Felix explained to her our position she quickly responded with an, "Oh, three days."

This is typical. I have found Rwandans will tell you what they think you want to hear. They won't tell you their opinions or the truth if they think you won't like the truth.

One rider lost his place on the team for stealing a razor. Ironically, it wasn't the theft that got him in the end, it was the lying about it. He had been asked three different times if he had the razor and he said no. If he would have confessed to it on the first go round he would still be on the team.

Another perspective rider who had been tested before Jock came to the US showed up at the house asking to be tested and trying to pass it off as if he had never been here and never tested. We all kept looking at him like we know this guy. Sure enough it was the same guy and he had lied to Kiki to get in the door. His test numbers were actually decent, however, he blew his chance to get on the Team because he lied on several occasions to several different people.

I asked the girl at the counter if the insecticide I was buying had a spray nozzle under the cap as it was hermetically sealed and I was not allowed to open the package. Three times she said yes. I got home, no spray nozzle.

Here's to the liars in Rwanda!

Laundry + Rainy Days....it never fails, every time I have 15 loads of laundry, sheets, towels and bedding after a camp it rains.

It has rained all afternoon. I am now down to piles of clean laundry in buckets around the house. The upside at least is that it didn't rain once during the four days of camp....little blessings.

Here's to loads and loads of wet laundry!

Stupid s&%t that happens on our rides. Today was a prime example and why tonight I'll swig back some swill. I have decided that common sense is not really common sense. It's all stuff we learned from our parents early on. Some of us learned a lot and had very engaged parents therefore hopefully leading to a wealth of "common sense". Others unfortunately either never got the lessons, refused to assimilate the lessons or were not given the gene to convert lessons to common sense. In Rwanda the lack of common sense (early learning) is, I believe, a combination of poverty, patriarchal attitudes and women who pop out babies like an unhinged Pez dispenser.

Today I listened to the kiss kiss sounds made by numerous young men. I was whacked by a stick wielding little girl who promptly ran off into the field when I slammed on my brakes and three close calls with people walking in front of my bike. I only rode 25 miles. Jock and Kiki had to beat off a crowd while repairing a flat. It's exhausting and makes riding stressful.

Remember the first thing your mom and/or dad said to you when you left the yard for the first time solo?

"Look both ways before you cross the street!

As adults we chalk this up to common sense, however, it really was learned at a very young age. This is a lesson obviously lost on the majority of Rwandans young and old. It is mind numbing how many people step into the road and you watch them and they NEVER even look. I can't imagine walking into a major road without looking both ways. Our number one accident potential is ignorant pedestrians. How do you begin teaching something so simple? Public Service Announcements?

As far as the stupid, nasty, rude and degrading smacking sounds made by the young men...again, lack of education. Our riders are being taught to not only be great cyclists but to be even greater men, and now women. If they won't learn it from their parents, guardians, or adult caretakers they will learn it from us. It has really begun to disturb Kiki and Obed how Jock, Max and I are treated here by the locals on the road. I am glad they see it, hopefully they can be the agents for change.

To that....I drink!

Bureaucracy. Once again we wait for Jock's work visa so he can go to South Africa to meet with Adrien and his MTN Team for contract signing. Not only Jock but so many of my other ex pat friends are in the same boat. I don't mind rules, I'll follow the rules, but stop changing the rules as we go! Molly went two months with Immigration holding on to her passport. The website says a three day turn around. Hmmm......

Give me two...

Breaking everything. In the last 13 days we have had the toilet repaired five times a combination of riders breaking it and incompetent plumbers. I have been using a toilet for at least 43 years and have never actually broken a toilet. Pedals that have lasted years for me are destroyed in 6 months. My cycling shoes are 8 years old, most riders blow through shoes in 8 months. My guard is not allowed to wash my car anymore after we have replaced every wiper on the vehicle at least once. I've never yanked a wiper completely off a vehicle. How do you do that? I come back from the US and the center console of the car has been completely broken and just hangs in between the seats. What? Seriously?

Why does it stress me out so much? Impossible to get quality replacement parts, no competent repair people and money...money is always at the forefront of every thought. We don't have it, we need it and every bit is precious. So, for the love of God, quit breaking s&*t!

That is why I drink cheap South African boxed wine!

Grace in the Midst of a Rwandan Melee

2011-10-11T20:51:00.001+02:00

This morning started out stressful as do all first mornings of training camp. It was compounded this morning by the addition of five Tanzanians who arrived late last night and still had to unpack their bikes. We are now working with four native languages, English, French, Kinyarwanda and Swahili often taking three different translations to get our point across. I speak to Jock in English. Jock speaks to Max in French, Max speaks to Felix in French, Felix speaks to the riders in Kinyarwanda and now Kiki speaks to the Tanzanians in Swahili. Kiki unfortunately gets the brunt of constant translating as most of the new riders know very little English.

I had Kiki speak to the three girls who would be training with me this morning as English is almost non existent. I had him explain where we were going, what the plan was for the ride and what I wanted the new girl, Angelique, to do....hold onto my wheel the entire 2 1/2 hours. She had ridden almost 100 miles yesterday to camp and she needed to do a light spin.

Another girl, Janet, showed up at camp another two kilos heavier. It is a constant battle with Janet and her weight. She's a decent rider, however, she weighs the same as I do and she's 6 inches shorter. That's a lot of junk in the trunk to move up these hills!

As we got a mile and a half down the road, Janet looks at me and says panting, "Kim I am sick."

I say, "Janet, you are not sick you are out of shape. Dejende!" (Let's go!)

Janet settled into the ride obviously knowing I was not going to have an ounce of sympathy for her. Cycling and racing involves pain. She needed to embrace it. Today, my patience was wearing thin.

By the time we got to the 10% gradient hill up to Sashwara I had had enough. I looked back at Angelique who was still on my wheel and I knew didn't have it in her today to attack and then I looked over at Janet who proceeded to launch a semi attack and I geared down, stood up and rode away. It did not make me happy. These girls have a race this weekend and 45 year old me beat them.

After I crested the hill and soft pedaled another mile down the road I turned around. Sashwara is a fairly busy little town with people everywhere. Sashwara is Gasore's hometown so they are very familiar with Team Rwanda. I guess that is why I'm still in a state of shock.

As Janet and Angelique saw me pedaling in the opposite direction they quickly looped around. Then it happened. Directly in front of me on the side of the road I spot a young Rwandan man with what looked like an inner tube from a bicycle. He raised it as I approached and within a split second it went whipping across my back. My first thought was you have to be fucking kidding me, he did not just do that! My back smarting, I slammed on my brakes and spun around. Two other older men had seen the entire incident and when I stopped the assailant took off with the two older men in hot pursuit. He ducked into a little store front but the pursuers saw him, charged in and dragged him out slamming their fists into the back of his head. As they brought him towards me, my first thought was to just slap him across the face. An eye for an eye. And then I just stopped.

I am about half way through, "What's so Amazing about Grace?" a book by Philip Yancey. Last night I finished the chapter, Getting Even. It talked about how situations can be diffused simply by grace. As the young man came closer, being pummeled under the fists of the pursuers and the crowd yelling, obviously wanting me to strike back, I didn't. Although I'm sure he did not understand English I told him I would not hit him. I told him to simply say he was sorry and to never do it again.

He looked at me and repeated, "I'm sorry".

I said, "I forgive you."

I grabbed his hand, shook it and rode away. By this time the crowd was easily over 100 people all racing over to see what was happening with the "Muzungu". I left the scene with a clear head, all the frustration from the morning erased, not even angry at the man who hopefully will never pull a stunt like that again. Grace....

It could have ended so differently. Earlier this week I read a blog, Reality Check, Matt is a friend of mine who now has the job I left with Project Rwanda. I feel for him. He battles the same issues I did with the organization and that coupled with an incident similar to mine resulted in a very different outcome. I could have been Matt. I have been Matt. Every day it is a struggle here. Rwanda is not the Kumbaya place people make it out to be. I used to ride alone. I do not anymore. I bury myself in the training camps and stay close to my compound and wait for the day I get to travel to South Africa or Kenya for a reprieve.

And I pray for grace....

Steve Jobs Challenge

2011-10-06T17:05:00.000+02:00

This morning before our training ride I was checking Facebook and sadly learned Steve Jobs had passed away. I learned about his passing from a post on my friend's Facebook page. She had a quote on her page from Steve Jobs which hit home, at least for me, and I believe for many others in the deep dark corners of their mind and heart.

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become." ~Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs changed the world. He pretty much touched all of our lives in one technological way or another. I pray he went peacefully surrounded by friends and family. Not many people change the world, that is a unfathomable feat. Steve Jobs did and his legacy will continue to shape all of our lives.

I thought about the impact he had on the world while I trained with Angelique this morning. When I was younger I wanted to change the world. The older I got the more I forgot about changing the world. I went through the motions of jobs and businesses until one day in April 2009 I had the "courage to follow {my} heart and intuition. They somehow already {knew} what {I} truly want{ed} to become."

In June of 2008, wrestling with the frustration of where I was at in my life and realizing I still had dreams of changing the world, I wrote down three things in my journal which were most important to my life.

1. Helping people
2. Travel
3. Do something around my love of cycling.

April 2009 I was on a plane to Rwanda.

Every day I do something around my love of cycling. I have traveled more in the last three years than the prior 42. Best of all I help people...I don't change the world. I don't change Rwanda. I don't even change this entire team. But if I can change one life, just one, they just might be the one to change the world.

Angelique's life would consist of working the fields eeking out a meager existence on her tiny plot of over farmed land. She's 22, time to get married and to start cranking out the babies and continue the cycle of birth, birthing and death that all too many Rwandan women believe is their fate in life. Instead she has the opportunity to win the next race sponsored by the Federation and make more money in that one race than she could make in 6 months. In a month she will be representing Rwanda at the Continental Championships in Eritrea. She's never been on a plane, hasn't seen an airport. Hopefully she will not fall victim to a lack of education and the patriarchal hand that proliferates Rwanda. Hopefully she will earn enough money to attend school, to make good decisions, to not have seven children, the average currently in Rwanda per family. Hopefully she will be a role model to the young girls of Rwanda, perhaps she will be the one to lift up the girls in this nation. Maybe she will change the country I could never change.

If I can change just one life it will have all been worth it.

The phrase I hear most often that causes me such heartache is, "I wish I could....(insert any applicable personal dream)." Which is always followed by, "But..." You can do anything you want to do. I believe Steve Jobs was spot on. We all know it deep down inside. Our challenge is if we have the no excuses attitude to go after what we really want. Or will we settle for less?

And what a life you could live....

Riding in Rainy Season in Rwanda...

Battling chiggers and all other sorts of strange diseases...

Sitting inside on a rainy afternoon listening to Nathan talk to the younger riders about how you can have a future with the Team even after your legs are finished! It was really nice to listen to him as the prior hour I sat here listening to a rogue rider, one who had all the same opportunities as Nathan and who chose to throw it all away. Not taking responsibility for your own actions is universal in case you were wondering.

And two of the best moments of today....

A quiet moment in the sun (7.5 minutes of sun this afternoon after the torrential downpour training ride) with my boy, Zulu

....and why I will never regret the decision I made to listen to my heart and intuition...

A picture Nathan drew me this afternoon of his house...his very own house!

My Life with Team Rwanda

2011-10-05T22:36:00.001+02:00

So life is back to normal, or at least the normal I've been used to for the past couple of years. When I was back in the US enjoying all the amenities and nice weather and just ease of life people would ask me, obviously questioning why I had so much "time off" in the summer, what I do working for the Team. One very animated and curious woman at a fundraiser in Colorado Springs this summer told me, "I'd give anything to have your life. It's so glamorous."

Now, glamor would not be a word I would use to describe working for Team Rwanda. The now 20+ chigger bites all over my body making me itch out of my skin I'm thinking is not so glamorous. The bucket bath is not my idea of hygienic much less glamorous. An Italian super model world...that's glamorous.

Let's start with reality Wednesday.

My day started at 6:30am, with four more chigger bites on my side after bathing in a shower of DEET therefore shortening my life span by a good five years. There are 13 boys and 2 girls at camp this week. They will be here until Friday. I also have one large dog and one tiny cat who are very vocal about the fact that if they don't get food in the next 10 minutes they most likely will die of starvation. Breakfast takes me about an hour to prepare after laying everything out the night before. Breakfast consists of:

1 kg of rice
2 loaves of bread
2 kg of beans
45 eggs (all cracked by hand)
15 cups of tea
Umpteen bananas

Generally I can get everyone fed within an hour and the riders are great about cleaning up. That's the rule, you cook, you don't wash dishes.

I actually love the mornings with the riders and the controlled chaos of the Team Rwanda house. The boys all have such great laughs and the energy is always good.

Today, we were running behind as Max, who had been in the garage since 6:00am, had so many bikes to repair, tweek and shake his head in frustration over. For example, it took him 20 minutes to unscrew the cleats from Samuel's shoes because they were so worn down after working for over a month in them on the road between his house and the tarmac. This was after we told Samuel to not walk in his cycling shoes. These are our typical and many battles with keeping equipment running.

Finally by 9:15 we are ready to roll out. I am taking Diane and Angelique with me. Angelique is a new rider who tested very strong on the Velotron last month before Jock left. This is her first day on a "real" bicycle. The biggest challenge we are facing this morning is getting her to clip in and out of her pedals.

We head out staying with the boys for the first couple of miles. Angelique actually does incredibly well and on a morning I'm feeling like I'm 80, this 22 year old girl makes me work every mile of the ride. We did 37 miles with the first 18 having over 2,600' of climbing. She caught on quickly with the gears and thank goodness she still can't descend and I was able to still beat her home. Not for long though. She's the real deal.

After the ride I shower, wait for the boys to return and walk over for lunch. By now it's 2:30. I knock out all my emails, register the team for the Continental Championships in Eritrea, secure hotel rooms in Eritrea (try calling from Rwanda to Eritrea and explaining what you need!), make fish and rice for the dog and cat and do four loads of laundry. I manage to squeak in a 30 minute power nap and then knock out a few more emails and go to dinner. After dinner we have a meeting and I get back to the house after 9:00. I wash the remaining dishes, try to write my blog, talk to Kiki, Obed and Nathan, get all the cups ready for tea in the morning, feed the cat...AGAIN and grab the remaining three loads of laundry off the line because once again it is raining. Did I mention how much I really despise rainy season?

So, it's 10:30pm and I have to get up at 6:30am and do it all over again...this is my glamorous life.

At least we had water and electricity all day today! And I did get to ride...

Always the little things!

Reentry

2011-10-01T19:50:00.001+02:00

I have spent more months this year within the borders of the United States than outside them. This is the first time in two years I have done this and now I know why.

Reentry...it's always a little bumby, however this time I feel like my fuselage is on fire and I'm losing those all important reentry tiles needed to halt the potential for complete fire ball combustion.

Let's face it, America is nice, really nice. For all of you complainers, whiners, and entitlement whores sucking the life out of the greatest country in the world, get a clue, get a life, get a reality check. You have it made! Hands down, your life, no matter how difficult is easy compared to living in a place like Rwanda. I am not complaining about Rwanda or having a pity party about being back here. I just need to adjust to the fact that everything requires enormous energy, persistence, patience and a nicely placed dose of aggression here and there. I make the choice daily to live here and I still choose to do so...it just makes me appreciate how Getting in last night after 20+ hours of flying, Max, Jock and I drive the 1 hour and 45 minute trip home, which takes us over 2 hours because of the rain, pitch black darkness, random Rwandans on the road walking into oncoming traffic and the inevitable road construction. Plus, when did Kigali start resembling Nairobi in the traffic department?

The best part of coming home to Rwanda...Zulu, without a doubt, my 130# lean, mean ripped guard dog and unconditional lover and "oogler", Zulu. Aren't dogs the best? I'm gone for 3 months and for him all is forgiven in 3 seconds. He is my baby and hasn't left my side since I walked through that door. Except for the 20 minutes after I gave him a bath where he was busy rethinking that unconditional love thing.

Kongo is here too...I've never been a cat person but Kongo is not really a house cat, more like a tiger cat but only 7 pounds. He slept in bed with me all night. Zulu right next to me in his bed snoring away. Kongo, sporting a large gash across his face, had obviously been in a bit of a dust up with some local animals. I'm sure he won! While Zulu also has an unexplained injury to his rear right paw. It looks like he got it stuck in something and yanked it out ripping into one of his toenails. He appears to be on the mend however.

In the span of 20 hours, we have unloaded over 300 pounds of gear we brought over from the US. We are experts at getting through bag check in slightly overweight (our bags, by the way generally they let 52 pounds slide) and generally carrying 50+ pounds in our carry ons. When we were boarding in Brussels for the flight to Kigali they had the bag Nazis in place. Luckily for us, a woman directly in front of us started arguing with the SNB employee and caused such a distraction we slipped through the line and onto the plane. The best lines I have ever heard during an airline employee/customer exchange:

Flyer: "I have two carry ons, my purse and this bag, they let me have them on my United flight here. What is the problem? I can have a purse and a bag!"

SNB Employee: "Ma'am we are SN Brussels!" With complete Belgian authority to her voice and a very heavy accent.

I'm thinking that meant she was not going any further.

As the flight attendant watched me stroll through the aisle to my seat I kept thinking how I was going to hoist this 35+ pound bag up over my head like it weighed no more than 22 pounds, the allowed weight. Saved again while she attended to the elderly woman a few rows up with her significantly lighter carry on.

So back to the past 20 hours...no water, Max lost TIGO internet card so I can't get to the internet until I got Felix out of bed and to the house this afternoon, bathed 130# dog, wondered why the piles of filing that had been filed in June when I was here were now back and on MY desk, rained all night and morning, washed clothes and washing machine backed up again and flooded the bathroom, hot water faucet doesn't work in the kitchen, clothes put on the line this afternoon are still wet, drove into town almost running over 17 various Rwandans not looking before they cross the street (it's a mile and a half to town), car is not running right AGAIN, realizing we're almost out of power because someone forgot to pay Cash Power to load up on electricity for the weekend (we pay as we go for electricity) and finally breaking down and buying a bottle of wine. So much for my "Rwandan Resolution". Oh, and no riding because it's raining...AGAIN.

But, tonight I get to see my friend Molly who is in town for a week before heading to Zimbabwe (lots of previous posts about Molly). I also have my big lug of a dog following my every move and who will be joining me for a pizza at Volcana this evening! And Tuesday camp starts and all the riders will be here and THAT is why I do what I do and live how live over here.

So...a couple more words about my time in America. America is the most beautiful, most diverse, friendliest country I have experienced and I'm sure it's because I'm biased as an America. I'm also brutally honest when it comes to how I view America after spending a few years living abroad....Americans need to stop this attitude of entitlement. Americans built the greatest country in the world with unprecedented freedoms, why are we letting it fall by the wayside? Why is America not GREAT anymore? No one owes any one anything.

If you've forgotten...here's the Preamble to our Constitution:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

No where does it say we provide your Section 8 housing, your food stamps, your WIC. We don't provide for bailing you or your mortgage company out of bad loans and bad choices (yes, I lost my house too!). We don't guarantee employment, we offer the opportunity to build a business and create your own employment. Quit waiting for the President, for Congress, for your employer, your spouse, your parents to bail you out. It's not happening. Our government, frankly is pathetic at this point! I have talked about all the corruption in Africa, however, at times its easier to deal with because you know the corruption rules, it's in your face corruption. Make no mistake the US is one of the most corrupt governments in the world. We just do it "legally" with lobbyists. I think it's time Americans fight a little more for what they want in life. Perhaps it's a good thing I am not living in America at the moment!

Ok...so I have totally veered off course with my "Rwanda sucks at the moment" blog. Really I think it is what we make it in the end...our attitude, our fight, our desire to live out our lives how we choose...this I choose, Rwanda....for now.

I Will Never Forget this Day

2011-08-30T15:49:00.000+02:00

"I will never forget this day."

How do I even begin to put into words the events of the past few weeks? The blog would be pages and pages and would most likely only cover a few days.

How do I capture the feelings and experiences of two young Rwandan men during their stay in America?

Obed, experiencing his first adventure in America captured it perfectly with these six words....I will never forget this day.

Obed and Kiki have been in America since August 11th where their entry hung in the balance for a few nail biting hours and by the grace of one accommodating Immigration Officer in the San Francisco airport.

In just over two weeks they have helped pack up a warehouse filled with the decades of cycling memorabilia of their coach, traveled to Wyoming spending a week at a ranch in the middle of nowhere (Population Savery, WY--25), training on spectacular roads leading to the Continental Divide, riding horses, driving four wheelers, having cook outs on the Rim, seeing their heroes of cycling at the Tour of Colorado and taking pictures and signing autographs with the fans who have multiplied exponentially due to the New Yorker article in July.

This morning as I awoke before the sun to catch my flight back to Colorado from Massachusetts I listened to a voicemail from their host in Colorado, Geoff Cooper. Geoff picked up Kiki and Obed last Thursday night and took them home with him after the Coors Classic/7-11 Reunion in Vail. Geoff asked if there was any way Kiki and Obed could stay a few extra days with his family once I am back in Colorado because there are so many more things they want to do and they have been having such a great time.

I knew they were loving their Colorado adventure when talking to Kiki the other day to tell him my plane had been delayed a day due to the Hurricane. He told me Obed wanted to talk to me. Obed never wants to talk. Obed does not like to "speak" English. On the phone? The thought of actually speaking English causes him a bit of distress which we have been working on every day he's been here. Obed wants to talk? Obed?

Obed gets on the phone and with the enthusiastic voice of a 12 year old boy says, "Kim, do you know gondola?"

"Yes, Obed, I know gondola?"

"Kim, we ride gondola, right now, gondola." And then he bursts into laughter.

"Kim, you are good?"

"Yes, Obed very good."

"Kim, I miss you."

Kim melts here....

This afternoon I'll get to Denver and jump in my car to head to Boulder where we have a fundraiser ride at 5:30 and I get to see the boys. They have become mini celebrities and are such admirable and humble ambassadors for their Team and their country. They are what is good about Rwanda.

Imagine being 10 years old again and having all those first time experiences as only a child can have. Imagine experiencing them through the eyes of an adult and with all the prior memories of that experience. This has been my last couple of weeks. I am fortunate to relive all the amazing adventures of my childhood through Kiki and Obed. I get to see things for the first time....again.

As we sat around the fire after a day of cycling, horseback riding, quadding and our rim cook out, looking up at the Milky Way which you actually can see when there are no city lights, people or traffic obscuring your view, Obed smiled at Kiki and coach and quietly said in Enlish...

"I will never forget this day."

Neither will I Obed....

Obed & I mugging it up for Kiki & Coach

Now I See It....

2011-07-28T17:39:00.002+02:00

Some mornings I wake up, wondering again what city I'm in, what country and thinking about how I got here. It was definitely a epic combination of Divine intervention, work ethic and fearlessness...the ability to jump off that false ledge of life security. I wake up ready to start another day but deep down inside some mornings I wake up and wonder if this is a dream that someone will come and rudely shake me awake back into their reality. You know that feeling, when everything you ever wanted is laid out before you and you have the "too good to be true feeling"? Why would I doubt that this is exactly where God has put me and where I am supposed to be?

A little over a week ago I flew to Austin, Texas to view a cut of the Team Rwanda documentary, Rising From Ashes. This movie has been a major labor of love for so many people, sitting for years on the shelf when there was no money to finish it. However, the powers that be would not let it continue to collect dust. Through some passionate pleas of a couple of Team Rwanda board members to a very generous and equally passionate investor the movie is in its final stages, hopefully to be completed by the end of October and released in early 2012.

I flew in on a Monday, met with TC, the filmmaker and Greg, the producer to talk about the long term marketing strategy for the movie. We do not want people to just see the movie, be all warm and fuzzy and perhaps inspired and then do nothing. We want to move people to act, to be part of this movement to build cycling in Rwanda, Africa and to eventually be a part of supporting the first black African team to ride in the Tour de France. This year, above all years, when I watched the Tour all I saw was a sea of white. I want to be a part of changing that for future generations of riders.

Tuesday I met with some talented men in Dallas who have also become part of this movement and want to help the Team with our Strategic Plan and marketing for the future in conjunction with the movie. Often I am overwhelmed by the talent, experience and knowledge of the people who offer to help us. This is not my area of expertise, I sold food for a living, what do I know about marketing a National Cycling Team? All I know is this is a story that needs to be told and all I'm going on is my passion for telling it. I believe I'm just being put in front of all the right people.

Last Tuesday evening I saw the film with five other people who were there to see it and provide feedback to TC and Greg. I was not going to provide any accurate feedback as I am way too close to the story which was evident in the first three minutes when I started to cry. I started to cry when I saw the scenes of Rwanda. Just the country. I make no secret of my love/hate relationship with Rwanda. It's not really a "hate" per se, it's more an extreme frustration, an inescapable exhaustion that at times hits me like a wave crashing on the shore. I want so much to help these riders but their pasts, their lives even today are so tremendously difficult, crushingly difficult, painful. When I see them smile I am overcome with emotion. There is not a day in Rwanda I can make it through where my eyes don't well up with tears....frustrating tears, pain tears and the best of all...joyful tears. And so I watched the film and sobbed. I am shocked by how much the boys have changed in five years. They are young, confident men who speak English, lead younger riders and laugh...they really laugh! I am also struck by how much Jock has aged. Rwanda, this Team, this life has not been easy for him. My admiration for what he has done, for him as a human being has increased exponentially.

This morning I'm sitting in a generic Starbucks in Park City, Utah. I am here at Dealer Camp, here to tell the story of the team to anyone, any vendor, any potential sponsor who will listen and want to help. Jock, Max, Nathan, NicNic, Boy, Gasore, Kiki and Obed are in Brazil at the Tour of Rio, the team's first invitation to a race outside of the continent of Africa.

Adrien is in London getting to ready to race on the course he will race in the Olympics next summer. Yesterday afternoon I received an email from Greg, our film producer who is in London filming Adrien for the ending of the film....

This marks day 3 in London with Adrien, and we're so thankful to be here. Not only as filmmakers but as men who have grown to admire and respect Team Rwanda and Adrien as heroes. I'll tell you, this is a HERO moment for Adrien. From never riding in a car to riding the Olympic course. Epic.

Now for the first time Adrien is able to truly imagine what this opportunity means for him. Tonight was particularly special, we went to a special event in Trafalgar Square where the Olympics put on a one year until the Olympics event. There were about 30,000 people packed into this square, they unveiled the Olympic medals, and formally invited the Olympians to come to London. Adrien was in the crowd, his eyes were huge, and he turned to us and said... "Now I can see it."

We are spread across three continents at the moment, spread as thin as we always are, but I know we have support and that support continues to grow daily. I see pictures like this of Adrien and I know to the core of my soul, this is exactly where God put me. I will do anything to see Adrien, Gasore, NicNic and the others get everything out of life they were destined to receive...and I will never stop being emotional when I see pictures of joy like this....this is real.

Climbers....Outrunning the Past

2011-07-12T01:29:00.001+02:00

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Las Vegas with the July 11th & 18th issue of the New Yorker splayed out next to me. Last year Philip Gourevitch, author of "We Wish to Inform You that Tonight you will be Killed with your Families", visited Rwanda and learned about the riders of Team Rwanda. He came back in November last year during the Continental Championships and the Tour of Rwanda to finish the story....or at least to finish that chapter. What came from those weeks with the Team, the individual riders, countless hours of interviews is the article in this week's New Yorker, "Climbers....A team of young cyclists tries to outrun the past".

As I stood in my local Barnes and Noble clutching a couple of copies of the magazine tightly to my chest, I had one of those moments I have more and more frequently, how did I get here and why am I so fortunate to have a life where every day I wake up and I am part of something much bigger than myself. I am so thankful I am just a tiny cog in this machine, a very good machine according to Gasore. What I do for the Team is far from glamorous. I cook, I do hundreds of loads of cycling clothes laundry, I navigate the bureaucratic gauntlet of visas for moving the riders around the continent and now to America and South America. I organize fundraisers and am relentless in telling the story of these riders. I am not afraid to ask for the money or sponsorships to keep us going and if you're a friend of mine and have a plethora of plane miles on Delta, KLM, United or SN Brussels, BEWARE! I will do anything to help riders like Adrien, Gasore, NicNic, Nathan and all the others just have a shot at a better life. A life made possible by a bike.

I was thinking about Adrien's comment in the article. He had just won the first Wooden Bike Classic and there was talk about starting a real Rwandan team. He said, "When Jock said he'd come back, (I) didn't trust him. Muzungus tended to come, create excitement, make promises, and disappear." But Jock did come back a few months later in February 2007 and has stayed since. When looking at defining moments in life, it generally revolves around someone taking an interest and staying with you to see you through it. For most of us this is our parents, perhaps a teacher, a mentor or coach, someone who saw a potential, a light, took interest and stayed.

When I read this article I thank God every day, Jock stayed. Staying in Rwanda is not an easy thing to do. It is a difficult life fraught with danger, odd diseases, poor medical care and cultural frustrations. Adrien is living his dream, going to the Olympics, Gasore and NicNic are the new leaders of the Team just having returned from Switzerland. Gasore is an orphan who hauled potatoes for a living saving up every cent to buy his first bike to have a shot of training with the boys of Team Rwanda who would ride through his village every week. Little by little the country is changing because of cycling. Every month there are local races with serious prize money. A container of donated road bikes is on its way form Italy to Rwanda with more than 70 bicycles available for new riders. The country's Cycling Federation is a model to the rest of Africa, showing how a first class program can be built without corruption.

The number one question I get from my friends is, "How are you able to live like this?" They are referring to the fact I make very little money. I actually made more money 25 years ago waiting tables in college. This is not a "real" job. When will I come back and go back to work? They're right, it's not a real job...it's a calling. I have seen firsthand the impact of a few people who cared enough to start small and focus on a few. I have seen how that has spread to an entire nation. How could I not stay? If making breakfast and washing clothes produces a world class rider then I will do it.

When I was living in Kenya and traveled every month back to Rwanda to work with the team, Gasore would always say to me when I was getting ready to return to Nairobi, "No, no more Kenya". This time when I left in June it was, "No, no more US". Come September I'll be back, making Gasore breakfast, helping him with his English, showing him pictures of himself on Facebook and talking about his fans all around the world. I'm going to stay, as long as I can keep helping these riders live out a life that could only be described as nothing short of miraculous.

In the meantime, I'll keep telling their stories to people here who want to know, who want to help, who know they too can make a difference.

To learn more about Gasore, Adrien and the rest of the Team pick up the New Yorker at any local bookstore.

More Than a Hero

2011-06-26T15:07:00.000+02:00

A couple of weeks ago I was working the Kwita Izina stage race with Team Rwanda. It was an intense two day race between Kigali, Kinigi and Gisenyi, Rwanda with teams from Morocco, Eritrea, Tanzania, Uganda and Kenya plus three Rwandan teams, one of which was all new riders.

The last day of the race I witnessed one of the most incredible feats of cycling from our own Adrien Niyonshuti. I could not even begin to do justice to his story that day so I will let his coach, Jock Boyer tell the tale....

http://www.teamrwandacycling.org/blog/more-hero

African Fashion Part Deux

2011-06-23T14:08:00.001+02:00

It is 4:50am Thursday morning, Las Vegas. Yes, I must be suffering the effects of jet lag. As I lay awake in bed since 10:00pm last night I kept thinking about all the other great moments in African, particularly Rwandan, fashion. Ok, it must be the jet lag AND the three aspirin AND shot of cold medicine.

When I was scrolling through Facebook on my iPhone in bed (yes, I'm a technocrack junkie) I saw a comment on my blog from a friend of mine who works for the Embassy in Kigali.

girl you are cracking me up. Funny cause I mostly see pink satin shirts but they look exactly the same....

I knew my view of African fashion was not unique. And then I remembered the ultimate picture of pure, cutting edge fashion taken at a fuel station in Musanze, Rwanda this December as we headed out on our two week trip through Tanzania.

This is CLASSIC! There's this interesting fashion phenomenon in Rwanda where they take the detachable hoods from winter coats and only wear the hood part. I have yet to figure out where the coat went that matched the hood as you never see the actual coat. This "Karl Lagerfeld wannna be" fashionista took it one step further removing the faux fur around the edge of the hood to make his very own scarf.

As an aside....Rwanda sits on the equator never getting below 60-65 degrees....

The best thing about this young fashion icon is he wears this faux fur hoodie scarf with attitude! Fashion Week New York?

As I stepped off the plane in Detroit I was immediately struck, as I always am when I return, by the lack of decorum with which we dress in America. Oversized baggy pants and shirts with less than appropriate sayings covering (or sometimes not) oversized bellies with baseball caps and flip flops, with scantily clad young girls who apparently don't have parents who are parents or are auditioning for Hustler's Girl Next Door lay out and young men whose pants are almost to their knees with their underwear hanging out makes me wonder who really has the best fashion sense. It's funny that people in a third world country take more care and wear with more style and class the precious few second hand clothes they have then we Americans with closets full of new clothes, generally most too small. Money cannot buy class....only new clothes.

The Red Satin Shirt

2011-06-22T21:43:00.000+02:00

There are things I see in Rwanda every day that always make me have a little laugh and the number one trigger is the Red Satin Shirt.

Throughout Rwanda on any given day in any part of the country you are guaranteed to see the Red Satin Shirt. They pop up in the cities, along dirt roads in the country, on a Rwandan friend's back. They populate the country.

This is the infamous Red Satin Shirt:

What makes the Red Satin Shirt such a stand out in Rwanda besides being bright and ultra shiny is that it seems every 25th person is wearing one. Which begs the question, "Which company is responsible for flooding the market with these shirts?" Was it a Christmas item gone bad for retailers years ago?

Almost all clothing in Rwanda and Africa in general is second hand. One can assume there's been a massive overrun and/or poor sales of an item by the number of identical twins it has in the country. For example, Eminem concert t-shirts, literally enough to clothe the continent. Does that small village farmer 35 kilometers down a dirt road listen to Eminem?

I am always astonished, as someone who has absolutely no fashion sense beyond jeans, t-shirts and flip flops, at the outfits I see in Africa and how much thought goes into making the best outfit out of things Americans (mostly) and Europeans give away. This is a classic ensemble seen at the end of the Gisenyi stage of Kwita Izina. What young African men wear to a bike race...

What continues to amaze me is how everyone can keep their clothes spotless. Rwandans always look put together. They could live in a mud shack during rainy season with no clean water and electricity and they will emerge on Saturday afternoons (wedding days in Rwanda) wearing the brightest, cleanest Rwandan traditional outfits while I can't seem to keep the bike grease off my legs and clothes.

I believe another reason everyone looks so great in things most Americans would never wear is because they are thin and in the case of men, generally super fit. Try it. If you want a new wardrobe try losing the extra 10, 15, 20+ pounds you're carrying around and watch how you can make a $10 skirt from Target look like you're wearing Vera Wang. Face it America, fat is not flattering in clothes no matter how much money you spend on them!

And while I've gone down the rant path suddenly....let it be known that you really only need a couple of things. No one needs closet after closet of clothes. I took 3 pairs of jeans, 2 capri shorts, 4 t-shirts, 3 long sleeve wool shirts (it was winter in Joburg) and 3 pairs of shoes to Rwanda for a month and I over packed! I also brought 2 nice going out shirts (never went out, never do actually) and 2 dresses. Never wore those items. Less is more.

One final thought about second hand clothing...do not give away your "Johnson", your crude shirts you buy in places like Vegas or New Orleans or anything else you would not want your teenage son or daughter to wear. It could end up on someone's non English speaking grandmother in Rwanda. Show some class when you donate! And please, whoever is responsible for the Red Satin Shirts, we have enough thank you.

The Pure Love of Cycling

2011-06-15T19:39:00.000+02:00

Being in the cycling world, being a cyclist myself and knowing a few professional cyclists the number one topic of conversation lately has been, "Do you think Lance doped?". Since the 60 Minutes show with Tyler Hamilton confessing his doping sins to the world, friends have asked my opinion about the whole doping bruhaha in cycling.

This is what I think....

If you, as a once high level professional cyclist doped that was your call. You had every right to say no, there are many serious Cat 1 riders who are there because they chose to do it cleanly. That being said, throwing all your other teammates under the bus is not good for your image or the sport of cycling. It makes you look jealous, petty and bitter. Just say No!

If Lance did dope at one time or any time during his career I believe he did not take the victory away from any one else, because apparently his teammates were all doping too. I like to believe Lance did it clean but right now that's between Lance and God. No one can take away what he did for the sport of cycling. I will be disappointed if it comes out that he was doping but not because of some hero worship fixation. I will be disappointed that he didn't come clean before wasting millions of dollars and years of bad press for the sport. I pray Lance is honest. Only time will tell.

Dopers are two years ahead of dope control at all times. It will have to come down to an honor code among cyclists to simply do it right, do it clean -- everyone!

Everyone pays the price for doping. Cyclists win and lose races, the negative cloud over the sport of cycling is ominous, millions of dollars burnt on testing and masking could be used to actually grow the sport of cycling in a positive manner. And some day, these dopers will have to reckon with the call of poor health due to years of abuse. Who knows the effects these drugs have on cyclists long term.

If that's the grim reality of the professional cycling world in America and Europe is there any hope for the sport? Yes, a resounding yes....Africa.

Friday afternoon when I was driving in to Kigali for the Saturday start of the two day Stage Race celebrating Kwita Izina, the naming of the baby gorillas, I saw wave after wave of young men and some girls riding beat up single speeds across the hills of Rwanda to get to Musanze, the start of Saturday's amateur single speed race. I honked the car and waved as most cyclists know the worn out red Ford Explorer with Team Rwanda stickers on every side that we drive. They waved back smiling. These young kids with nothing but the cycling clothes (thank you to Butterfield Robinson for a huge donation of jerseys) and little packs with most everything they own strapped to their back were coming to Musanze for their BIG race.

These kids have nothing, no electricity, no water, no one who comes out to cheer for them, they barely have a bike, a forty pound worn out rebar reinforced single speed. But they all have hope. They see Adrien, they know Adrien, they see they can be someone, they can have a life that doesn't involve hauling produce until the day they die.

When we were in the Thule store in Johannesburg a few weeks ago purchasing a bike rack and trying to get a discount we mentioned we were from Team Rwanda. The young man behind the desk lit up. "Adrien Niyonshuti, he does us black people proud, he is so humble, so good." Two days later I stopped back in with Adrien and you would have thought it was the second coming of Christ. The young man yells, "Adrien, Adrien Niyonshuti in my store!" He grabs a camera shoves it in my hand and I take a picture of a South African cycling enthusiast with his Rwandan hero.

This is cycling in Africa. Adrien is meticulous with his diet and his training. He is a student of the sport and all his coaches in South Africa with MTN Qhubeka love working with him. Everyone who meets Adrien wants to see him succeed, because Adrien will do whatever it will take to succeed except dope.

Gasore and Nicodem just returned from seven weeks at the UCI Training Center in Agile, Switzerland, transformed. They are the next generation to give hope to all the kids, any kid with a bike in Rwanda.

I managed to snap a few pictures between stages and the ones below are from the start of Stage 2, Saturday afternoon in Musanze. Musanze is the home to Team Rwanda and as you can see, the fans came out in masses. Even the guy from the market where I buy my 180 eggs a week was there to see the boys.

This is cycling in Africa.

So, my thought is this. How about taking the millions of dollars wasted on all these Federal investigations and helping out some kids in Africa? Racers who dope, do these kids in Africa a favor and start racing clean. Be a role model....be an Adrien Niyonshuti...someone that makes all of us, white or black, proud!

Team Rwanda bikes lined up along the ditch with the every growing masses closing in. Rwandans just want to get close to the bikes, touch them, they know the riders, they just want to be part of the Race Moment


The crowd moving in to catch the start of Stage 2 of Kwita Izina in Ruhengeri, Rwanda. The Team is off to the right on the other side of the ditch simply to have a bit of space otherwise they would be instantly surrounded by hundreds of fans all wanting to touch a piece of their race bikes.

2:10AM June 11, 1966

2011-06-10T09:38:00.000+02:00

Yes world, I am 45 today. (Actually tomorrow, the 11th but I won't have internet tomorrow TIA).

When did that happen? Isn't forty-five old? It sure was when I was 21! When I was 21 my mom was 45. My mom was old when I was 21....sorry mom, you know I love you! Now I am 45 and my mom is 69 and she doesn't seem so old anymore.

I wish I had a baby picture to share. Actually, I wish I could post a picture of my birth announcement. My dad worked as a forklift mechanic and my birth announcement had my name in boxes being lifted by a forklift K I M B E R L Y vertically stacked. It still is the coolest birth announcement I've ever seen. I guess my parents were young and cool at some point.

I came into the world big. Seriously, I was 9 pounds 10 ounces and 22" long (I think...my mom will correct me if I missed an inch or ounce). I was two weeks late obviously I was NOT ready to face the world. I came into the world with an amazing head of jet black hair, no bald baby for me. I have commented in an earlier blog that I am not a true blonde. I know, shocker! I walked early, talked early and have been running non stop and living up to the first born overachiever leader child ever since.

My favorite phrase as a child was, "Mom, I'm bored". I just couldn't seem to max out the stimulus needed to keep my brain engaged.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was quoted on June 11, 1963, "If a man hasn’t discovered something he will die for, he isn’t fit to live.” Did King have a premonition?

I have always felt that I needed to do something good in the world. Mantra: God did not put me on this earth to suck air and die!

So, here I am once again in Rwanda. Essentially unemployed, not sure of the direction of my life, officially mid life (I figure I'll live to 90...good genes) and homeless. But I discovered what I am willing to die for...or at least get malaria or some other African disease for...cycling in Africa. Changing lives in Africa, right now specifically Rwanda through the bike.

The past couple of days in Rwanda we had a training camp for twenty riders. Adrien was up from South Africa. I had been in South Africa the week before for a fundraising ride with Adrien. To see that young man speak to a group of about 25 strangers telling his story, confident and strong left me speechless.

When I got back to Rwanda I met up with Gasore and Nicodem fresh off the plane from Switzerland and seven weeks of training at the UCI Center in Agile. They were fit and full of stories...and Gasore...speaking English!! Even though I have become I big gigantic cry baby of emotion since moving to Africa hearing him speaking English brought me full circle to two years ago when I first met Gasore days before his first race. Gasore "gets it". He tries so hard to overcome all the hurdles in his path....illiteracy, not speaking English or French, an orphan. He came back from Switzerland a cyclist, a real racing cyclist. In the beginning of the week I commented how much I liked his UCI baseball cap. I am a fan of the bad hair day baseball cap attire. The other day when he left he came to me and handed me his hat. There goes the waterworks again. It was his way of saying thank you. The gesture itself was everything. I gave him back the cap and told him he earned it and I was very honored he would give it to me but it was his, to wear proudly.

So, I guess at 45 this is what it is about for me. I still do not know what I want to be when I grow up but I do know what moves me, what gets me out of bed in the morning cracking 60 eggs to feed 20 hungry riders at 7:00am.

Birthdays are one of the most important days of the year for me. Christ's birthday and then my own birthday, not in a "selfish look at me it's my day" type of way. It is a celebration of life. On this day I came into the world and hopefully the world has been a tiny bit better because I have been in it. At least that's what I strive for the other 364 days a year. It is a celebration of life, yours, mine, all of ours. I remember the phrase, "God don't make no junk." How very true. To celebrate your birthday is to celebrate all the good, hope and promise of your life and to reflect on how you can do it better in the coming year, to take good care of the life God entrusted to you, to feed yourself well, to exercise, to love boldly, and to live large.

Oh, and 45...it's not old at all if you do it right!

How to Write a 30 Day Blog in 87 Days

2011-04-25T20:28:00.000+02:00

So, of course I've been procrastinating with writing this blog. I kept thinking of that phrase, "road is paved with good intentions" and was thinking about starting with that, until I googled it and the full phrase is "the road to hell is paved...." That seemed a little strong for simply not keeping up with my blog. Although is procrastination one of the 7 Deadly Sins, or is it often the lost 8th sin?

87 days, really? That's bad. Well, there was bad internet, lots of final work to be done with World Bicycle Relief (can't use that excuse since I should have been done with the blog on February 28th and didn't leave WBR until March 28th), lots of travel....not good either, only spent about 64 hours in a tin can over an ocean bored out of my mind. My last entry was 25...let's start with 29 and work our way through the last 5 topics in record time and dismount. Fluffy's dead.

Day 29 What Have I Learned...I really got tired of talking about inane stuff about my life, me. I think Day 25 put me over the edge and I just had a mental shutdown. Who really cares what's in my bag? I also learned I do love to write, but it comes when it comes. What I need to do is start writing little bits and pieces and not worry about the whole story. Trying to write about specific things 30 days in a row made me never want to write again, it felt like senior year English class all over again. Can you say, college drop out?

Day 30 Why did I Do This Challenge...My ever continuing desire to break my procrastination habit, in so doing I procrastinated. I am finished. I am a procrastinator and I'm embracing it!

Day 27 Page of Favorites...Didn't I talk about this earlier in one of my blogs? If not, here goes in no particular order;

Bikes -- everything bikes, riding, training, selling, building, salivating over...I LOVE BIKES!
Positive can do people...you're not positive you're out
Travel...duh
Helping people -- It is everything to me. I'll give up whatever I have to make someone else's life better...but not in a martyr kind of way. I just believe we should be better to one another, period.
Wine -- Yep, love me some good California wine, which I think I may have drank every variety since I've been home

Day 28 Pictures of Me from Last Year and This Year

Actually almost two years ago...one of my first rides in Rwanda

About two weeks ago...

Need I say more....some things never change...if you find something you are passionate about hold on and never let it slip away. Never put your passion on a shelf, live it, eat it, breathe it and the dividends will be astronomical.

Day 26 What Do I Think About My Friends ....I saved this for last because it's the best topic and one I was actually thinking about in church the other day.

I live in the foreclosure capital of the world. There were more homes foreclosed on in Nevada than any other state in the nation last year. Nevada also ranks as one of the highest in unemployment. Las Vegas is not a pretty place these days and there's a lot to be stressed about and it would be easy to be negative and give up hope. Not my friends.

There are only two of my friends out of about 25 that are NOT in some stage of losing their home. Roughly 23 are. These are good people who, like me, got caught up in the subprime loan debacle several years ago. In 2004 I bought my 2,800 square foot tract home in the northwest valley for $365,000. That was simply the going rate at that time. I did not take out a second and buy "stuff". I didn't buy a home outside my ability to pay, I just bought an average house. In 2009, my home was short sold for $210,000. Today, the home is worth $150,000. This is our reality.

For all of this, plus, the unemployment which at times has hit 14% in the past years, my friends are resilient, positive and looking forward.

It sucks! The process both physically and mentally of walking away from a home SUCKS! You could become bitter and cynical and not one of my friends has. They simply pack up and move to a rental...which oftentimes is also foreclosed on within months of renting. I think what it has done is made people more conscious of the important things in life...relationships with the ones you love. I think we all ride more and get together more and just have more fun. We're all in the same boat and they already know you don't need to go to Africa to understand what's important in the world. I think my friends in Las Vegas are simply admirable...and tough...

So there you have it...how to write a 30 day blog in 87 days. Guess I won't be getting the call to lead the time management class at Franklin Covey any time soon!

Day 25 of 30 -- The Bag Throw Up

2011-03-27T05:45:00.001+02:00

This is literally my backpack throwing up on my bed. I normally do not carry a purse and have learned after being in Africa for two years always be prepared! Be prepared you may spend a night somewhere you don't want to and be prepared there's never a toilet in said place.

Handy wipes are the number one item I carry. I carry wipes more often than I carry my passport. I have come to a conclusion either there's a shortage of TP in Kenya or Kenyans simply have an aversion to TP because I think I have actually found it in bathrooms less than a dozen times in 7 months.

Phone chargers for yes, my two phones. I carry a Kenyan number and a US number. They both work everywhere even 3 hours out into the bush. Air cards for my crappy internet. I have two because you never know which one will work better on which day with the sun, moon and stars in which location. It's a crap shoot.

Ok...sorry guys....tampons. Always carry them because they simply don't exist in some places in Kenya and NO places in Rwanda. I actually hauled a six month supply (Costco style) to Rwanda. Don't ask me what they use in Rwanda....don't want to know that much information.

Toothpaste, toothbrush, floss....I'm compulsive to the point of OCD with dental hygiene.

Book, an absolute necessity for those long waits at the bank, border, side of the road. Never be without one. I just might find a blank cover for this one, however. Great book by Dr. Greg Mills, everything I have come to believe since I've been here...(Aid does not work...more about that later)

Sunglasses, hat, sunscreen lip stuff....Kenya's on the equator, you get burnt, even my dark skin, in 17 seconds.

Once I go back to the US I might have to downsize a bit, after all we do have TP and tampons readily available!

Day 24 of 30 – Bucket List

2011-03-26T07:57:00.001+02:00

This is going to be short and sweet….I do not have a Bucket List because I live my Bucket List every day. I thought about this topic on my walk yesterday and literally could not think of things I would put on my bucket list because in my view, a Bucket List are things you talk about doing some day. Every day I wake up and do the things I want to do. I have done that for the past two years.

I have traveled through Sub Saharan Africa on the back of a motorcycle through herds of giraffe and elephants. I have been inches from a rhinoceros and pet a Cheetah. I have climbed an ancient volcanic crater. I have seen the most beautiful places on earth and the most depressing, some on the same day. I have met interesting people, experienced unique cultures and navigated the waters between them and me.

I have ridden my bike in Kenya, Rwanda and Zambia and around Lake Como, Italy.

I have lived…fully and completely the past two years. That in my mind is my "bucket". Sure, there are a zillion more things I want to do and I will but I don't need a list. Just wake up every day, do something different, foreign, and frightening and you will be living your bucket.

Day 23 of 30 -- What I Crave, A Return to Emily Post Civility

2011-03-25T09:10:00.000+02:00

Obviously, I am showing my age when I decide to write about a topic on manners, simple etiquette. As I walked to the store yesterday thinking about writing this topic I kept hearing the voice of my mom. Seriously? For all children, we fear the inevitable encroachment into our lives as we age...the voice of our mothers.

Besides my bike which I crave daily and can't wait to jump on and ride the first morning I'm back in Vegas, which you all assumed would be the focus of the "What I Crave" blog, it is not.

I want Emily Post to rise from the dead and start kicking some solipsistic asses for their rude, indifferent, obnoxious behaviors. She can start by ripping the cell phones out of the hands of offenders and smacking them upside the head.

Case in point...

I'm at yoga with my roommate, Cindy on Wednesday night. The lovely woman teaching the class is Dutch I believe. An older woman who gives me hope that I too can still touch my toes when I'm 60. Lut, the teacher would make Emily Post proud. One of her students would not.

As we are finishing up our final poses near the end of class, a cell phone rings. It's the woman in front of me. Seriously? She quickly jumps up and must have just simply it "Ignore". Five minutes later as we're laying in our "nap position" (don't know the Yoga name but it reminds me of naps in kindergarten) with only a few minutes left in the class, listening to Lut's calm voice saying, "Relax your legs, relax your arms, your fingers...etc", this woman's cell phone goes off again and she jumps up grabs it and runs outside to answer it. It's YOGA, hello?

Unless you are the head surgeon on the transplant team at Nairobi Hospital and your patient is number one of the kidney donor recipient list and there's been a 15 car pile up on Uhuru Highway, you are NOT that important that you must be reached during yoga.

And while I am on the subject of bad yoga behavior, here's to the obnoxiously loud, rude, think you're God's gift to the universe, young woman who showed up 15 minutes late, stood outside the door laughing and then proceeded to leave with 10 minutes left of class during "nap position", may an experience very important to you be ruined by someone even more classless than you...if such a person exists.

Cell phones are the biggest rude behavior catalysts known to man. Here are the rules, I believe, Emily Post would have written had their been cell phones in her day.

1. Turn them off when you are in a meeting, event, yoga, talking to someone else....don't just turn them to vibrate and look at them ever 6 seconds, put them away so you can't be disturbed. Focus on the person, task, event at hand and try, just once, to live in that moment.

2. Have some discretion when speaking on the phone. The rest of us do not want to hear about your child's poopy diaper, your neighbor's foot wart or your daughter's first menstrual cycle.

3. If it is something really important and you need to speak to me, don't ask me in an SMS to call you or flash me (dial my number and hang up) so I call you back. I won't. Ever. (This is pretty much only applicable to Africa where we all buy prepaid airtime and cheap people don't want to spend their own money to call)

So, what I crave, common sense manners and civility for all.

Say please, thank, excuse me. Stop pushing, shoving and thinking you have some special place in the universe to indulge in obnoxious behavior.

Let the car in front of you turn. Leave a space for a car to turn into your lane.

Let people OFF the elevator before you push your way IN.

Men, hold doors open for women (a lesson that really needs to be taught in Africa). Pull out the chair, be a gentlemen.

Women, say thank you when a man does the above for you.

Just because people may have a "lower" job in your eyes than you, treat everyone with respect. My guard Amos has more class than my neighbor with his big Range Rover who never waves or smiles or makes eye contact with the extraordinary individual who opens the gate for his Range Rover every day with a smile.

So...can we all agree to satisfy my craving even for just one day? In the end, my craving might just make a better day for all of us and the people that inhabit the world around us.

Amos the Happy Guard

2011-03-23T09:22:00.000+02:00

Kenyans drive on the wrong side of the car. Well, I'm just used to driving on the other side. Twenty eight years of driving and my brain is hard wired left hand drive. I am too old to create new synapses to bridge the gap in spatial awareness for a right hand drive vehicle. Hence, my significant challenges with the simple task of backing up.

But what has this to do with Amos...

Amos is the day guard for our little housing compound. I think there are six or seven homes within the walls of this compound. Amos, is our gatekeeper. If everyone in the universe could bring this level of job satisfaction, helpfulness and friendliness to work every day this world would be paradise. Every morning when I leave Amos opens the gate with the biggest smile. He is almost laughing the smile is so big. There is absolutely no way no matter how bad the prior night or early morning that you can remain irritated, pissed off, surly or what have you when you see Amos. He is the favorite part of EVERY day for me.

But what has this to do with backing up...

This is my driveway and that is the truck I drive. Note the really large steel bumpers (2 of them) on the back of the truck. This is for a couple of reasons. Trucks are utility in Kenya. The roads can be atrocious and the traffic...well, you know how I feel about Nairobi traffic. Every week I am bumped in traffic by a mutatu, motorbike or another car. It's just a fact of driving in Nairobi. The parking spaces are also made for nothing bigger than a Smart car and the underground garages were not designed with the truck parker in mind. The second reason...the right hand drive, left hand drive brain wired operator.

Every morning I come out and have to back out down the drive and avoid hitting my neighbors' Land Cruiser, Mercedes Benz station wagon and $100,000+ Land Rover on steroids.

Then I have to clear the gate. Monday morning I didn't quite clear the gate. My neighbor's Benz was park a bit too far to the right and my lane was narrow. I kept watching the car and promptly backed into the side of the gate. Luckily, it was with my super duty steel bumpers so no damage. When I made contact with the gate I look over my other shoulder (can't seem to get the feel of which shoulder I should be looking over) to see Amos, hands waving, jumping up and down, yelling, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." Not that it was in any way Amos' fault, it's just what Kenyans say when you do something stupid like trip, drop something or run into your compound gate.

As I straightened the truck out and got out onto the road Amos was just smiling like he always does and waved goodbye. I think he was actually laughing.

So, Tuesday morning for some reason there's another car in the mix, a large purpleish Toyota Land Cruiser. Ugh, not today. As I navigated successfully through the gauntlet of cars I really did not want to "repair" at some point and pulled out into the street Amos is standing there with this big grin saying, "Very good, very good!" I burst out laughing. Here was my happy guard cheering me on.

Today I stopped to take pictures because I knew I wanted to write about how great Amos is. I ran out there in my pjs this morning taking pictures of the infamous back up lane and Amos graciously let me take his picture (as long as he gets a copy).

Of course Amos has no idea he is the subject of this latest blog. As I left to head up to the coffee shop to tap into the internet, again I struggled getting the truck down the lane. It has just become a mental issue at this point. As I cleared the gate and pulled onto the road there's Amos with his hands glasped raised above his head triumphantly yelling, "Good, good, good!" I think it has now become Amos' mission to help me clear the gate and cars every day successfully.

No matter your job, the work you like or don't remember Amos and take pride in the little things you can do every day to make it better. I will miss Amos.

Day 22 of 30 – What Makes Me Different from Everyone Else

2011-03-22T21:39:00.001+02:00

Have you ever seen the movie Forrest Gump? I am Jenny. I am a searcher, not a settler. For as long as I can remember I've always been searching, searching for what I wanted to be when I grew up, where I wanted to live, who I wanted to be and what would make me happy. I never could seem to "find it", any of it, but in the end Jenny did and I think so did I.

Growing up I never dreamed of being married and having a family. I wanted to see the world. The older I got the more my friends settled down and into life the more I became increasingly unsettled. Growing up in the Midwest I knew I was different, I tried to settle but never could find what I should be settling into.

Another thing that makes me different than a lot of people is, I do. I don't talk about what I'm going to do, I just do. There was no master game plan when I went to Rwanda in April of 2009. I did a little looking into Project Rwanda, talked to a couple of people, told Mark I was going to go (I didn't ask…I just told him) and walked into Sysco and quit my six figure job on the spot. So many people want to have everything planned to the most minute detail when making a life decision such as that, I just did it. I have begun to realize how truly unique that characteristic is. So many people have asked me how I did what I did and how they could do whatever their dream ambition is and I really don't have any great words of wisdom or inspiration…just do it.

Every career I've had I had no idea what I was doing when I started. I never had run a restaurant and then was running six Subways. Now I sell bikes in Africa, not like there's a career training course for that employment option. I simply have no fear…well, take that back, I have constant fear which I do not let interfere with my life…I just leap right in and figure it out. There was no master life plan to include running the logistics and marketing for a Rwandan cycling team. I figured it out though. I realize this makes me a bit different. I will take on anything.

I am also a strong personality which enables me to handle all of the above. This doesn't really make me different, however, I am very secure in that strength, it goes to the core of my being. I am not afraid to be around other strong people. My strength is not ego induced. I seek out other strong people. I like the dialogue and the disagreements. I am not intimidated, never. And even though I have this strength I am not afraid to hear criticism and make adjustments. I know I am not perfect and am not afraid to admit it.

I also do not understand the word "No". When I am told "No" in my head I say, "Not yet, they need more information, there's another way." No simply does not exist. I know that is why I always did well in sales. With that attitude comes an inordinate amount of tenacity, persistence and…at times, obstinance.

Yet, I am the same as most people when it comes to life and our futures. I still get scared. I still wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Coming back to the US in a few days for a long stay is scary for me. I have no "paid" job, no home it's a bit unsettling. I was telling a friend of mine how I was feeling about the upcoming move and in her email she said, "You'll do great and will be fine because you're you. You're the only other person I've met that has a special brand of survival instinct like mine (yours is stronger). You will always be fine because you're bold, true to yourself and don't take no for an answer."

In the end, Jenny came home too.

Day 21 of 30 – Why a Picture and Hootie & the Blowfish Makes Me Happy

2011-03-21T20:36:00.002+02:00

Life really is so simple. A bike, that's all it takes to make me happy. It used to be about simply riding a bike, now, it's about helping put bikes in the hands of people who so desperately need them. A bike is not a luxury for these Ugandans, it is a necessity. For 135 Ugandan Community Care Givers it means reaching their patients, most of them suffering the debilitating effects of HIV/AIDS, more often. For some of these caregivers they have to travel 20+ kilometers in a day to reach the most remote patients in their care. That is over 12 miles per day. These are volunteers. They simply do this for the love of their community and their fellow Ugandan.

I traveled to a small community, Kassanda, in the District of Mubende, Uganda this week to talk to 25 very happy recipients of the WBR Nyati Bicycle. The organization facilitating the distribution of these bikes is Wellshare International. The great thing about this distribution is that the recipients are purchasing these bikes through the organization with a no interest loan. It is the perfect example of a hand up, not a hand out. They are free to use these bikes in other money making opportunities such as hauling crops, water or as taxis. It is a win win for all participants. This is how aid should be used!

I spent about fifteen minutes talking about the bike and answering the group's questions. Afterward I wanted them all to ride the bike. Several of the women asked if they could have a men's bike instead of a ladies so that their husbands could use them as well. Some of the older women who did not ride themselves took part in the program and selected men's bikes so that the men taxiing them around their district would not feel funny riding a ladies bike. And then there was this feisty woman who simply said she only rode men's bikes and that she could handle it. This she proved by jumping on the bike and taking off down the hill. LOVE this woman!

During the presentation I had a very dynamic translator taking my fast talking English and converting it in amazing ease to Ugandan. Very few of the 25 recipients spoke English. After we did all the "test drives", I walked up to the translator to introduce myself. His name is Michael. He's probably in his late 20's, Ugandan, very soft spoken and has a unique sense about every word he uses. He was very deliberate in his word choice which made him one of the best translators I have worked with in Africa. He speaks Ugandan, English, French and a form of Arabic used in southern Sudan. I was so impressed I asked him what led him to this tiny village three hours outside Kampala. Everyone has a story in Africa, most of them unfathomably heart wrenching. Michael was no exception.

Michael had just graduated from University and was planning on going to Sudan to study languages, specifically Arabic. He was in a Land Rover traveling through Northeastern Uganda, a still very dangerous area. His vehicle was ambushed and he was the only survivor. He survived six bullet wounds to the chest. He is a miracle. That was six years ago and he's finally working his way back into his former life. I am daily humbled by individuals in Africa such as Michael. Their strength and perseverance is immortal.

Michael saw I had an iPhone and asked if I had music on it. I told him I did. He told me his computer had contracted a virus and he had lost all his music an American had given him. He wanted to know if I had any Hootie & the Blowfish. Seriously? Of all the music I would expect him to ask for, that was the furthest from my mind. Yes, I did have Hootie & the Blowfish. As I turned up the volume to Hold My Hand, Michael began to sing. He knew all the words. He knew the words to Time as well. I just stood next to him listening trying so hard not to get all verklempt.

Tonight when I was running I had put my iPhone on shuffle. Two songs in (out of 856 on my Iphone), Time began to play.

I simply smiled……….

Day 19 of 30 -- Nicknames

2011-03-20T20:53:00.001+02:00

My full name is Kimberly and from my earliest memory I have always been called Kim. I am not quite sure why, we might have to ask my parents. My sister's name is Danielle and she has always been Danielle, no Dani/Dan or any other such variation. Perhaps I was always Kim because Kimberly always sounded so formal to me. Formal and "girlie".

My main nicknames have come from variations around my maiden name, Moszyk….namely Mo. Mark and some of his close friends, the Buehler boys, started calling me Mo when we began dating. I even had two license plates with my "Mo" nickname…Mostang (yes, for a Mustang) and Vet4Mo. I used to sign my notes to Mark, Mo and sometimes still do.

In Africa I became Moki, my maiden name, again plus the start of my first name, Kim…hence, Moki. When I was at Victoria Falls in the winter of 2009, I was talking to some Zambians and when they asked my name I said Moki. Moki in their local language means something to the effect of a large spirit/presence. I like that name. It's very random and only in Africa do people use Moki.

When I started my job at US Foods in 2004, they had my name on my work ID as Kimberly. I decided to start using Kimberly and I still do to this day. Most people still shorten it to Kim but Kimberly has grown on me and the older I get the more I actually like to be called Kimberly. Of course, to my closest friends and family I will be forever….Kim

Day 20 of 30 I am declining to write about....Someone you see yourself marrying or being with in the future….too personal, too emotional…I'm just going to sit on this one and decline to share…perhaps someday.

Day 18 of 30 -- Plans/Dreams/Goals I Have

2011-03-15T20:51:00.000+02:00

For my entire life I have had written goals. When I was a teenager I had a "dream" board. On that board there were magazine pictures cut out and pasted collage style around the bright white poster board. I had a picture of a piano, a baby grand piano. I had the piano in my 30's. I had a picture of a beautiful sports car, a Corvette. I had three beginning in my mid 20's. And then, there was the picture of the giraffe. I wanted to go to Africa. Never did I dream I would have the opportunity to live in Africa the past two years.

Today, I have no written goals. I do not want for anything. Not because I have so much materially. Actually I have very little. I do not want for the one thing every written goal could never give me. Peace. I have finally found peace. Peace with myself, who I am, what I want in life and my place in this world. Why would I muck that all up with goals of material or simple "want"?

Really my goals come down to this; to simply remember the experiences I have had, the moments that have taken my breath away, the people I have met in my journeys and the person I became along the way. I live in the moment because every moment is so worth living and appreciating.

Yesterday as I was coming into Kisumu, a small town in Western Kenya on the shores of Lake Victoria, my colleague and I were passed by a gray Toyota Hilux, the staple vehicle of Africa. He had been weaving in and out of traffic passing people on this very narrow, deep shoulder, pot hole laden road. He was in a hurry. Ten minutes later we come up on a crowd of people on both sides of the road about 10km from Kisumu. The gray Toyota Hilux was on the left side of the road and a little Kenyan boy, face down, blood pouring from his head was surrounded by shocked witnesses on the right side. He was very obviously dead. In Kenya you do not have 911, no ambulance will come, there will be no trained paramedics skilled in emergency care working desperately to save this little life. The life is simply over. He will be buried. To have one moment in life back, one split decision, one kilometer less of speed, one meter further across the road for this little boy, one moment could have changed a lifetime. Moments like this which I have been witness to, will forever be etched in my mind.

My dream is not to waste one moment, to savor every second. Last night at 3:15am I wake to hear a chortling, snortling, munching sound outside my window. I lift the covering from the tent window to see an awesome sight, a hippo directly in front of me enjoying his late dinner of fresh grass. I watched him for half an hour. I have been asked if I got a picture. There are no pictures, I did not want to miss a moment looking for a camera. I wanted to just enjoy the hippo.

Today after work I went for a run. I ran to the Impala Sanctuary down the road and decided to check it out. Clouds were rapidly building and I knew it was going to rain, but I really wanted to see the impalas. I saw Impalas...and Zebra

but I also met a young volunteer, Samora, who was walking through the park closing up. He came across me staring at the Ostrich, mesmerized by their incredible uniqueness. He asked if I would like to meet Festus, the Cheetah. We went to the area where the Cheetahs were, Festus and Alice and he moved Alice into another area and walked into the area where Festus was. He told me to come in. I did so wondering in the back of my head if I really had lost my common sense. Festus laid down right in front of me and I reached out and began stroking his coat, feeling the roughness of his fur and feeling the incredible vibrations of his purring, like a house cat on steroids.

As Sambora walked me out of the park he told me to hurry because it was going to rain in the next couple of minutes. I was about a 15 minute run (fast run) from my hotel. I took off as the wind picked up and it became darker quickly. About half way to the hotel the skies opened up. I started laughing. There was nothing about this day that I wasn't going to enjoy, including a fierce African torrential downpour. I quickly ducked under the eave of a small building along with three other young boys who had been caught in the rain as well.

I watched it rain for about 15 minutes and then as it slowed I took off again, just making it to the next shack for shelter. I leap frogged from shack to shack all the way back as Kenyans laughed and shooked their heads at this crazy girl running in the rain enjoying every second of it.

So...plans, I have none. Not really, some idea, but open to whatever comes my way when I land back in the U.S. in two weeks. Goals....to just take the lessons I have learned and the moments I have lived in Africa and keep them close to my heart. Dreams...to just continue living the adventure. I have found that adventure doesn't simply reside in a third world country on a third world continent in cultures vastly different from my own. Adventure lies in everything we do wherever we do it, if we do it all out, if we do things that scare us every day, if we live life fully, that is the adventure.

I just finished reading an amazing book, "The Last Season". Take a second to check it out...Near the end there's an excerpt from the missing ranger's log book from 1973. I think it most clearly summarizes this blog...Plans, Dreams & Goals...

"All of your life, someone is pointing the way, directing you this way and that, determining for you which road is best traveled. Here is your chance to find your own way. Don't ask me how to get to McGee Canyon. Go, on your own. Be adventuresome. Don't forever seek the easiest way. Take the way you find. Don't demand...signs. Don't demand we show you...Go find them yourself...This is your birthright, most commonly denied you. Be free enough from intentions to find goodness wherever you are and in whatever is happening. Here for once in your life you needn't do anything, be anywhere at a determined time, walk in a certain direction. You can now live by whim. Here's your chance..."

Day 17 of 30 - Someone I Want to Switch Lives with for One Day

2011-03-09T17:11:00.002+02:00

It has been quiet on the writing front for a variety of reasons. I have been crazy busy with getting back in the swing of things with my last month working for WBR in Kenya. I even returned to Kenya from the US two days early just trying to get my bearings. I also moved from my old apartment with good internet to a gorgeous home with no internet. I have been relying on air cards and coffee shops. Trying to send anything over 200KBs is almost impossible. To give you an idea, that is one small, minimally pixilated picture. To respond to my 30+ emails per day takes over two hours, not including drive time to find a signal. Ahh….TIA.

Another reason has been this topic. I have thought about this for days. There are so many amazing people in this world, people I admire, respect and strive to emulate. But there is one person, if I was able to be inside his world for even one day, it would open unthinkable doors of insight. It would most likely change the face of everything I do. I want to know what it is like to be Gasore. Gasore "Alex" Hategeka, orphan, young man, Team Rwanda rider.

I remember the first time I saw Gasore race. It impacted me so profoundly I wrote about the experience and have that day burned into my memory for a lifetime. I will never forget the look on his face, blank. All I wanted to know was how we could reach him. Could we ever reach him?

It has been 18 months since Gasore's first race. Since then he has won stages in Cameroon, been to South Africa for training, and hasn't missed a training camp. We have never had to ask, "Where's Gasore?" Gasore has been there with his team, his new family, his only family since June 2009.

Gasore is an orphan, illiterate and speaks only Kinyarwanda. However, he has taken every opportunity given him by the team to go to school, to learn English, to read and write and to learn how to ride. Sadly, there is still so much we do not know about Gasore. We have learned more since Philip Gourevitch's visit during the Tour of Rwanda. Through his interpreter he conducted multiple interviews with Gasore. We learned his father died when he was only 11, long after his mother had passed away. It appears his father died in the insurgency in 1998 years after the genocide.

But I do not want to be Gasore to know more about his past. I want to be Gasore to learn more about him today. What does he think about? What goes through his head every day as he struggles to bridge the language barrier? What motivates him? Little by little through his consistent English lessons we are exposed to more of his thoughts but we have only seen such a minute view into his world.

During this past week's Tour of Cameroon he was having a strong race. On the first stage that had the hilly topography the Rwandan riders crave, Gasore was poised for a repeat performance of his Stage win in 2010. And he did repeat, in a tactically stupid and selfish manner with two other Rwandan riders. The three riders competed against one another for the win, draining their strength, and exposing their lack of critical thinking for all the teams to see. They were not teammates at the finish line. They were three separate Rwandans duking it out for the short term accolades. During the podium awards, his coach was noticeably absent. He had won the stage and he had lost his coach and team's respect. The next morning Gasore approached his coach and said, "I am sorry for yesterday. I was wrong." Coming from any other rider, any American rider this would have been a simple matter of an apology. Coming from Gasore, a Rwandan, it is more. Rwandans generally do not admit to any fault or mistake even if it clearly is their fault. It is a cultural matter that is enormously frustrating for us. If you cannot admit a mistake you cannot learn from that mistake. It is an ever present hurdle to growth. Secondly, Gasore "got it". He observed his coach and processed the fact that his coach was not happy. He looked at his performance and came to the conclusion he had essentially blown a great opportunity. I would give anything to have been privy to Gasore's thought processes those 18 hours. What clicked?

How does Gasore feel about his life now? He now has money, a home and a family of Americans, Rwandans and one very passionate French brother. Gasore is the only rider Zulu will actually let pet him. Zulu is completely indifferent to most of the riders and almost all Rwandans but not Gasore. What does Gasore think about this 130 pound dog? Rwandans fear dogs, why doesn't Gasore?

Does Gasore want to learn English so he can let us into his world? What would he say to us if he had a complete understanding of English?

The last day of the Tour of Cameroon Gasore was in 4^th place. With a strong finish he could have possibly ended up on the podium. He imploded for no apparent reason? Why? His coach yelled at him from the car pushing him to keep going. Where was his fire? Why did he just give up? Is he afraid of success? This is not the first time he has pulled back. Why? If we only knew the answers to this we could help him overcome this emotional hurdle. Yet, we are locked out by our inability to communicate with one another.

If I could only be Gasore for a day I could know these answers. I could help him change his life. Perhaps I would find out he doesn't want to change his life.

Day 16 of 30 -- A Pic...a Moment I Want to Experience Again

2011-02-24T16:05:00.000+02:00

This picture was taken by an Italian photographer, Mjrka Boensch Bees, who has followed the Tour of Rwanda the past two years. I love Mjrka's photos, he has such an amazing eye to capture "the moment".

This moment was when it was announced that Adrien had kept the yellow jersey for another day in the Tour of Rwanda. I am being hugged by the Vice President of the Rwandan Cycling Federation and the Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Sport. When Adrien's name was announced everyone involved with cycling in Rwanda erupted in cheers and tears. That I got to share in that moment of national pride with these Rwandans who took a chance on supporting this Team I consider a privilege and honor. Every moment of difficulty slipped away and the atmosphere of pure joy was simply intoxicating. This photo, this moment...a perfect day.

Day 15 of 30 -- First 10 Songs Out of my iPhone

2011-02-23T15:00:00.000+02:00

I love my music! As you will see, I have a wide range of musical interests....Here's the Top 10 when I hit Shuffle:

Kenny "Babyface" Edmonds -- Fire & Rain (yes, the old James Taylor song)
Rascal Flatts -- Foreplay/Longtime (yes, original Boston tune)

Hmm....seeing a pattern all of a sudden

Linken Park -- Session
Linken Park Meteroa is great riding music when you're not feeling like riding. It makes me ride like a crazed women shot up with EPO.

Ryan Star -- Breathe
This is a newer song in my rotation sent my way from someone who knows me well and knows I just need to "Breathe" and enjoy the ride. I need a little reminding from time to time. "Breathe, just breathe, take the world off your shoulders and put it on me, just breathe....let go of the ones who try to put you down....let the life you live be all that you need."

Time for Me to Fly -- REO Speedwagon
I wish I had some of my old REO photos to share with you. I was an REO groupie back in the late 80's early 90's following the band all over the state of Missouri one summer. At one concert I was on the front row and threw a note up on stage and got a backstage pass and we became friends from that point on. Amazingly, this summer I was at a hotel in Kansas City down on the Plaza and stepped into an elevator and there was Bruce Hall, bass player for REO. We hadn't seen each other in over a decade. I started laughing because I had just seen Kevin Cronin down in the gym earlier that morning. I said, "Remember, me Kim Coats? Subway? Amy, Robbie & Mark? " He looked at me in total shock and said, "No way! Of course I remember you! How is everyone?" We chatted down the elevator and then he invited my nieces and nephew onto their tour bus. I don't think Lexy, Jake and Gabby were quite as impressed as I had been 20 years earlier. Their mom was though! Those days were some of the most fun I had ever had in one summer....sadly, How is everyone? Mark and I are divorced, Amy is remarried because Robbie passed away about 10 years ago....life

My Father's Chair -- Rick Springfield
He still looks great!

What Kinda Gone -- Chris Cagle
Told you my music was diverse! I love this song because my ex made up words to fit my cycling. Instead of "I heard the door slam, and I couldn't tell....she's getting in her car" he would sing...she's clipping in (reference to clipping my shoes in the pedals. I still laugh every time I hear this song. You never know what kinda gone I'm going to pull....Africa was only supposed to be four months.

Tropic of Capricorn -- Sammy Hagar

Living Inside My Heart -- Bob Seger
Cry every time...

If You're Going Through Hell -- Rodney Atkins
My anthem for life and getting through it.

Back to 30 Days -- Day 13 A Book I am Reading Now

2011-02-20T16:07:00.000+02:00

I know, technically I should be writing about Day 21 or 22, however, I'm writing in dog years and it is Day 13. I simply did not want to detract from the incredible accomplishment last weekend of Adrien and his Olympic win. I wrote the piece for the blog and then wrote a piece for Tell Me About Africa. I also wrote a marketing proposal for Banque Populaire du Rwanda and a media kit for the team. Priorities in "team writing" trump the mundane musings about my days.

That being said, Day 13.....

I have, for the most part, always been a reader. I am sure there were days in Honors English in high school when we had to read War and Peace in two weeks, that I condemned reading for the time sucker I felt it was. I was 17, had multiple music and sports activities, straight A student and held down a part time job to put fuel in my car to get to all my activities. Seriously, time for War and Peace? I "Cliffed" it like I did 80% of the books required for Honors English. Someday I will get the reading list from Mrs. Turk's AP English class at Shawnee Mission South and read the classics I should have read 25 years ago. Except Austen and Bronte, I simply would rather sit through an African dictator's three hour self aggrandizement speech in their native African tongue then read either of those authors. Old school "chick lit" is all I think about when beginning anything written by these two. Sorry Mrs. Bean and my Vegas book club women.

So what do I read? Anything I can get my hands on for the most part. Since moving to Africa two years ago and being without TV for the first time in my life I have found a vast amount of time to read. Funny how that goes. If you find yourself making the excuse, "I don't have time to read" turn off the TV. We are all guilty of that oh so mindless, guilty pleasure. I also read multiple books at all times and it all places. I always carry a book with me and even have a book or two on my iPhone to read in the event I get stuck in a bad spot of Nairobi traffic.

Currently this is what is in my daily read rotation:

Every morning I start with a daily devotion in Oswald Chambers, "My Utmost for His Highest". This man of God died in 1917 in his early forties of a ruptured appendix. His wife assembled all of his writings into this book and 39 others. It is interesting to me how "timely" his writings from almost 100 years ago are for me today. They are short daily devotions that cover a myriad of topics. Today's devotion was, The Initiative Against Dreaming.

Dreaming about a thing in order to do it properly is right; but dreaming about it when we should be doing it is wrong.

How many of us are guilty of that? I want that new job, I want to travel, I want to give my kids more time, I want to pursue my dream of owning my own business....BUT....God doesn't want to hear your "buts".

I am also reading the Bible in a year long reading program. It's straightforward. I read several chapters each day. When I started in September I began in Lamentations and went through the new testament. I did have a lapse of about a month during the Tour of Rwanda and my trip to Zanzibar but I have picked it back up and read daily. I finished Numbers today. Leviticus was brutal. I thank God every day for sending his Son to die for our sins because if he didn't I would be out daily looking for bulls, goats, sheep and doves to slaughter for my sins. It would be a full time vocation of atonement and sacrificing! The first four books of the Bible are not easy reading but I have found my favorite verse which I latched onto during some bumpy times.

Exodus 14:14 The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

I have always had a bit of a problem with the "still" part.

Of course in my rotation at all times is some book on Africa, history or African History. I just picked up Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux, a noted travel writer.

I'm in trouble with this book....it is about his travels from Cairo to Cape Town via various modes of transportation from bus, to canoe to train. In the first chapter, Lighting Out, Theroux pines for the anonymity of travel through Africa. He wanted to drop out. "Africa is one of the last great places on earth a person can vanish into. I wanted that."

This is a very scary book for me at the moment as I face the prospect of living in the US from April until ? THAT scares me. I miss Africa every day. I miss the craziness, the stories, the people, the wide open spaces and the crush of the crowds. The reason I picked up this book is to keep me connected and to also keep the dream alive in me to someday drive me own motorcycle from Egypt to South Africa.

Then I have my mindless, entertaining reads that I use as my own personal Ambien. I cannot read books like Theroux's before I go to sleep otherwise, I'd never sleep and would be up scanning maps, figuring out my finances and signing up for motorbike classes in the deserts around Las Vegas to secure my license and gain some skill for my epic dream trip.

For this purpose I was reading and just finished, Left Neglected by Lisa Genova.

Left Neglected is the story of a mid thirties career woman and mother of three who has a car accident and suffers a traumatic brain injury that results in her inability to use her left side. Her vision is intact, however, her brain cannot "see" anything to her left. In the book, prior to her accident the pace of her life is frenetic. The pace of the writing makes the reader actually feel the pace of the protagonist's life. This was my life before Africa. Enough was never enough, time was always running short and I worked non stop at the expense of my relationships. Near the end of the book, as she has struggled to come to terms with the realization she will never be the preaccident Sarah again, she states, "Maybe success can be something else, and maybe there's another way to get there. Maybe there's a different road for me with a more reasonable speed limit." I couldn't agree more....

Tell Me About Africa

2011-02-14T14:32:00.000+02:00

A friend of my from Ireland, Scott Sloan, runs this great blog about all things Africa. He invited me to write a piece about Adrien's Olympic weekend. I love what this blog tries to get across to the people of other continents who don't quite know what to think about Africa.

"The western media can depict the people of post-colonial African nations as victims – whether of poverty, natural disaster, corruption or all three. This casts the people of those countries as perennially, even innately, passive – those to whom life happens. It accentuates the negative in a way that, for all the press's attraction to bad news, does not happen when the west discusses itself.

In relaying short stories of character this blog aims to dispel such notions of passivity, in a bid to challenge some of our mis-laid preconceptions.

To quote from Kapuscinski, however, these stories are not "about Africa, but rather about some people from there.. The continent is too large to describe. It is a veritable ocean, a separate planet, a varied, immensely rich cosmos. Only with the greatest simplification, for the sake of convenience, can we say “Africa.”

Stories will not always be good. That too would be condescending. The challenge will be to provide a whole picture – good, bad and ugly. "

I am honored to be able to contribute to his aim with Adrien's Road to the Olympics

Adrien is third from the left. This photo was taken February 18, 2007 almost four years to the day of his epic Olympic qualifying race.

Olympic Dream

2011-02-13T01:37:00.001+02:00

Today, in a small town in South Africa outside of Capetown, Adrien Niyonshuti a young Rwandan man became the first Rwandan ever to secure an Olympic bid in cycling. Adrien is one of the original members of Team Rwanda . Just under five years ago, Adrien was a teenager doing what most Rwandans do, hauling food. Adrien is a genocide survivor, losing six of his brothers and over 60 extended family members in the 1994 genocide. Today he stands proudly for his own personal triumph over tragedy and he stands as a light of hope for all the young men and women in Rwanda. Adrien is the quietest of heroes.

I woke up this morning at 6:00am to follow the race via Skype and email. Jock Boyer, Adrien's coach on Team Rwanda and Aimable Bayingana, the Rwandan Cycling Federation President were there to support Adrien in his race so far from his home country. Every 15 minutes I would call Jock for an update. We knew South Africa was already exempt. Adrien simply had to place in the top two of countries outside of the South African participants. Today, Adrien was second behind Namibia, today he won the chance to represent Rwanda in London in 2012.

I had sent Jock an email yesterday saying I had been praying all day and "wouldn't it be nice to have a 'bone'?" The last year has been difficult, really difficult. As with all ventures such as this we battle money, time, manpower, resources and we do it all in Africa which I believe has a multiplying factor of 40 to the difficulties. There have been times of serious frustration. The Team has struck out on its own, out from the umbrella of the founding organization, Project Rwanda. This was a mutual decision for both organizations. However, it has come with uncertainty and a bit of instability. Jock has been in Rwanda for over four years and there are days Rwanda can simply wear you down, chew you up and spit you out. There have been days, almost too many in the past month or two where we have looked at each other, seen the wear on Max and wondered in those really dark moments, is this worth it?

Today....every bit was worth it for Max and I. I can't even begin to imagine how worth it, it was for Jock who has been with Adrien since day one.

The Minister of Sport in Rwanda cried on the phone when Jock delivered the news.

This is so much bigger than any of us....this is about the hope of an entire country a country with such a hopeless past.

As I stood in the book store this afternoon looking at books in the African history section and eyeing all the books on Rwanda's catastrophic past, I started to cry. All the frustration, fear and anticipation of today just rushed to the surface and I couldn't stop crying. I am not sure why at that moment all the emotions hit like an oncoming freight train. Perhaps it's because I know how much work we have ahead of us, how much money we need to raise to give other kids in Rwanda, kids like Adrien, a shot. Adrien is a hero to the country and to the people of Rwanda and there are so many more young men and hopefully, some day women, who need to the same shot at greatness as Adrien. There's a lot of responsibility to making sure these kids get the same shot as Adrien. This is really just the beginning.

After Adrien's race I got an opportunity to talk to him. Just hearing his voice made me smile....we got our bone....God does answer prayers.

Day 12 of 30 -- How I Found Blogger and Why I Write a Blog

2011-02-11T15:58:00.000+02:00

I don't honestly remember how I found Blogger, I probably just googled "blog" and up popped Blogger. All I remember is I wanted a forum to document at the time, what I thought was going to be a four month find myself sabbatical. I never thought I'd still be writing, still looking two years later.

I have kept journals (private and on paper) in the past. I especially like travel journaling. When my sister and I took our first trip to Africa in 2003 I wrote about our daily experiences. When I got home I typed up my journal and assembled it with pictures in a big photo album and gave it to her. I mean really, what do you give a sister who has everything. I found that album yesterday at her house. It was so enlightening to go back through and read about our first African adventure, we were the two geeky girls from Kansas. My sister at the time was much more well traveled, me, South Africa was only the third foreign country I had been to. I like that the memories, the feelings you experience at that specific point in time with the past experiences that have shaped you up until that moment are all there. As time progresses our viewpoints vacillate due to our additional experiences that tack on in our psyches as we grow older. You will never remember that one moment eight years ago exactly the same way as when you experienced it for the first time.

That is why I continue to blog.....I see the transformation of self on the pages I have written. It is staggering at times.

When I started to write one of my self imposed rules was to never censor. However, I have not been able to keep that rule for several reasons. I have learned that the freedom of press we enjoy in the US is a very sacred and unique right that is not afforded in other countries. I cannot come out and voice my opinions as it may actually get me banned in some places. For my safety and for my desire to keep doing the work I do, I must censor. That was difficult to internalize.

I have also learned, political correctness is alive and well even in the blog world. I am a pretty simple person, if you don't like something, if you don't like me or how I say, do or handle things, SAY it. Say it directly, succinctly and in my presence. That is how I operate. A lot of people do not. Sadly more people than I would like to count operate on appearances that do not have any resemblance to the people they are at the core. This goes both ways, people who are "perceived" to be godly, good and generous are the antithesis behind closed doors. The people who are written off as harsh, direct, blunt are the most caring, giving people I know. I am one of the former. I have yet to embrace the politically correct behavior but I am always trying to work on my delivery. Do we really need political correctness? Maybe we just need a bit more honesty. Unfortunately, I do not think the world is ready for honesty.

One thing I am always conscious of while I write is protecting people's privacy. There are people and experiences in my life I simply do not write about no matter the place they occupy in my life. If this is censorship, so be it. I also will not use names if I am questioning difficult interactions with people. We all have our right to remain anonymous and I do not want people to fear they may be a notable subject in one of my blogs.

When I look back, which I have done while writing this blog, I am so thankful that I have the experiences of the last two years documented. Some of the posts are difficult to read, there were some very sad, dark days. But, there were also some days one can only hope to have once in their lifetime...and I have had many.

Update on Day 9 of 30. Life, mending relationships, and forgiveness is not always easy and appears to sometimes not operate in the earthly realm. I believe it all comes down to our faith and our ability to forgive and let go.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is found in Luke 23:39-43. It is the story of Jesus Christ's crucifixion and his conversation with the two criminals on crosses on each side of him.

One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: "Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!"

But the other criminal rebuked him. "Don't you fear God," he said, "since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong."

Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."

Jesus did not look over at the criminal who had just taken a leap of faith, laying all his trust in the Lord and asking him to take him to heaven and itemize every sin that had gotten him to this cross.

Can you imagine Jesus looking at the criminal and saying, "Well, thug, I appreciate the faith and your sincere request for forgiveness and I probably will grant you your request but....

"Remember the mugging you did in Capernaum?"

"You did a dine and dash at that vegan restaurant in Judea."

"You stole a keg of wine at the Horowitz wedding in Nazareth."

"Oh, and how about the tourist you scammed in the money exchange at the Egyptian border?"

No, Jesus simply said, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."

I pray we can all learn lessons of forgiveness from this story. I would rather have someone decline my request for forgiveness than to itemize my alleged sins against them as just one more go round to get the last word and then still not move on. Perhaps it's about them making sure I am REALLY REALLY repentant? If I am sorry, I am sorry. There is no hidden agenda no insincerity no play for appearance sake. I prefer to move on. Why is that so difficult? Why does it mostly appear to happen with women? I think we can all learn a lesson from Jesus on forgiveness, especially His forgiveness and acceptance of this rotten, no good, despicable criminal. Or as Max and I argue....Fight, fight, fight...ok, "It is finished. No problem. We ride now."

If you need to ask for forgiveness or give forgiveness, simply do it.

Day 11 of 30 -- Another Friend Pic

2011-02-11T04:14:00.000+02:00

Technically I should be writing about Day 12, however, I am still working on overcoming my "habit issue" from Day 4 of 30. I also was in a bit of a funk, a freezing cold funk. After giving my sister a drubbing about her overweight dogs when I arrived Monday night, I had to assume all the guilt for my quick to speak statement. As I sat on the coach wrapped in my purple fleece snuggie, eating Tostitos and watching very bad afternoon TV trying to keep my body temperature above 95 degrees, I realized there was no way I was leaving the cocoon of my self made comfort zone. It was cloudy, windy, grey and never got about 30 degrees all day. So, instead I vegged. Completely and decadently I vegged, and so did the chunky butt dogs.

Today the sun came out and my temporary funk has vanished. Back in the saddle and back to the reality of the myriad of things on my plate, my master "to do" list.

In one of my last blogs I talked about how much I loved my 40th birthday. What made that day so special was that I had friends from all over trek to Vegas for my party. Two old high school friends of my ex husbands came from Kansas City just to cook up some real KC BBQ.   Rusty, Neil, Mark and I go all the way back to the late 80's, for Mark even longer. Terry, T-Shane, also came in from Kansas City. I had another friend from Texas, one from southern Missouri and my best friend from college, Steve came in from Denver. Along with all my friends from Las Vegas I was surrounded by a houseful of people for an entire weekend. We had so many laughs, so much fun. I felt so loved. It was a great weekend with great friends.

Day 10 of 30 -- Songs I Listen To

2011-02-08T15:56:00.000+02:00

It's funny how music used to be so much a part of my life. I played piano and saxophone and I loved going to concerts. There was always music playing in my house. Since I moved to Africa there has been very little music. The only time I really listen to music is when I ride in Rwanda. I need a little encouragement tuneage after I get dropped!

If you scroll through my iPod, which hasn't been updated since I was back home last September, you will find an incredibly diverse collection. I listen to everything from country, to classical, to 80's hair (my fav) to Kid Rock and Linkin Park. What I am missing is new music. I am so far behind the times when it comes to what is current. You cannot buy songs on iTunes in Rwanda or Kenya and they have recently begun blocking a lot of the youtube songs due to the proliferate pirating of music and movies that goes on in Africa.

Songs do carry a lot of meaning for me. I need to get back to my love of songs and the sentiment they carry for me.

When I am riding Daughtry is always high on my play list, all the songs on Leave this Town are great riding material with the exception of September. That one brings back memories that are still difficult for me. That's a "skipper" for me, for now.

Cavo, a new band I was turned on to when I was home last I LOVE for riding, seriously hard core riding tunes. If I'm pushing up a big hill I put on Cavo and let the album shuffle. Linkin Park, Meteor also has the same effect.

Bon Jovi tends to be my happy/inspirational music. Live Before You Die I play over and over when I am having tough days in Africa, when I just want to come home to "easy".

You learn to love to live
You fight and you forgive
You learn what's wrong and right
You live before you die

I made mistakes I caught some breaks
But I got not regrets
There's some things I don't remember
But one thing I don't forget

When you're young you always think
The sun is going to shine
One day you're going to have to say hello to goodbye
Shout it out let someone somewhere
Know that you're alive
Take these words wear them well
Live before you die

I was playing this song over and over in my helmet riding on the back of a motorcycle through Tanzania this Christmas. As I looked at the amazing landscape, a country that truly epitomizes the "Out of Africa" view, I felt that I was living every moment and was so thankful for the things I have seen and done. Another Bon Jovi inspiration song for me is It's My Life.

This ain't a song for the brokenhearted
No silent prayer for the faith departed
And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd
You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud

It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive

.....You better stand tall
When they're calling you out
Don't bend, don't break
Baby, don't back down

I remember going through this tiny town in the middle of nowhere Tanzania and people along the road were all smiling and waving as the five motorbikes went through their town and I remember laughing as AC/DC Back in Black started playing. The irony.

One new song I recently heard that make me a touch sad, but also make me think about decisions in my life and living a life of no regrets and forgiveness and moving is Taylor Swift's, Back to December.

It's always amazing how one song can take me back in time instantly to a memory associated with that song. I can hear the start of a song and immediately be transported to 1988, 1997 or 2006. That is what I love most about music.

As sappy as it might be one of my favorite songs is David Cook's, The Time of My Life. I guess it has a bit more meaning to me because he grew up in a town not far from where I grew up in Kansas City. It always makes me smile to see people seize their dreams and live their life large!

Eight Hours at Schiphol

2011-02-07T12:26:00.000+02:00

I arrived at Schiphol Airport in Amersterdam at 5:15 this morning. After checking my emails thanks to an hour of free wi-fi (I have one iPhone, one Smartphone and my laptop so I've squeaked out 3 hours!) I figured I might as well check out the place since I have an eight hour layover.

I am not in Africa anymore. If you have plans to ever be stuck in an airport, may I suggest Schiphol Airport Amsterdam. This morning at 8:00 I had the most amazing breakfast of egg, fresh mushrooms, over the top flavorful cheese on top of fresh baked multigrain bread. Waiting for the dish I snapped a picture of the salad bar area already contemplating lunch. I tried to take a picture of the sandwiches. I don't know how one can be completely transfixed by a sandwich but I was. The chef was beginning to wonder what I was doing. Everything is sparkling clean and presentation and attention to detail and service extraordinary. I forget how the variety of food makes such a difference to the olfactory system which starts the saliva flowing.

After breakfast I walked through some shops and stumbled upon the lounge. Now this is an airport lounge. The only piano I have ever seen in Africa sits in the Serena Hotel in Kigali so when I see a piano I just want to sit down and play. I used to own a piano exactly like this....wow, times have changed.

This is the view from my chair, the most comfortable seat I've been in since leaving Rwanda....

This is an airport! I spent the last two hours curled up in this egg reading and watching people.

The view of my piano from the egg. I think I might just camp in the egg for the next two hours before my flight. Perhaps we could lobby the airlines to install "eggs" instead of seats. It would make travelers a bit less stressed and snappy. There is no stress inside the egg.

Switching gears....I just received a picture of Zulu, Kongo and Jambo eating breakfast this morning.

Zulu, Mr. 120 Pounds of Protective Love, watching the cat and the bird chow down. I told you he was special.

Day 9 of 30 – Something I’m Proud of in the Past Few Days

2011-02-07T09:28:00.002+02:00

I have been doing a lot of work on me lately. I am not the easiest person to be around at times. I am excruciatingly intense, focus and driven. I am opinionated and should I see someone doing something that hurts another one of God's creatures, human, four legged, flippered or winged I will not stand by quietly. I cannot. My learning has come in the approach. It has also been a release of past angers, slights and wrongs that I feel have been done to me or the people I care about. After daily reading of devotions, the Bible, Paulo Coelho and any other positive advice I could find I came to the point a couple of weeks ago where I realized I just had to let go. I released the death grip on the bar of old anger. There came a point where this feeling of calm enveloped me. It washed right over me.

I sent an email to someone who I had been frustrated with, hurt by and continuously haunted. I said it was time to move on and I didn't want a lot of back and forth I simply wanted to move forward. The feelings said and unsaid were destructive to both of us, all of us, and in the end most destructive to me. I was the one holding the bag of anger. I agree to disagree at times and will be a woman of high standards and good will. I have moved on. And I pray for a time when hearts have been opened on BOTH sides and things are not looked at from a viewpoint of manipulation or suspicion of motive. If something positive is said, it is very simply that, positive. There are no hidden meanings no secret agendas just a hope that somehow someway the rebuilding can begin and eventually continue. If it is not meant to be and there's some other lesson from God I am supposed to learn, I am up for that challenge as well. I know it will be easier since I won't be lugging oversize bags of venomous angry. My load is light, my heart is hopeful and my faith is in God to steer the outcome. Only time will tell, but I am at peace.

I have also reached out to two very good friends, well, used to be "very good friends". We have had our falling outs and our fights over the years but the three of us have been friends for over 20 years. There was a time I didn't talk to the friend who had been there for me, moved me half a dozen times and once even cross country. For the life of me I cannot remember why we stopped speaking. How sad is that? We reconnected at her dad's funeral several years ago, a man I greatly admired. Our lives have gone in radically tangent directions and we will never quite have the day to day fun we used to have but we are still friends. The third wheel in our circle is no longer speaking to either of us. I severed communication about 6 months after I came to Africa over why "I couldn't just live a normal life and be happy." Well, that is the million dollar question still. You don't have to agree with the paths I take in life but if we're friends we should support one another. I should have supported her desire to live life in a small town in Missouri and just have a very "normal" life. I don't know if this is salvageable but it would be a shame not to at least try, to at least get to a point where we can someday get together, have a drink and talk about all the fun we once had on our "Boondoggle" weekends.

This year, 2011, was supposed to be the year we celebrated our birthdays in style. We had dreams of going to Italy and celebrating two 45 birthdays and one 50 birthday. Our birthdays all come within three months of one another. Those days seem so far away as I type this from an airport in Amsterdam. I definitely am the one that went AWOL in grand style. Perhaps it would do me well to celebrate these birthdays in a small town in the Midwest, to remember where we all started so long ago.

Day 8 of 30 -- Short Term Goals and Why?

2011-02-05T21:44:00.000+02:00

This picture and the following story have nothing to do with my Day 8 Short Term Goals, but this is really much more interesting.

I love traveling through Africa on the back of a motorcycle and hopefully some day I will do it on my own bike. There is something about traveling through towns along dirt roads exploring areas that haven't seen commercialization or a "muzungu" in eons. I love the wide open spaces, the smells, the animals and the pure adventure of never knowing what lies around the next curve.

Recently, I posted a flyer at Jungle Junction in Nairobi, Kenya, a really cool camping/hostel/hang out place for overlanders traveling through Africa. Most of the travelers I met there were either on their way to Cape Town from Europe or vice versa. I met Europeans, South Africans, Namibians and even a couple from America. Most were on motorcycles and many of the women drove their own bikes.

Several weeks ago a woman from Germany, Siggi, emailed me to tell me she and her husband were coming through Rwanda. Their trip started 6 months ago in Germany and they have traveled from Egypt, through Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania and now Rwanda. Today they showed up in Rwanda along with another couple from Slovania, boyfriend and girlfriend each riding their own motorcycle. All of them had quit their jobs and committed to a year of exploring Africa. In my last post I talked about how much Africa has changed me. Africa is the last place that I know if on earth where you can truly have a great adventure. There is no place in America or Europe where you can do this and experience everything these couples have lived. I love the fact that at my house there are a couple of Americans, Max from France, two Germans and two Slovanians. And we all have one thing in common....our search for adventure and living outside the constraints of what is expected in the worlds we all left behind.

Some day I will travel the length of this continent on a motorcycle. So...that is my goal, perhaps not short term at least a year or more out, but a goal I aspire to live nonetheless.

Short term goals for me have lost their power. I write out my daily "to do" lists but really I simply want to live the moment I am in. About my only short term goal at the moment is to get healthy. I am still battling stomach issues, I believe it's a combination of parasite(s), caffeine and stress. I quit the caffeine five days ago and am experiencing a bit of relief, the parasites will have to wait until I get back to the US in a few days and the stress, that is a minute by minute task. I need to get back to riding which hopefully I will get in a bit when I'm in the US, however, I will be in DC, it's February, not hopeful. There is always the 30 day gym membership. I need to start working out again both mentally and physically. Fat I am not, healthy thin I am also not.

So tomorrow I will get in one more ride before I leave Rwanda and spend two days on planes and in airports getting back to the US. That's about all the goal work I am capable of at this point in time.

Day 7 of 30 -- A Picture of Someone/Something That Has Had the Most Impact

2011-02-05T10:31:00.000+02:00

I literally have thousands of pictures of places and people that have had an impact on my life, especially the last two years. The places I have seen, the people I have crossed paths with and the experiences that have enveloped me have shaped me into a much different person. I am no longer chasing the almighty dollar, reaching for that ever escaping goal of "success". I have learned to live simply, appreciatively and quietly. Make no mistake, I still have an enormous fire inside to right the wrongs that I see, to do everything in my power to give people a hand up in life, a shot at a better life mostly through the bicycle. However, Africa has changed me more than I ever could change Africa.

Two years ago when I landed here I had all the typical naive visions of what I was going to do to make things better, to "save the world". Two years later I have improved a few lives for a handful of people and ironically, saved myself.

As I am starting to look at the prospect of returning to the U.S. in April for an extended stay I am fearful. Life is so different here, so raw, there is no man made distractions. Will I end up falling into the trap of hiding among the "distractions"?

A typical day in Africa is a struggle to stay safe and healthy and you are thankful for the simple things, for electricity and water. In America a good day was closing a big sale, getting a big bonus check and celebrating with a good bottle of wine. In Africa a good day is having electricity and internet all day, a great day is having a hot shower after a ride that leaves you covered with dust and diesel soot. I am so thankful for so many little things. I am closer to my friends, friends I have met here in Africa will be part of my life forever. We have all gone through so much and had to rely and trust more than you would ever in America. I have learned to appreciate my friends back home for standing by me, for their support and encouragement. They make me realize how blessed I am.

Africa has taught me to be more aggressive than I ever thought possible, and that's a lot for me! At the same time I have also learned more patience than I could have imagined I had in my resources. What is funny is that the aggression and the patience can happen within minutes of one another and knowing when to employ each is the trick. Aggression serves one well on a ferry crossing the Zambezi having to exchange money with the tawdry money changers trying to give you 1,000 less Kwacha for the dollar. Aggression got the five motorbikes on the passenger ferry to Zanzibar, patience got us back to Dar es Salaam. Aggression is needed when changing money at the bank with 50+ people crowding around one desk all trying to do their banking with no visible queue. I walk confidently up to the desk, weaving through the crowd, slap down my passport with US dollars visible and off they go to grab my shillings, kwacha, or franc. Patience is keeping my mouth shut at the Rwandan Department of Immigration while I wait for one of the riders or Max's passport. That is a miracle in action.

Africa has changed me in ways I never imagined. I have become more thankful, calm, reflective and humble. Yes, humble. I'm humbled by the struggles and resilience of people like Gasore. I am humbled by the huge smiles and joy you see among people who truly have nothing. How can I possibly ever complain about anything ever again? I cannot.

Africa has also taught me to take risks, to leap and God will provide. As I was telling a friend here in Rwanda the other day, my life this next year is one big question mark. I have no job to go back to and no home. I will be couch surfing, house sitting and working hard to keep Team Rwanda afloat through a fundraising campaign I am entirely unprepared and unskilled to pull off. And I will do it all out of love for these boys because there is no money, money to pay me is money that could be used for a camp, a plane ticket to a UCI training center, or a new bike. I will survive. And at 44 I feel strangely calm about the whole year. My friend Amber said to me, "People like us will never really go back to "real" jobs again." I would have to agree.

Africa has been the biggest detour in my road of life. It is my road less travelled.

Day 6 of 30 -- Favorite Superhero & Why

2011-02-03T21:08:00.000+02:00

Wonder Woman...would there be any other superhero you would expect to be my favorite? I love Wonder Woman not simply for the super hero she is, but for the woman behind the super heroine...Lynda Carter. Wonder Woman of course is the super heroine capable of lassoing unsavory characters with her golden lasso and deflecting speeding bullets with her gold bracelets, which would be the perfect accessory for any outfit. But Lynda Carter is the real heroine.

She stood by her second husband during a five month trial in which he was acquitted of fraud charges. She found a dead body floating in the Potomac while out canoing one morning and she battled alcoholism addiction. She still looks like a million bucks at 59 and she is still acting, singing and performing.

Wonder Woman's alter ego, Diana Prince, was a nerdy assistant who continually worked her way up the corporate ladder to position herself to be at the right place at the right time needed for the assistance of Wonder Woman. Diana Prince was Wonder Woman just without the hot outfit and lasso.

I think there is a lot of Wonder Woman in all of us multitasking overworked ambitious women in the world. We all want to see the world, whether it's the small world of our families or for me, the larger world of Africa, better because we were able to fight the villians that make life more difficult for all of us.

Day 5 of 30 -- A Picture of Somewhere You've Been

2011-02-02T22:21:00.000+02:00

There is not one picture I can choose that would do the year proper of all the places I have been. When I was looking through all my photos what I realized was I had been to some of the most beautiful places on earth, ridden my bike in places I had only dreamed of and at the same time walked through the worst of the worst, places of complete despair with streams of raw sewage, places only in your nightmares.

When I visit places that leave me at the brink of tears because of their vast poverty I cannot help but wonder what went wrong in the world.

Places like Goma, the Democratic Republic of Congo...

...10 years removed from a major volcanic eruption that swept away half of the city, still in the midst of conflict and a country that is de-developing.

Goma, a border town where one of the sisters of a Team Rwanda rider goes to school in hopes of being a doctor some day...this is her school...

How many doctors have come from schools such as this?

I have also traveled to places simply breathtaking. Where everything seems so perfect...Italy

Dinner overlooking Lake Como....light years from the school in Goma

Could there be a more beautiful place to ride a bike?

I traveled through northern Italy into Switzerland where I visited the UCI Training Center. Hopefully this summer this will be Gasore's new home for a few months.

A trip back to the US to ride Highway 1 in Northern California on my new custom built road bike...

And then Kibera...Kibera the largest slum in sub Saharan Africa inside the city of Nairobi.

You can't even begin to imagine the contrast. One thing I know after walking through the streets of Kibera and Goma I have such appreciation for beauty, such appreciation for a ride through the streets around Lake Como in Italy. When you experience the worst places on earth you cannot help but be incredibly thankful and feel completely blessed to have the life you do. I just need to help the people in Goma and Kibera see the beauty in the world and know that they too may someday see places like Switzerland. Just like Gasore.

Day 4 of 30 -- A Habit I Wish I Didn't Have

2011-02-01T19:49:00.000+02:00

In high school I once researched and wrote an 11 page term paper the weekend before it was due.

I would do the homework due for the next class during the prior class lecture.

I always get my work done and have always delivered the best, however, it was often at the expense of sleep and the stability of my finicky stomach, where all my stress settles in and is eventually released.

My name is Kimberly and I'm a procrastinator.

I have been to a multitude of business/self-help/goal setting/time management seminars and the fact remains I work best under pressure and pressure is self induced by my love of procrastination. I have deluded myself into believing that procrastination actually focuses my ADD brain. The majority of the time I'm doing 15 things simultaneously. When I have to focus on one task I stray, mentally and physically, until the 11th hour. Then, the ADD forces subside and I become laser focused because my overriding attribute is fear of failure or doing poorly. The ADD partygoers pass out and Ms. Focus steps into the arena. The only reason, procrastination.

Part of the reason for this 30 Day Challenge is that when I promise to do something I will do it, especially something so dialed in like the next 30 days. I will write no matter the internet access, the travel schedule or civil war. Thankfully I'm not blogging from Egypt or Tunisia.

I may blog at 7:45pm or 11:57pm but it will be done.

So, is procrastination then really a bad habit if it serves a purpose for which it is was entirely unintended and the results are generally positive?

I think I'll keep it around for a bit longer....at least until the next deadline!

Random Sightings

2011-01-31T23:37:00.000+02:00

Every day when I am out and about traversing crazy town Nairobi I think about how I should be snapping some pictures of the things I see around me. It is so hard to put into words the things I see in Africa. Withing 20 feet I can see something so funny like the picture above...really, God is Able Clothing store? or see something so very sad....

This is a young boy passed out on the sidewalk along a major street into the downtown area. He's a "huffer", glue sniffer, cheap high completely scrambling the brain. His shoes are mismatched, he's filthy and he's passed out while people walk right past him.

At the end of the sidewalk where the "huffer" is passed out I meet up with this young man and his fashion forward orange plastic keds. Not only do the orange plastic shoes stand out like a casino sign in Vegas, but check out his toes. His shoes are so small they have his toes curled up like a prepubescent Chinese girl in the midst of her ritual foot binding.

I walk not only for the shock value but also to avoid this...Nairobi traffic. This is a good day. All of these photos were snapped in just 200 feet.

I have been up since 5:45 this morning, worked, walked downtown, jumped on a plane to Rwanda this evening and now am sitting in the Bourbon coffee at the Kigali airport waiting for the 1:20am flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to come in carrying Jock, Max and the Team returning from their race in Gabon. I got here at 7:30 this evening and Molly took the bus in from Musanze to keep me company....a true friend! We just had dinner at Khana Khazana, the one great restaurant in Kigali, and while killing time at the restaurant Molly explored her creative side with toothpicks and smashed up balls of rice....

11:30pm....two more hours, what more can I stumble across in one day? Hopefully, the guys cleaning the plexiglass ceiling tiles above us at the Bourbon coffee don't fall through.

Day 3 of 30 -- A Picture of My Friends and I...or a Few Pics

2011-01-31T15:08:00.003+02:00

I'm sitting in a janky internet cafe in the Kenyatta Nairobi airport. Can I just tell you how much I despise this airport?! The only good thing was the free internet at the Java House and lo and behold, in an effort to enhance the miserable factor of this airport they (the management according to the Java House grunt) decided to do away with it. Now I find myself setting in the corner of this little shop right next to the Coke machine blasting out hot air which adds to the already stagnant stinky feet, smelly pit air funk in this airport populated with people from all over Africa, all of whom have been traveling for way too long. I have to prop my leg up on the shelf to keep the keyboard for rattling as I type and for this privilege I get to pay 150ksh every 15 minutes. The smell of toe jam is free however.

So, Day 3 a picture of my friends and I. Well, here's the deal. The only photos I can access are on Facebook and frankly after reviewing them, mind you my connection is MAYBE 128k so I didn't see many, I noticed I don't have pictures with a bunch of people and me all together. At first I thought that was odd but then I realized that's really my M.O. I prefer the company of a few good friends than a gaggle of acquaintances. So, here are my buds....

First up, my sister Danielle. She is my best friend. We are very similar in personality, Type As, overachievers, adventurous travelers yet we are night and day different. She's much more reserved and I am not. If you're with us you would think she's older and not simply because I'm aging better. (I will not hear the end of that one). It's a maturity factor which I seem to be moving from 44 to 24 and she's moving from 35 to 45. Although we're nine years apart we couldn't be closer. I'm lucky that way.

Next up, if I can get the next picture to load before I pass out from the heat and aroma....Johnny Muzungu.

I never would have survived Rwanda without Johnny. He made me laugh when I wanted to cry and he always reminded me that tomorrow was a new day. The way I look at friendship and the test of who your "real" friends are, if your friend will bail you out of jail in the middle of the night or have you added to their bank account in the event they have to flee the country, that's a true friend. If they will sit with you in the dark when the electricity goes out for the 15th time and you're all alone in Rwanda, that's a true friend. I have missed Johnny so much. The White Rwandans (it's a drink he made up...Uruguayan vodka, powdered milk and Nestle Quik), the pub crawls the bike rides through the fetal alcohol syndrom forest and the nights overlooking the market with our boxed wine forges a friendship that will last an eternity. When I'm back in the US I'm meeting up with Johnny for a trip out to a farm in Virginia to inseminate cows. He has his own nitrogen semen freezer. What more could you ask for from a friend?

And then there's Molly. If you have to face a group of rebels in a DRC forest this is the woman you want to have your back. I don't have a lot of girlfriends because frankly I'm not very girl. I don't like to do girl stuff, shopping ranks right up there with my recent root canal. Molly is adventure woman. She is way more fearless than I am and always makes me feel like a wuss. In a good way. Molly is sarcastic and she speaks her mind there's no passive aggressive wondering what she thinks. No girl games. That's why we get along so well and beware the girly girl who enters our realm.

There are so many more friends and so many more pictures I wish I could give all of them the kudos they so deserve. It is not easy being my friend. I tend to drift in and out of people's lives especially in the past couple of years. I have been told I simply wear people out with my level of activity and go go go. However, my friends know this about me and they know how much I love them and that when we're even on the same continent I will reconnect. My best friend of college, Steve, who's known me the longest, my DMV friend, Lori Bean (check out her blog) and even my ex husband are my go to people still. They are the ones that will bail me out of jail no questions asked. Hopefully they will never have to get that phone call.

Day 2 of 30 - The Meaning Behind My Blog Name

2011-01-30T21:06:00.000+02:00

Vagabond Girl Adventures...I knew what I was thinking when I changed the name of my blog back in September after living a year and a half abroad. It used to be the "Amazing Adventures..." and I still have amazing adventures, however, it's now at a completely differently level.

Dictionary.com defines "Vagabond" as:

wandering from place to place without any settled home; nomadic: a vagabond tribe.

leading an unsettled or carefree life.

of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a vagabond: vagabond habits.

having an uncertain or irregular course or direction: a vagabond voyage.

I fit this definition at the moment. I am about to embark on a significant period of "homelessness". I own a car, a bike and can fit everything else I own in two large suitcases. When I leave Nairobi after my contract ends with WBR I will be staying with friends in Las Vegas, California, Utah, Aspen and housesitting for my sister for a month and a half in DC. I do not have a "job" other than helping raise funds for Team Rwanda after March. I am just going to see where this next phase in life takes me. I am wandering, but wandering with a purpose.

I really like the Wikipedia version of Vagabond:

A vagabond or “drifter” is an itinerant person. The word is derived from the Latin adjective vagabundus, “inclined to wander”, from the verb vagor, “wander”. It does not denote a member of a nomadic people, but rather an individual who follows a wandering lifestyle within a sedentary society. Such people may be called drifters, tramps, or rogues. A vagabond is characterized by almost continuous traveling, lacking a fixed home, temporary abode, or permanent residence. Vagabonds are not bums, as bums are not known for traveling, preferring to stay in one location.

"An individual who follows a wandering lifestyle within a sedentary society." I think I picked the perfect name for my blog.

I started this blog with a picture of Max and I at a border somewhere in Africa. I hadn't showered, everything I had fit in a side bag on a motorcycle and I was traveling 12 days through 9 countries on the back of a BMW1150GS with friends. To some this would seem excruciating, to me, it was the adventure of a lifetime.

Live Simply, Give More, Expect Less

A look at just some of the places life has taken me this past year...

Day 1 of 30 - Recent Pic & 15 Interesting Facts

2011-01-29T20:48:00.000+02:00

Day 1 of the 30 Day Blog Challenge almost did not happen. That would have been quite pathetic if I couldn't even make it through one day. It's Saturday night, 9:00pm in Nairobi and I'm blogging. Hmmm....I guess that might be an interesting fact.

I chose this picture for its recentness. I know that is not a word but it makes my point. This morning I was out mountain biking with my friend Andrew, a Kenyan named Joseph and my Johnny Muzungu of Kenya, Ed. Ed's Asian though so technically that would not make him a "muzungu", but in the eyes of rural Africans his skin is still "white". Ed had just gotten off a plane from Mali at 5:30 this morning and still joined me for a ride through the Kenyan countryside. Now, that's friendship. I love this picture because I love everything bike, especially riding it. I also chose it because I'm a true tomboy, always have been, always will be. And, in the background the boys are fixing their flat tire, actually Andrew's two flat tires. I was the smart girl running tubeless with Stans. I had time for pictures!

Although the mandate of Day 1 was "one" recent picture, I had to put this one in too since I was talking about mountain biking in Kenya. This is also from today. As I came shooting out from the woods and around a bend this vista appeared like a mirage in the desert. This is where I ride on the weekends. The Rift Valley. Not a bad set of trails!

So on to the 15 Interesting Facts (or at least perhaps not readily known facts, interesting is arbitrary)

1. I have a hard time with rules as is witnessed from the two picture post.

2. I believe in God. In the world today when everyone is so skewed by the onslaught of political correctness and fear of stepping out and saying what they believe in fear of offending someone, I have no such sense of skewness. I am a Christian I believe in God and I believe in the Gospel and thank God because I've had to repent for a lot of sins over the years. I believe that the Muslims have the right to build a mosque anywhere they please due to our Bill of Rights Amendment Uno, but I think any Muslim group who would build a mosque at ground zero is insensitive. I seriously don't think Allah would approve either.

3. I have very strong opinions and am not afraid to express them. See #2

4. I grew up playing the piano and saxaphone. Yes, I am proud to say I was a band geek. Some of my best times in high school was with the band.

5. I got the rule changed in the state of Kansas that stated Marching Bands could not compete in competition. I wrote a letter to the newspaper, garnered an onslaught of publicity and eventually they changed the rule in the state....after I graduated.

6. I worked to help pass a bill in the Missouri House of Representatives in 2001 which helped fund the State Missouri CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate). This group advocates on behalf of abused and neglected children in the foster care system in Missouri. I was a CASA in Missouri and Nevada for 15 years up until I left for Africa.

7. I love to cook. This is a fairly recent development.

8. If I could return to any decade it would definitely be the 80's. I miss my lion's mane hair, great hair bands and bad jeans.

9. I have no idea what I am going to do with my life after March.

10. I do something every day which I find scary. Makes me feel alive. I do not want to grow old and fearful. See #9.

11. I am a bookworm. I read everything. I especially like African history. Lately though it has been every book Paulo Coelho has written. Alchemist, Veronika Decides to Die, The Witch of Portobello...they all have lessons about life.

12. I rarely stay up past 10:00pm and am a lousy partier. I much prefer to go to bed early and get up early. I love early morning.

13. My best birthday was my 40th birthday. I don't know if I can ever top that weekend. I'd like to try. Great friends, food, fun AND I stayed up until 4:00am! My last big party.

14. I cry a lot since I moved to Africa. When you remove all the unnecessary distractions that take up wasted space in life, i.e., TV, and you have to face the quiet along with the assault on your senses of the vastness of the poverty and the need in Africa it taps into your core and shakes your soul. You cry.

15. I drive with "zeal". A few days ago I had to follow a group in my truck out into the field for an event at a school. It was 2 hours of driving through Nairobi traffic, slums, and 20km of dirt roads and I stayed with their two vans. When we all got out at this school in the middle of nowhere, one of the Kenyan girls in the van I was following tells me how impressed everyone was (two American women who founded the NGO and their Kenyan staff) with my driving. The girl said, "You drive with such zeal." I guess it's better than some of the other descriptions I've heard! Some days I even marvel at my ability to drive in this city.