Very recently I have noticed a seriously diminished ability to stop obsessing over things I see and hear and read in the news. I will not go into detail or rail about which side of the current political divide stokes my rage. Let's just say if you're not outraged, you're on the wrong side and leave it right there.

A side effect of this reaction is that my thoughts of rage often accompany me to places where they don't belong. They invite themselves in during the darkest hours of the night, they show up when I pass by houses of neighbors who choose to fly their ignorance from a flagpole. And they badger me when I'm faced with a hard workout on the indoor trainer.

Just recently, I had a long, challenging workout on my training plan that I wasn't exactly looking forward to doing. Long indoor weekend rides are just a reality of living in NEO, but they can be mentally taxing. For someone like me, who isn't overly fond of indoor riding, it's easy to bag a workout when it starts to grate on my nerves. This usually happens immediately before I decide that the workout is too physically demanding, which just makes me realize that my thoughts control my perception of 'too hard' way before my body decides when enough is enough. 

I made the mistake of doom scrolling on social media the night before my workout, and the horrible things that I read (from the fingers of people I used to like!) was festering in my mind. I found myself continuously having to pull my thoughts back from the spiral of disgust I had fallen into. I was literally thinking up responses to the hateful and misinformed comments I read the night before, even though I had no intention - zero - of ever engaging with the perpetrators through social media.  Although I have been practicing mindfulness strategies like meditation for long-term mental calmness, and visualization techniques in which I literally see myself swimming out of a turbulent river and watching the chaos from the shore, these don't help me when I need to short-circuit my mental chatter right now. 

The effect of my mental state on my workout was immediate and direct: the negativity loop was sapping my energy and will to continue. I felt exhausted and defeated physically, mentally, and emotionally. The worst part was knowing that I could have executed the workout as planned if it weren't for my inability to shut off the rage. I modified, then quit the workout early.

Frustrated by what happened, I contacted Dr. Scott Frey, a neuroscientist (and accomplished endurance athlete) who gave a talk at the 2023 Endurance Exchange about the brain and human performance. Scott owns Cerebral Performance, an organization that "leverages the science of brain endurance sports training  (BEST) to optimize brain function, reduce mental fatigue, and enhance cognitive resilience, allowing athletes to push through mental barriers and achieve peak endurance performance" (taken from the Cerebral Performance website).

I asked Scott if there was an immediate fix for my problem. What can I do on the fly to short-circuit the damaging thought process that is killing my mojo and making this workout impossible?

Turns out, he had the answer: Talk out loud to yourself.

The idea is brilliant in its simplicity: if you're talking to yourself out loud, you aren't able to hear (or create) a mental conversation that you can't completely control. It's like trying to listen to AM and FM at the same time - you simply can't do it. Your brain allows for one or the other signal input to process. It can process your thoughts, or it can process what you're saying/hearing - but it can't do both at the same time. So if you need your thoughts to shut the hell up, start talking out loud to yourself. 

I tried this technique on my workout this morning, and I can attest to its success! Of course, I didn't push the envelope by engaging in activities that are my  known triggers before I hopped on the bike, but I could see how this works. By engaging my brain differently, I was able to turn off the spigot o' shit that had derailed my weekend workout. And, as an added benefit, I found that I was a very good sideline cheerleader for myself during the tough sets of the workout!

If you're looking for a way to focus your brain on the task at hand, and away from the onslaught of distractions and mental diversions that have the ability to derail you - you might want to start talking out loud to yourself. 

Give it a try and let me know how it works for you.

And here's a link to Scott Frey's blog post describing how to use this technique to silence your inner critic:

https://cerebralperformance.com/silence-your-inner-critic-a-simple-brain-hack-for-confidence/

The Long Road

I had a rare chance to get out for a weekday long ride with my friend, Laura. We were inspired to ride a bit further than our typical distance after seeing the gals in our age groups at Hincapie Gran Fondo finish their 80+ mile rides looking strong and happy. What does it take, we wondered, to ride a challenging course like that, and finish strong?

The context of every one of my rides - and my blog posts, for that matter - is that of an "older" athlete. Although I'm still clinging to the waning months of my 50th decade, and Laura is in the Social Security range, we're still doing all the things we would do as if we were decades younger. We honestly don't think about our age at all (except for when we sign up for races that have age categories). Nowhere do we bring age into our race or event planning, just our ability and aptitude. 

And, sometimes, our curiosity. Because it's been a while since either of us has committed to a long and challenging ride, this was also a ride of discovery: how we would feel being on the bike for this long, were we prepared for all the hills on this route, would we put long rides back into our training rotation or would we do them only when necessary, or never again?

And just when did a 60-mile* ride become a "long ride", in my reality? I used to get out at least once a week to ride longer distances, most of them solo miles, all of them hours-long endeavors through the ups and downs of the Cuyahoga Valley. Long ride days were something I looked forward to, and they probably played a huge role in the fitness I enjoyed when they were part of my training habit. 

At some point, I fell off that wagon. Life brings constant changes, and almost imperceptibly I change with it. Job situations, new commitments, dynamic social environments all evolve, and our days evolve with them. The cycling-focused mindset that drove my lifestyle in the past has given way to a routine that is more inclusive of things not bike related. This is both good and bad. Good in that I have more things to talk about with more people than just my athlete friends. Bad because I don't remember how I was able to fit in all those group rides, solo excursions, and hard training days - and so I forgot how hard I used to work to maintain that lifestyle.  

One day, you're enjoying the ease of a strong body and the joy of movement as you breeze through the miles, the next day you're slogging up a familiar hill and wondering when the road will end. The tragedy of life, I'm finding, is the impermanence of the things we love the most. 

The long ride with Laura wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. To be honest, I didn't actually think I'd be able to effortlessly slip back into long rides without training for them, but I kind of hoped I would.  Anymore it feels like all I'm doing is desperately clawing my way back to where I was. Sometimes I wonder if  trying to reclaim 'the way things were' is even worth the pursuit. It's a lot harder now than it was back then. 

As we ticked off the miles and hours of our ride, I knew that 60 miles was enough for me that day. The last mildly uphill mile felt like a small mountain, and I was happy to roll into the parking lot to finish. High fives and smiles and a few selfies, and our long ride was successfully completed.

Later that day, after I had a chance to recover (coffee, short nap) and replenish (eat everything in the house) I was eager to schedule my next long ride day. I was also 100% committed to doing what I needed to do to be the rider who could, once again, pick up and go, feeling strong and confident and capable on the long road. 

Clearly, the "long ride" aspect of my athletic journey isn't over yet. There are still long (and longer!) rides ahead, and I'm willing to rise to their challenges. After today, I know what I have to do to bring my "A" game, and I'm determined to do just that. 

*60, not the 80 that we first considered after the Gran Fondo. 60 felt like a good place to start. 

The Mother of All Ouija Boards

I'm not the nostalgic type, but today would have been my Mom's 90th birthday.

I always hate when people say things like that. 'My Dad would have been 133 years old today', or 'Aunt Jane would have been making pierogis for Easter, if she hadn't wandered behind the tractor the day that Uncle Jimmy was backing it out of the barn'.

Also for the record: I'm not religious, I don't believe in the supernatural, and I know - just as sure as everyone 'knows' what happens after we die - that when you're dead, you're dead. The End. No knocks on walls. No secret messages played through the radio. Those 'angels' that you see when you take a video on your cell phone? Those are DUST PARTICLES darting around your house. You don't need an exorcist, you need a vacuum cleaner. 

So what, IMO, happens after you die? It will feel EXACTLY as it did all those years before you were born. Same thing, different side of the teeny weeny little slice of consciousness we call life. Remember what that was like? Of course you don't, and you won't know after you die, either. 

So why was I compelled to go into the junk closet in the basement, the one with all the things that I need to get rid of but just can't, for whatever reason? And why was I compelled to rifle through the old games and puzzles and pull out a Ouija board, of all things? I cannot tell you why. I just know that it's what I did, on this day that would have been my Mom's 90th birthday.

The thing about Ouija boards is this: when you get a group of people who are putting the teeniest bit of pressure on the little plastic triangle with the hole cut out for spelling purposes, there is some sort of energy that causes the thing to move. I'm not saying that there might not be some clown in the group that is directly responsible for the 'voices from the beyond' e.g. maybe deliberately or subconsciously moving the piece around the board to get to the 'answer' they want. And I certainly don't believe AT ALL that there is a presence from the otherworld guiding the hands to reveal a message. But what I do think is that the collective (will/apprehension/excitement) of the Ouija players allows for the thing (what's it called, anyway?) to move around the board as if by mysterious forces. Kind of like how my fingers often write words on paper, like this, that don't seem to come from my own head.

I digress. There was nobody home but me. There was no earthly reason for me to pull out the Ouija board, especially since I couldn't "play" it the way it was intended. You need more than one person driving. But I took it out of the box. Put it on the table. Put the plastic triangle thingy (I just learned it's called a "planchette". Look it up.) on the board, in the empty space between the letters and the numbers. I take a sip of my tepid afternoon coffee. I rested my fingers very lightly on the edge of the planchette. 

I waited.

As I waited, I thought about my Mom. At first, my thoughts went to those last few years of her life, the ones spent in a gradual decline in health, and ending with a last dose of morphine in a nursing home. I try to forget those years but their memory has burned a hole in my brain that can't be repaired. Those memories come up first, every time. 

Then I worked backwards. The years after my Dad died, before her Parkinson's diagnosis, when she lived alone in her little home, by herself, for almost 20 years. Stubborn and strong, she kept herself busy with anything she could. Volunteering, working part time in a church office, creating projects for herself. Eventually being a grandma - probably the thing in her life that she most cherished was being a grandma. My fingers tap the planchette. 

And before that: the fun years with my Dad, all of the family together. Road trips, day trips, teenage years, swim lessons, piano lessons, arguments around the supper table. Chaos. Life is noisy, messy, and loud - I've come to this realization only lately. Credit the screaming baby on the airplane. Loud and fussy = very much alive. Life is not meant to be quiet, or still. Still life means a bowl of fruit and maybe a dead goose in some oil on canvas from a bygone era. Inanimate objects on a flat canvas - this is not life! Life doesn't stand still, life is constant movement. The planchette still hasn't moved.

All those birthdays we celebrated. The cake, the off key singing. The cards and gifts. Celebrations of life, while we're still alive. 

I don't know what I was thinking, that I was drawn to this stupid board. I can remember my Mom without feeling the need to 'channel' her. I have photos I can look at, plenty of memories buried deep in the grey matter that will come out when I need them. She's always there, somewhere, when I need her. Like she always was. 

I take my hands off the planchette. Pick up my coffee cup and now it's room temperature. Mom always drank her coffee black.

The planchette moves. I stop mid-sip and see it slide it's way to the bottom of the board. 

"Good Bye"

Just Try: Preparing your mind to do hard things

The more the road tipped upward, the more I felt my willpower slipping away. Each pedal stroke felt like it would be the last one before I convinced myself that I had to stop, that I can't do this. I had been here before, after all, and the voice in my head that gave me permission to bail out last time was getting louder. 

Is it 'quitting', really, if I just stop for a moment, take a short break, and then hop back on?

Maybe not, but where is the satisfaction in overcoming a challenge when you end up throwing in the towel (again)? I had to remind myself I was - up until a moment ago - very determined to finish this climb without stopping. It was a driving force to return to this same place, to ride up this same road. I was craving redemption.

We train our bodies to do hard things. We generally have a good sense of what we're in for, and we prepare for it. What we're not so good at is preparing our thought processes to overcome self-doubt.

Mental skills training has become a hot topic for me lately. After attending the Endurance Exchange back in early January, and hearing what Dr. Scott Frey had to say about perception of effort, I find myself going down the rabbit hole.

This is not a new interest for me. I've been fascinated by how the brain controls so many aspects of athletic performance, and not just perception of effort. Motivation, willingness to do the work (some would say 'suffer'),  the things we tell ourselves during training and racing - all of it plays a critical role in outcome. And yet we rarely give mental training the same attention we give to our strength and endurance training.

The power of our thought processes to overcome difficult challenges is impressive, and undeniable. My good friend Jill told me that when the going gets tough (on the bike), she tells herself to JUST TRY. 

Many words can be written about how we're supposed to be able to swap in a positive thought (JUST TRY) when our brains are in the throes of overwhelming negativity (I can't do this). 

The simple answer is that it takes practice. Mental toughness and positive self talk are trainable responses - but rarely are they automatic. If you want to do hard things - and I do* - then you have to teach your brain to not put up roadblocks, or give you easy exit ramps. Start by changing the inner dialogue. 

When I knew for sure that this was the last possible pedal stroke, I thought of Jill's mantra and I actually said aloud (through my last dying gasps): JUST TRY.  It immediately shifted my mental focus from "I have to stop" to "Can I do this?" I wasn't sure if I could, but there was only one way to find out.

Will you try it? Will you fail? Will you succeed? I don't know. Only one way to find out.

___________________________________________

My friend and fellow Stelleri athlete, Pat Spencer, is currently working on a mental skills coaching program for women athletes. Stay tuned for more info when this becomes available. Also check out Pat's services through her mental skills coaching company website, Getting Your Mind in Gear. 

*It's been too long since I last rode the epic climbs of Death Valley, but there are plans in the works to change that, in just over a year from now. 

What I learned from a 30-day yoga 'challenge'

Laz brings his yoga props and shares my mat

At the start of a new year, all kinds of opportunities exist for establishing new behaviors.

The more popular 'challenges' typically revolve around alcohol, nutrition, or some exercise habit. I have no interest in any of those. 

I don't necessarily love anything that resembles, even remotely, a 'resolution' - especially those perennial ones. (Seriously, if you're my age and you're still making the same annual resolutions around basic healthy habits, you aren't being honest with yourself.)

And yet I found myself drawn to the 30-day Yoga Journey, an annual (and free!) daily yoga session from the fabulous Adriene Mishler (and her mat-mate cattle dog, Benji), offered every January. 

Why yoga, and why this? I've been an on-and-off practitioner of yoga for many years. I almost always find it to be just the thing my body needs on any given day - whether it's a stretch, or a balance hold, or a functional movement that my rather uni-planar lifestyle isn't accustomed to doing.

The operative 'almost' is what makes my yoga practice so sporadic. Like the time I took a class and all we did was chair pose. Or the 'lunchtime break' class that exceeded its time limit and made me late for an afternoon commitment. I expect to leave yoga with more 'zen' than I came in with, but that's not reality. 

In any case, the Yoga Journey gave me something different and new to do, and I am a firm believer that novelty is what keeps us from going out of our minds. I  know that shaking up my daily routine gives me the opportunity to think differently about how I move about my day, and that simple change can be the difference in my perception of 'good day' vs. 'bad day'. 

So I started every morning in January with yoga, and there are some things I learned along the way:

• I like yoga that only lasts 20 minutes or so. The shorter, the better. 
• Shivasana is over-rated. We didn't really do it, and I certainly didn't miss it. 
• I have really bad balance, particularly on one side of my body.
• I really, really have lost a lot of flexibility over the years, but that is about to change.
• Knowing that after yoga I will be making a pot of French Press coffee makes the Yoga Journey that much sweeter.
• If I can get on my mat expediently, I can have coffee sooner. 
• If I truly feel the need to learn Crow Pose, I have to work at it daily. Or I can be honest with myself (see above) and just give up and move on.
• Adriene's calm voice thanking me for giving up my precious time and energy to 'meet her on the mat' every day made me realize that my time and energy are precious - and limited. This epiphany helped me cut through the clutter, so to speak, and gave me strength to say "no" to requests for my time and energy that didn't serve me. I hope to remember this lesson for a long time.
• I can focus my attention, albeit temporarily, to my yoga practice in spite of morning chaos (otherwise known as Laszlo, see photo)
• I truly hope to continue a daily morning practice for the way it makes me feel grounded.

Wish me luck in my commitment to this practice. Or better yet, join me!

If you took the Yoga Journey, I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

What's old is new again - reclaiming bike love through the group ride

It had been a VERY long time since I last rode with an organized weeknight group. The reasons for my long stay away are so varied and complicated that it's almost painful to list them out. They include bits and pieces of real and imagined hurdles including competing priorities, lack of interest, frustration with group abilities and speed, shifting group alliances, the burden of leading group rides, other people's skittishness towards riding outside, and perhaps a touch of agoraphobia that started during the pandemic and lingered for way too long.

During this time, I told myself that it was better to ride solo, better to ride during the day (this is a newer option since I started working remotely), better to have the flexibility to change my intended route on the fly, or change my mind about riding altogether if I just wasn't motivated. 

But there was always this nagging feeling that I was missing something. I know that riding with a strong, fast group always had the power to make me stronger and faster. Riding with a group also instills the self-discipline that the years of non-group riding have eroded: when I commit to a group ride, I ride THEIR route, climb THEIR hills, go at THEIR pace. I don't have the option to change or shorten the route or take a sudden detour to avoid the hills. Having the group to ride with brings with it some accountability - to them, to myself. To be honest, my cycling fitness has been on the decline since the years since I last rode with a fast group - and without that fitness, it's not as much fun for me.

Last week, I decided that enough was enough. I put a gag on all that head noise that prevented me from joining the group ride, and I showed up for the ABC Thursday Night Fast Ride. (Granted, I started with the C+ riders, not quite ready to throw myself into the deep end, but willing to dip a toe back into these waters). The ride lived up to its name (the C+ group is not slow!), and I left that night with a satisfaction about riding that I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

That evening, after winding down, the endorphin glow (or was it my twitching leg muscles?) kept me awake. I thought about the old friends I reconnected with tonight, and the new ones I made through the power of shared experiences. I thought about how I was needlessly apprehensive about my ability to keep up with the group, and the camaraderie of the group that I didn't realize I missed so much. I though about all those years lost in trying to find my 'bike mojo', only to reclaim it once again in the simple act of showing up for a group ride. 

The outside ride season is ending in a couple short months, but maybe, by the time we finish for 2023, I'll be riding with the B's.

Antarctica: Those days at sea that drag on and on...

If you've been following my blog posts from my adventure in Antarctica (thank you!) you will have noticed that I'm not posting a chronological log of events, nor am I listing off the places we've been or the animal and bird counts. And you will have noticed that my posts have been sporadic, sometimes photos appear at a later time, if at all. This is because the data connectivity on the ship is rather expensive and limited, and it's spotty, and we don't always have a whole lot of time for things like quiet contemplation and blogging. What follows, then, are stories and photos that I wanted to post during the trip, but have ended up in the post-adventure pile where I have more space and time to write. I hope you will continue to enjoy these stories and photos, and I welcome your questions and comments.

What do we do when we're at sea all day? This trip consisted of 5 total days on the Drake Passage (2 and a half days in each direction between Ushuaia and the Antarctic Peninsula), as well as time at sea when we weren't able to get out for a landing or Zodiac due to weather conditions. We were fortunate enough to have a lot of off-ship excursions, but the time at sea can be quite the drag.

Jean Pennycook, Expedition Team ornithologist. Jean was definitely one of the highlights of this trip. 

What do we do when we're at sea all day? I can personally attest to being a little frustrated when I couldn't get off the ship. I mean, what am I supposed to do with myself, besides:

Look for whales and birds and other wildlife, update my journal, review my photographs, talk to other passengers, attend any and every educational presentation available, hobnob with the Expedition Team researchers and scientists and ask a lot of questions, nap, read, visit the Polar Boutique, drink a lot of coffee, tea, and cocoa, venture out on deck, as long as the weather doesn't prohibit, watch the sea with binoculars, write out postcards, go to the spa, sauna, hot tub, or gym*, peruse books and games in the Observation Deck's library, clown around, challenge our balance when the sea gets rough.

Let's hope we get off this ship soon before I lose my mind...

*The gym was a non-starter. The only time available to actually use the gym was when we were at sea, and I couldn't imagine trying to run on a treadmill or ride a bike when the ship was rolling and rocking through the Drake Passage. The very thought of it makes me nauseated.

Whale breath

Early into this expedition, we were taught to look for whales out at sea by watching for the blow of their breath. Expedition Team member Annie Inglis is a marine biologist, and she has a keen eye for spotting the spout from far off, and identifying the whale from the blow pattern and shape.

As we crossed the Drake and headed toward the polar region, whale sightings became more and more frequent, and they also got a lot closer to our ship.

There are so many whales here, humpbacks, of course, but also fin, minke, and pilot whales. We would see them cruising alongside us, ‘logging’ (sleeping at the surface) as we were anchored offshore, even witnessing a “bubble net” feeding. We recognized the humpbacks’ breathing patterns (3 breaths and then a dive), which was our cue that we would soon see a fluke as the whale dove deep (get your camera ready!). But the coolest experience was watching them from the Zodiac, where we were close enough to hear them breathe, sometimes using the sound of their breath to identify their position, and to follow and watch them do what whales do. Mostly it was them simply gliding gracefully by, hardly causing a ripple on the water as they swam right past.

Seeing these magnificent creatures in their natural habitat was a humbling experience,  and what a privilege for us visitors to their world.

From Glacier to Glass: “Ice Fishing” in Antarctica

During one of our Zodiac excursions, our pilot Justin and Expedition Team member Jean fished out a huge block of glacier ice from sea. 

This was no ordinary ice! Although there are blocks of ice and ice floes and icebergs all around us, there is one special form of ice that caught the eye of our team members.

From a distance, it looks solid black, as if a block of obsidian were floating on the water. But as you get closer, you realize that it is almost solidly crystal clear - the black is just a reflection of the water.

This is GLACIER ICE, the bits that broke off as the glaciers slowly chugged down the mountains and landed in the sea. Due to tens of thousands of years of compression, there is very little air entrapped in the solid block of ice, which makes it look like a hunk of crystal.

We hauled the block of ice into the Zodiac, and later it ended up at the bar to be used in very special cocktails that evening. It was delicious!

Antarctica: The Zodiac Experience

One of the highlights of this trip is the Zodiacs, the boats that take us from the ship to our land excursions, or to cruise around on the area near our anchor site. I’ve never been on a Zodiac before (I had a lot of ‘firsts’ on this trip - more on that later), and I was super excited to get on the water.

Each Zodiac fits 10 people plus the pilot. The first day at sea we were told what to wear on the Zodiac, and how to safely get in and out of one. It was, at first, quite a daunting process, but we got more efficient as the week went on.

First, what do you wear on the Zodiac? Since being on the water can be quite cold and windy, we’re told to layer up, and carry a dry bag for extra items (and camera), or if we want to shed layers. Many of the Zodiacs were simply a way from getting from ship to shore, which meant that you’ll probably be warm from walking around on land. Other times, we simply did a Zodiac cruise for an hour or more, so it’s best to wear all the layers.

We first get dressed in our cabin:

Bottom: base layer leggings, sock liners, wool socks, fleece pants, waterproof pants

Top: base layer top, mid-weight wool shirt, Quark-issued polar parka with waterproof outer layer

Balaclava, neck gaiter, Smartwool cap. Glove liners, over-gloves (I have polar-rated mittens), hand warmers. Sunglasses or goggles are a good idea, too, as is sunscreen.

After the first time donning all this gear, I kept all my Zodiac clothes in one place so I was able to simply throw on my ‘uniform’ and not forget anything. It seems that you get about 20-30 minute warning for gangway time, so you have to be prepared. Once your excursion team is called to the mud room, it’s a mad dash to get to your boots and life jacket and get in line to board your boat.

The Zodiacs are necessary because there are no ‘ports’ in Antarctica, so you need them to get to shore. Sometimes landing isn’t part of the plan, and in those instances we’re out cruising around the inlet, looking for seals and whales and penguins, and taking in the astonishing landscape from the level of the water. 

The pilots have a keen eye for spotting Antarctic fauna, and we would often speed up to where a whale was sighted, then cut the engine and just watch. Being so close to the hundreds of humpbacks (and pilot whales, and minkes) we saw on this trip is an unforgettable and moving experience.

66º33’

Sometime in early afternoon, what looked like a huge snow-covered mountain appeared on the port side of the ship. I thought for sure it was a mirage but, no, we were looking at Antarctica!

Everyone on the ship, it seemed, gathered on Deck 7. We saw so many whales: humpback, fin, pilot, and some seals and even a few penguins flying through the waves (they look like fish leaping out of the water). As we got neared to the Antarctic Circle, icebergs dotted the sea and it was magical. 

There was a huge celebration and everyone was having a good time. Passengers mugged for photos outside, and inside the observation lounge we had hot cocoa with Bailey’s to toast our journey into the polar zone. King Neptune and his mermaid servant made all of us pay homage to him: we had to kiss his fish and then he poured water over our heads to commemorate our rite of passage into the southern circle.

We stayed on deck for hours, enjoying the moment with our fellow passengers and our great fortune to be in Antarctica.

We are told that there is still an opportunity for a Zodiac excursion today. I am excited to get off this ship and I’m ready to start exploring Antarctica.

Crossing the Antarctic Circle

Woke up to the same featureless sea we’ve been crossing since Friday night, but today, the sun is shining and we know that we will be in ANTARCTICA by this afternoon!

We were all out on the open Deck 5 observation area early, but we didn’t see much except for a few birds and some whale blows. 

The morning routine while at sea is: breakfast, some sort of presentation on topics of interest to Antarctica explorers, short break, another presentation, lunch. The first talk was on pinnipeds, and Annie taught us how to identify the types of seals we’re likely to see this week: crabeater, Wedell, Southern fur seal, leopard seal, and elephant seal. 

Later, Expedition Team member Jean taught us how to identify the penguins we should see on this trip: Adelie, Gentoo, Chinstrap, Magellenic, Macaroni, and if we’re really lucky, King and Emporer.

After lunch, we were told that we would be crossing the Antarctic Circle at 3:30 PM! 

Signing off until we got to 66º 33’

Drake Passage: 2 days at sea

We have been at sea now for 2 days, and counting. For some reason, I don’t remember the itinerary indicating this many days at sea - I probably glossed over that part of the brochure to get to the good stuff.

The Drake Passage is notorious for rough seas. It’s a place where 3 oceans - the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Southern - all come together in a contest to see how much chaos they can inflict upon passing ships. We are told that the Drake runs the gamut of two extremes: the relatively calm ‘Drake Lake’ and the more terrifying ‘Drake Shake’. We are somewhere closer to the Drake Lake version, but its enough rocking and rolling for me.

The days at sea are both action packed and painfully long. It has taken me a while to get my ‘sea legs’, but I do think it’s better than the first day aboard the ship. 

Quark lists out the day’s schedule of events, which includes everything from mandatory meetings (how to safely get in and out of the Zodiacs, parka and boot fittings and instruction), and talks given by the Expedition Team (the Quark team, not my friends and I who have been referring to ourselves as Expedition Team, too). 

The Quark team is an enthusiastic, knowledgeable group of scientists and historians who are ready to enhance our experience. We’ve had a lot of good conversations with Jean, our ornithologist, and Annie, our marine biologist who has a wicked eye to spot even the tiniest dolphin splash in the wide expanse of sea in front of us, at dusk. We’ve gone to presentations about Antarctica bird life, Cetaceans of the Southern Ocean, and the History of Antarctica Exploration. One of the team gave a talk last night about marine superstitions, which taught us to never whistle on the ship, or use certain words like ‘rat’ and ‘rabbit’. We are in 100% compliance with these instructions. 

We found out that there are inflatable kayak excursions available through a lottery system, so Matt and I put our names in the hat and we found out today that we secured a spot on one of the paddling excursions. 

Now all we have to do is get through the rest of these days at sea so we can finally get to the Continent. 

We were told that we should be seeing icebergs sometime soon. They run a contest where you guess the date and time you think the first iceberg will be sighted. I guessed that it would be today (Sunday, Feb 19) at 5:30 PM. I will be a lot happier about being on this ship once I see some sea ice. That will indicate we’re getting close!

Leaving for the 7th Continent TODAY!

 Ship Day!

Embarkation Day!

Adventure Day!

The Expedition Team hasn’t quite decided what to call this day. We’ve been waiting soooooo long for this day to arrive that we may as well call it “Finally!”

Here’s today’s schedule:

Breakfast at Hotel Los Acebos

Drop off bags at 10:00 AM

Get picked up by Quark team at noon, go to Albatross Hotel in Ushuaia for check in on our ship

At 3 PM, head over to the pier where we will board a catamaran that will take us to World Explorer.

Not sure what time our ship will eventually leave port, but as long as all goes as planned, we will be at sea this evening. 

Ushuaia: The End of the World

Coming into Ushuaia was like stepping into a world previously known only through ads for mountain climbing gear or adventure travel guides. Dark, dramatic clouds with breaks of sunset, towering snow-capped mountains right up against the placid inlet. Seaside town crammed with colorful, weathered buildings. The wind was whipping up and a light snow was falling. Huge contrast to Buenos Aires, but the cold is refreshing. It was hard to contain our excitement. 

We rode through “downtown” Ushuaia and up, up, up a snaking road where all the resorts seem to be located. Hotel Acebo is high above the cove, with panoramic views of the inlet and surrounding mountains. From the window of my room, I can see the ship docks and there are a few cruise ships getting ready to set sail. As tired as we all were, it felt right to have a celebratory drink at the hotel bar, just so we could linger over the late sunset (it’s summer here, after all) watching the snow fall and the ships leaving out of the Beagle Channel for points south. 

I slept like a rock, and awoke to sun pouring in and that stunning view. We met for coffee and breakfast at the hotel’s wrap-around windowed dining room, enjoying the snow and sunshine and the local food and knowing how lucky we all are to be here.

After wandering up the mountain road a bit to enjoy the stunning day and clean, crisp air, we took a shuttle into town for the afternoon. We wandered around the port, explored some of the commercial streets, popped into fun and quirky shops. Took a lot of photos. The sun is full out and it feels delightful. 

By the time we got back to our hotel, my legs were tired and all I wanted to do was kick off my shoes and put my feet up. But that wasn’t going to happen: Jackie saw on her cruise ship watch app that our own ship, The World Explorer, was coming into port! We grabbed our binoculars and watched as our “home” for the next 2 weeks made its way up the Beagle Channel to the port below us. 

From our (now) usual spot at the bar, we toasted another amazing day and we’re all ready to get on with this adventure. Tomorrow we’ll  have time for some last minute Ushuaia sightseeing before we have to board the ship for an afternoon departure. I will take advantage of the time to enjoy my last opportunity to use my “land legs” for the next couple of weeks!

En route to Antarctica - First stop: Buenos Aires

Overnight flight from Atlanta, got into Buenos Aires this morning. It’s hot here - and I’m dressed for something closer to Antarctica weather.

We arranged a tour of BA, since we have time before our afternoon flight to Ushuaia. Our guide, Matias, and his driver picked us up from EZE airport and showed us around some of the highlights of central BA. We learned some Argentine history, both past and recent and, in face, Matias warned us that our drive into central BA would take longer than expected. Demonstrators have taken to blocking the busy highways lately to protest power outages that left residents sweltering in the record heat. In the 100 degree temps lately, people were understandably upset.

Argentina seems to have had more than its share of political unrest over the past couple of centuries, and its ongoing. Inflation here is nearing 60%, with some predicting it to go as high as 90%! Matias says inflation has been a part of everyday life since he can remember. Government corruption and widespread mistrust of the government in general seems to be a problem with no end in sight.

We made a few stops including the Boca neighborhood, with its heavy Italian and artsy influence, walked around the central plaza and popped into the cathedral that the current Pope, Pope Francis, resided as archbishop. We finished our tour at a famous must-see cemetary, where the mausoleums created streets like cities of the dead. Lots of Argentina history buried here, including Eva Perone. 

We asked Matias a lot of questions about life in BA, and tourism and if this is what he does for a living. He admitted he was also a musician, and we made him stop at a local park to give us a sample of his musical talent. For a quick 3 hours to spend here, we had a very interesting and satisfying mini-tour!

Our tour ended at the AEP airport, where we will board our flight to the southernmost tip of Argentina, Ushuaia. We’ll spend a couple of night in Ushuaia before boarding our ship to the Antarctic peninsula on Friday.