this is not my beautiful trail

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This blog has been very difficult to write. Not because of emotional content, but because I keep closing the window that it’s in, and it doesn’t auto-save. Maybe the universe doesn’t think that it’s a good one, and keeps wanting me to start over. However, I owe Paulo Guillobel at the awesome https://www.guillobelbjj.com/ a shout out for his hospitality, and it’s overdue! 

This one is going to be pretty light on Pacific Crest Trail, because we’ve been hanging out for a rest weekend in Dana Point. We got new boots for Jen, finally! Now, she just needs to soak her feet, let her blisters heal up a little, and let me eat some sushi and do some Jiu Jitsu. Which I did. At https://www.guillobelbjj.com/. 

We pulled into this little beach/harbor town on Friday, and I frantically looked for two things. Sushi, and Jiu Jitsu. Stuffed my face with fresh fish from this little hole in the wall, skipped the sake, and grabbed my gi for open mat. No instruction, just some of the students hanging out, rolling for fun, and I got that easy, flow roll I didn’t get on Monday. Another older purple belt and I spent about ten minutes just having fun, grabbing submission attempts, sweeps, passes.

I know it seems a little weird, but this kind of slower, half-assed roll is where I learn the most. Not fighting for every inch let’s you really feel what’s happening, and see the consequences of your choices, and counters, and all that human chess stuff that this sport is all about. I had some other, more intense rolls, with lower belts of course, and had some really good battles with younger, more athletic people who were slightly more intent on ripping my arms off. All in all, a nice Friday evening. I grabbed a poke bowl and a sake, and headed home, where Jen was soaking her feet, eating a pie, and watching Rue Paul. 

I headed back the next day for class, taught by the Professor himself. In BJJ, Black Belts are referred to as Professor, not Sensei, or Master, of SiFu. Instructors that are not black belts are called Coach. I don’t know why, but at least I didn’t have to learn to count in Portuguese. Until today. 

Paulo Guillobel is a badass. And Brazilian, and his guys can count to twenty in Portuguese, which is what they speak in Brazil. It’s close enough to Spanish so that I knew it was happening, but not close enough for me to join in. The guy obviously knows his stuff, which is great, and you can see by the huge number of stripes on his Black Belt. They’re like rings on a tree, but they’re for every two years, not one.

 

So,this guy has been a black belt for longer than I’ve been training, by a factor of about two. Of course, some guys are great at doing, but they can’t teach or explain what’s going on. Not so here, he’s got a real sense of how to coach and explain things. We worked on some Judo style throws, and he had some really good insights. My Judo still sucks, but maybe it sucks a little less, and I’ve got some stuff which I can use to work on when I train the take down part of my game, which is whenever I am forced to. 

We then went into a standing guard break series, where you stand up in someones’ guard, and instead of hurting your back or getting swept, you actually break the guard and pass. The key takeaways, and I’m trying to remember as best I can, is to create a different angle, and to really focus on the leg the is being attacked. It’s complicated, but I’m leaving this here as a reminder for myself. I hate learning awesome things only to forget them the next day. Ugh, that’s part of training in a sport that is endlessly creative and dynamic. Rote memorization of a few moves is not going to get you anywhere It’s also why a guy can keep training for decades, and keep getting better, like that guy above in the white gi.

I even had a chance to roll with Professor, which was amazing, in the way that you can appreciate how little you know and how much better your opponent is, and really how effective it is in kicking your ass. Plus, his style is very much what I want mine to be. Slow, methodical, subtle. He makes constant little changes to his angles which have big effects on the pathetic little things I’m trying to do. Every defensive move I made seemed to only make things worse. I bump his mount, he gets further under my arms. I try to turn, he moves under my shoulder, trapping me further. I try and shrimp, he gets a better angle on my arm, which until recently I thought was pretty well hidden, but now seems very, very vulnerable. And which is now being slowly moved into an armbar, to which I’ll tap to shortly, 

One of the great things about Jiu Jitsu is that you get to interact and train with the luminaries of the sport in a way you don’t get to in other endeavors. Unless you pay a lot in some charity auction, you don’t get to share the court with Michael Jordan, or play catch with Joe Montana. Sorry, I know those guys have been retired a while, but I don’t watch much ball and stick stuff, and I didn’t want to research who was famous in those sports. 

But you get to get on the mat, and try your pathetic, hopeless best against world champions pretty frequently. For $20 bucks, which covers instruction and your mat fee. How cool is that? 

With all this Jiu Jitsu goodness, and fresh fish and tacos and ocean views, it was a little hard to wrap it up and head back into the mountains, but they were kicking us out. Plus, I left my trailer in Barton Flats, and eventually the raccoons, aka the hobos of the woods, would break in and burn it down, so we had to hustle back up. Plus, Jen, while reluctant to give up her pie and couch, has a trail to walk, and she really wants to do it. 

We got back up, where it was threatening to snow again, packed up the still raccoon free trailer, and drove to mile 250, where our little hero began her long march to Canada anew. I duct taped her feet, just in case, shoved her out the door, and turned around, this time headed for Laguna Beach. 

She seems to be doing just fine, btw. She just charged a Chinese Food lunch to the card in Big Bear. That means mile 265 or so. I’ll meet her again at Mile 325, where hopefully she’ll tell me all about how awesome her new boots are, and maybe how I was right about those damn leather monsters all along. 

BJJ Brown Belt Promotion

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Brown Belt Promotion. May 6th 2017, My brother promoted my other brother and me to BJJ Brown Belt. After years of training I am a Brown Belt  

I started my BJJ journey in 2002. Just after getting beat in a tough man contest by a person that knew Jiu Jitsu. One of my marines who I did Marine corps Marital arts with told me about this place down the road from my base. I attend a class and fell in love. I started going 2-3 days a week. And in those days your a white belt you were the practice dummy and didn’t really learn anything except how to tap. 

For the next 10 years I bounce around all over training anywhere and with anyone. Every city, state or country I was in I would try to find Jiu Jitsu. We trained in the dirt, in the sand or on the concreat. As long as we were rolling I was happy. In 2010 I deployed to Haiti for the earth quake relief. Even there I found a Gracie Brown belt to roll with in the dirt. Between protection new agents we rolled. 

I found me self in austin Texas. Where I bounced around to gym after gym. Finally finding my now Brown Belt brother Brandon. Who introduced me to my brother, business partner and Professor Mikal. We all met at a bar because we we all training a couple of amateur MMA fighters to get into the cage for the first time. We spoke and we all were on the same page and wanted a place where we felt at home. A place with no political agenda. And no BS. At that moment is where we started our first gym Aces. We met at my house  put a couple 6’x6′ purple mats on the ground in my garage and rolled. 

 

A few few months later we open our first club. The country Club of BJJ. A place we’re you walked in and left your ego at the door and you were family. White belt to black belt you are one. And we are all there to help each one of us grow. 

 

Now almost 4 years into our journey. We are the same. I am a brown belt, Brandon is a brown belt promoted with me. And mikal was promoted to black belt 2 years after we opened.  

I still travel all over for work and you will see more blogs about my travels. 

Clevey Williams Visit -5/5/17 – Newman WA

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We were lucky enough to be graced with a visit to Newman from a good friend of mine Cleve Williams. I met Cleve around Feb 2009 on one of my training trips to the Submission Factory in Perth Western Australia. At the time Cleve was a Purple belt and had just returned to training after having some time off.

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Saying Goodbye

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Hello again all! I hope everyone who attended the Caribbean Globetrotters Camp had a blast; I was incredibly jealous! I’m less than a week away from embarking on my USA Jiu Jitsu Journey, and I can’t imagine how I can get any more excited!

 

On a more somber note…

 

I graduated college this past Saturday with my Bachelors degree in Geology. Woo! Although this day brought feelings of joy and pride I’d not felt before, it also brought something incredibly sad. This past Friday, I had to say goodbye to my home away from home: Oneonta Jiu Jitsu Academy. This tiny, tucked away, “Never Back Down”-esque gym was the gym I began my jiu jitsu journey at, and I’ll forever be thankful for the guys and gals of OJJA for the past four years. I figured the best way to pay tribute to my crew of killers would be to share the story of myself and OJJA. So here goes…

 

I first walked into Oneonta Jiu Jitsu Academy when it wasn’t OJJA. Originally “Infinity Jiu Jitsu”, this gym arose from a small crew of killers out of a Tae Kwon Do studio in Oneonta, New York. This crew was led by Matt Martindale, who was a blue belt at the time. Martindale, along with his following of dedicated students (shout outs to Wyatt, Ryan, Anthony, Harley, Ben, Genista, Justin, and Callagy), eventually outgrew their shared TKD mat space, and decided to open up their own school. All it took was a dilapidated basement space under a real estate office, some elbow grease, and dedicated students to turn this…

 

Before

 

into THIS:

After. Future NoGi Pans Champ Ben Dixon pictured.

 

In late September of 2013, Infinity Jiu Jitsu opened its doors with a seminar/promotion by Tai Kai/Team Balance Black Belt, Dennis Sugrue. Matt Martindale received his purple belt, and the first crew of OJJA blue belts were christened! In the time I’d train at this school, I’d watch Matt get his brown belt, Wyatt get his purple, and these blues all get their purples as well.

 

As luck would have it, I’d step into the Infinity Jiu Jitsu doors roughly a week after their opening. I remember hiking a mile up the road to the gym, a walk I’d repeat dozens upon dozens of times for the next two semesters, only to find the door tucked away down a slightly sketchy driveway. I cautiously, but excitedly, walked in the door and was greeted by Matt, the instructor. We briefly talked about my experience with jiu jitsu, and I mentioned my older brothers. I but on my shorts and athletic shirt, and stepped onto the mats for the first time of many. Years later, Matt admitted his first thoughts of me:

 

“When Mike first started, I assumed he’d be this annoying college kid who’d be gone after a few weeks.”

–Matt Martindale

 

Little did he realized that I dove in, rather headfirst. My first class involved learning a basic butterfly guard pass… before I even knew what butterfly guard was. I felt so bad for my drilling partner. Justin, if you’re reading this, sorry for headbutting you when I dove for the underhook. 

 

And that was only the beginning. It became apparent to everyone in my life that jiu jitsu was taking over my life. I’d be in the gym four days a week, and when I wasn’t? I’d be looking at BJJ videos on YouTube. 

 

Favorite Memory

This is a tough one. I can think of so many unforgettable memories from OJJA: Popping my IBJJF cherry at NoGi Pans 2015 (I lost first match, but spent the whole day watching my teammates succeed), receiving my blue belt after an exceptionally hard belt testing along with some of my best friends, Saturday NoGi hour-long rolls, getting brutally hip tossed into the floor by white belt Tyrell, etc. But if I had to choose ONE moment… I’d go with one of the most recent: our first Purple Belt testing. On April 22nd, OJJA hosted a massive belt testing in which our first crop of blue belts got promoted to Purple Belt. The energy in the room as my brothers, the guys who’d been beating me up for months-years, struggled through the final phase of the test, was palpable. I’d just received my third stripe on my blue belt, but that didn’t matter. As the beat of our hands against the mat reverberated through the room, I felt proud. Proud to be part of my team. Proud to have trained with these men. Proud to have been able to sharpen my skills alongside this crop of eventual black belts. It was inspiring, and you bet I shed some man tears.

 

What I Learned About Myself

That’s a tough one. I really believe that I am a completely different person since I began training at OJJA (for the better, of course!) That said, when I think about what I learned most about myself is my love for teaching and coaching. I didn’t realize this until the start of my second to last semester of college; August 2016 or so. I returned from a summer of jiu jitsu and climbing, eager to rejoin the ranks and get back into the swing of training with my home gym. It’s important to mention that, while I was home from college for the summer and the winter, I continued training at a gym not too far from my house. In fact, I mentioned this gym in my first blog post as the gym my older brother, Dan, started training at. This school is now a Tony Passos affiliate, and anyone who has trained with Tony Passos knows that he’s very concept-heavy. Fewer moves, more concepts. This was invaluable to my growth in jiu jitsu, and I’ll talk more about this in a later post. For now, I’ll say that, upon returning to college last semester, my experience at both gyms, combined with my place as a higher ranking blue belt, led a few white belts seeking me out for tips and tricks. They’d ask about particular armbar setups I’d been using, open guard concepts, how to stay heavy on top/escape from bottom, etc. I didn’t hesitate. This “coaching” (a term I use loosely) status continued to grow throughout the semester, and I found myself coaching many of my teammates in tournaments over the last few months.

 

In February 2017, I had a superfight for Global Grappling League up in Ithaca, New York. The fight was at night, but during the day a tournament was held. Before the event, Matt asked me if I’d be willing to help coach the guys competing at the tourney. Again: didn’t even hesitate. To my surprise, I ended up coaching every competitor of ours that day, with all of them making the podium in one way or another. I’d never really felt that type of pride until then.

My crew of easily coachable teammates. Loved the feeling of having them listen to me, and respect me enough to take my advice to heart!

 

A few weeks later, one of the seasoned white belts, Jude, asked me to coach him at the upcoming NAGA Albany tournament. This was an honor. Jude and I have always had a strange relationship; him being a high school junior, he always has some form of sass to sling my way. He’s a 10th Planet Fanatic; he actually ran into Keenan Cornelius in the bathroom after his loss to Gordon Ryan at Grappling Industries, and ACTUALLY ASKED HIM, “Hey, that was a really great match. Why didn’t you use more rubber guard?” Need I say more about his 17 year-old sassiness? I, on the other hand, am an open guard, gi-oriented jiu jitsu aficionado. So, to have my sassy teammate request me to coach him was a big deal. I spent the whole day coaching him: warming him up, coaching from the sidelines, drilling beforehand, etc. He took Gold in the Gi and Silver in NoGi. 

@JudeJitsu rocking his gold medal and 10th Planet sign. We had some choice words about that sign, and we sure made him pay the following Monday during rounds.

 

Competing

On the subject of coaching, I need to briefly say how training at OJJA really changed my outlook on competition. I was never the most athletic kid in high school; I powerlifted, but hated organized sports. I never would’ve imagined that at 21 years-old I’d been winning blue belt superfights, competing on an international scale, coaching teammates, etc. I came to love competition at Oneonta Jiu Jitsu. I truly believe that competing in jiu jitsu, while not for everyone, is an invaluable part to growing in not just jiu jitsu, but in life. 

 

Dedication

Training at OJJA taught me the invaluable skill of dedicating myself to something fully. I was lucky enough to have training partners who called me out when I missed a day of training. I hope to find a gym someday that creates this type of atmosphere where everyone holds each other accountable for their goals!

 

What Did I Love Most?

Honestly? I loved how unassuming our gym was. To anyone on the outside, it’s a nitty and gritty. But to us? It’s home. Not only is it home, but we tear it up on the competition scene from this home. Ben Dixon, a new purple belt, took Gold at NoGi Pan Ams in 2015. Chris Callagy competes in more or less every tournament he finds. Harley Davis, through his connections with Grappling Industries, has paved the way for OJJA and their relationship with the budding organization. Jude tears up grown men in the adult division as a teenager. We’ve got medals from more or less every tournament scene in the Northeast hanging from our rafters, and belts hanging everywhere (NAGA, IBJJF, GGL, Newbreed, Grappling Industries, etc.)

 

Just a small part of our “Wall of Experience”

 

Special Thanks and Shoutouts

I’m not sure if they’ll read this, but there’s a ton of people I could thanks for getting me to this point. Without OJJA, I wouldn’t be writing this post for BJJGlobetrotters. I’d never have gotten sponsorships, superfights, medals, and, most of all, the confidence to be comfortable with discomfort. Rolling and training and drilling with everyone at OJJA has made me the man I am today, and I can’t imagine my life without it. 

 

Matt: Thank you for coaching me and teaching me for these past four years. You’ve built an amazing community at the gym, and we wouldn’t be anywhere near what we are without you. 

Wyatt: Thank you for exposing me to, and challenging me with, the NoGi side of jiu jitsu. I’ll take your wresting wisdom on my further endeavors. Sorry I never got to do that magic show!

Harley and John: Thank you for taking me under your wings during my first few months at the gym. Having training partners like you is why people stick around. 

Ben and Tank: Thank you for challenging me. Plain and simple. I had my hardest rolls with you two. 

Croteau and Yuri: My blue belt brothers. Croteau, I’ll miss your bald-man commentary and our backhanded compliments. Yuri, I’ll never, EVER miss your leg locks. 

Jude: Keep training, fill my shoes.

Leonardo: You’re gonna go far, my friend. Keep training and get those blues!

Heather, Felicia, Christine: Thank you for always rolling with me, even though I’m like a puppy who doesn’t know his own strength. You guys are the core of our female presence at the gym. 

To Oneonta Jiu Jitsu Academy: Thank you for the laughs, the frustration, the pain, the injuries, the bumps and bruises, the memories, and the like. Thank you for being there when I was having panic attacks at midnight and needed somewhere to go relieve the stress. Thank you for being my family. I love you all!

 

 

My crew; spy my bald head! This was taken after the Purple Belt Test last month. This was the last time I would ever receive a promotion from OJJA. Love these people!

 

The last class crew. Definitely a bunch of people missing, but doesn’t change a thing. Love these guys. Thanks for the memories, fellas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Competing in RIo

/in /by

I saw an add in Facebook about a competition in Rio, short after I signed up for it, because I wanted to compete her in Rio. First obstacle, I could not pay when I signed up and because of my lack of any Portuguese I had no plan about the payment I just read something about bank. That is why I asked someone in the Gym, he told me I can pay it at a shop in Copacabana but it has to be today. I went there and paid my fee, so I was listed in the athletes list of the competition.

 

So far so good. I checked my weight on a scale in a pharmacy and it looked fine.  We went there, I changed, I stepped on their scale, was 1 kilo to heavy and I was like: What the fuck, I was never that heavy in my life how could that happen. Could not loss 1 kilo in this time, a friend of me speak with the head organiser, they let me do a friendly fight against another competitor. At least I had at least a fight, but still I was pretty upset about myself, never happened to me before that I could not make weight.

Anyway my fight was okay, lost by 2 points because when I pulled guard in the last 15 seconds he kicked my leg. Obvious not my tournament at all but you learn always something if you step on the mats or this time if you step on the scale. 

Now back to training and improving for the next one.

And then it snowed……

/in /by

I wasn’t going for a cliff-hanger, I was having technical problems with the blog. The guys at BJJ Globetrotter who generously host the blog were off doing Jiu Jitsu, surfing, and running a week long BJJ and surf camp. I’d love to go and do one of those one of these days. Maybe, after all of this hiking and watching Jen hike is done, she’ll feel obligated and let me go. Or, as usual, I’ll just go, and she’ll gladly have some time off to watch trashy T.V. and have popcorn or pie for dinner. 

But it did snow, for a couple of days. It snowed on me, in my trailer, which was fine, and actually quite beautiful. It snowed on Jen, in her tent, which was expected, but not awesome. Especially the part where she’d forgotten to bring her tent poles. 

Jen and I have had this ongoing debate about ultra-light vs. not-so-light backpacking. She wants everything as light as possible, of course, since she has to carry it. I want things to work and not be a hassle and not break, and since I’m heavier myself, I worry less about the ounces. Her backpack and her sleeping bag are ridiculously light, made from some kind of spider silk or titanium fabric. They’re made by http://www.zpacks.com/ and it’s good stuff. It works, the company has good customer service, etc. Her tent, however, is a point of contention. 

It is also made by z-packs, this is one of those items where I think light has sacrificed too much. You use your walking poles to set the thing up, and there’s a fair bit of driving in stakes and adjusting lines and the whole thing is complicated, and well, I don’t like it. I would prefer Jen lug around a heavier tent which has its’ own poles and will stand on its’ own without all the mucking about with engineering. Since I’m her husband I worry about her, and since I’m a man, I like to be right about things, especially about manly things like traipsing about in the wilderness. Even though I do much less of it than Jen, being a man and growing a beard makes my opinion on these things carry more weight, much like  I do. You know, some things make less sense when you say them out loud, or write them in a blog. 

Irregardless (which is not a word, I know, but I like it), Jen has this ultralight tent, but she got one that is a little more sturdy since there are some poles in addition to the trekking poles and all that string, but she forgot them in the trailer. If the weather is nice, it’s not a problem. If the weather decides to put a bunch of heavy snow on your tent, it causes problems. And makes everything you own, and need to wear, or sleep in, wet. 

After taking a few days off, hiking across the ugly dessert corridor, seeing some beautiful sights, Jen decided that between being all wet, and her feet not having healed up, maybe it was time to reset and dry off, so I picked her up, and she spent the night with me and the boys, and babied Marley, who is recovering nicely. 

First, she had some milestones to accomplish, so as soon as the weather cleared, and her gear had dried, she was back at it for a few more. She hiked back up into the hills, this time on the other side of the Coachella valley. She hiked up out of the valley, past a huge windmill farm, where she shared the sunset with the moon, and a lot of bats. Bats are cool.

She hiked above the clouds that were threatening to come back in and rain and snow some more. 

She hiked towards the next big climb, after having dropped thousands of feet of gain.

She hiked past these beautiful flowers, which she is convinced is the notorious poodle dog bush. 

which looks more like this

but she doesn’t care and is avoiding all purple flowers for now. 

She hiked past a rock that looks either like a frog or a brain, or maybe a giant frog brain, not really sure.

and she hiked all the way to mile 250. Yep, 250!

And what was I doing all this time? Well, being awesome and supportive and opinionated, and doing some Jiu Jitsu of course. 

I had to head down the hill for a vet appointment, where Marley got his drain tube taken out. He’s doing great, no sign of infection, and he looks and feels like nothing happened. Except where they had to do a little hair cutting to get at his stitches. He feels great, but he looks a little off I think. 

I also had a chance to roll in Yucaipa. Yep, that’s what I said. Not only that, but I had options. There were three gyms in this little town at the base of the mountains. I chose the very nice but unfortunately named BloodSpiller BJJ. http://www.cjjfsocal.com/index.html

The class was being taught by a purple belt, who did a good job on a half-guard escape. Mostly white and a couple of blue belts in the small, clean gym. Very welcoming of course. After class the instructor asked me to roll, suggesting that we keep it playful. That means a lot of things to a lot of people, of course, and this was a prime example. We slap hands, fist bump, and I kind of casually slide into a buzz saw. Now, this guy was young, smaller than I by about ten or twenty pounds, but damn he was strong and quick. He also, let us be clear, was NOT being a dick, or going all world championship match on me, but his “playful” involved a lot more pretty hard choking than my “playful.” He got on top, and I tried to survive and escape, and keep his damn hands out of my collars and off my throat. I would like to say that after about ten minutes of this, he gave up on choking me. Which is true, but only because my choke defense eventually gave him a Kimura, which I tapped to. 

It was a really good roll, and I think he wanted to test his Purple level against mine, since he probably rolls only with the newer students, and his black belt, Aaron “BloodSpiller” Miller, whom I didn’t meet. Funny, of course, because I did talk to him on the phone, and he sounded about as nice a guy as you could want. However, I’m not sure I’d want to roll against a guy like that as my primary opponent. It’ll make you better, if you don’t quit, which you’ll want to. 

I headed back up the hill, and picked Jen up at mile 250, and we had a little celebration. 

As I’d mentioned, I was being my usual awesome supportive self. That’s a giant red velvet cupcake, with the “250” in icing on it, which I picked up special for Jen. 

I also had a bunch of cookies to share with other hikers to help them celebrate, but only one guys showed up. I could neither remember or pronounce his name, since he was Hungarian, but it was the Hungarian equivalent of Paul, or so I told myself. He had a cookie, hung around politely for a while, and hiked on. 

Jen came back to the trailer with me, now parked at Barton Flats on the Angeles Crest highway near Big Bear, and rested up. Her blisters were still killing her, not really healing, and it was time. We had an intervention, and she broke up with her bad boyfriend boots, for now. We drove into the smog, found an REI, and got her some new boots, some Chinese food, and a diet Pepsi. 

For now, Jen is going to let her feet heal. We’re taking a few days off, heading to the beach, and holing up in a VRBO in Dana Point. 

Tap waters and underground rivers

/in /by

“Is it ok to drink the tap-water here?”

“Yes, of course it is,’ replied Emma, the imposing Croatian purple-belt who ran the session, ‘the water here is the best in all the Balkans!’ Paradoxically, I would hear this statement in most gyms and hostels I visited across the region.

Whilst I cannot honestly assess whether or not Croatian water was that water I’d always been searching for, I can say that the training session at the Lotus BJJ academy in Rijeka was just what I wanted: intense, diverse (in people’s’ skills) and, most of all, extremely welcoming. Just like with the arms race on water, Balkan states seem locked in an upward spiral of generosity. The deeper I go into former Yugoslavia, the more friendly and warm the people seem. The handshakes at the end of the session said it all. Maybe in this part of the world people shake hands more strongly, but with those beaming Croatian smiles in their eyes and the firm grasp and clasp, it felt as if we’d been there for days, not the hour and a half we had actually spent there.

Me, Emma and Milos

 

Myself, Milos and Taja, another member of the club, had popped over for a day-trip to Rijeka from Koper, as it’s only about a two hour drive. After the session we wandered a bit around the port and then sat ourselves down at a seafront restaurant, where I proceeded to stuff my face with some of the best calamari and polenta I’d ever trained for. On the way back we stopped for another drink in Opatia, a seaside resort-town that Milos assures me was “the Monte Carlo of Yugoslavia” back in the day. The fancy bars, Mediterranean vibe and ubiquitous gambling venues echo his statement. Although my phone was dead and I have no photos, picture a night-time coast folding into a corner (Rijeka and Opatia are on the corner where the central Croatian coastline meets the heart-shaped bulge of Istria) littered with the lights of several Croatian towns. Milos informs me that, across the sparkling sea, one of the islands is infamous for having been the prison for Tito’s political prisoners.

There are people out tonight, but it’s still quiet: the summer onslaught of Brits getting shitfaced and asking where exactly the scenes from Game of Thrones were filmed is yet to begin; Croatian people can still enjoy their coastline in some peace, for now.

On the way back, due to Milos’ excellent navigation skills and a fog drifting over Istria, we took a very long route back to Koper. I think I was the only one in the car who was grateful, pressing my face against the window and staring out into the eery Karst landscape and wondering why I didn’t bring my charger with me.

—

The next day we have one more training session, in Koper (this time with a good turnout of around 10 people; barbecue weather had just ended). The following day we’d all be departing Koper to go briefly to Ljubljana and Zagreb, to train at Bojan Mirkovich’s academy, Milos’ instructor. At night I puttered about, took a long walk and made my goodbyes to the old place. Despite the awkward sleeping conditions and the initial cold, I had enjoyed living like a monk, on the floor, next to the training area. I hope I get to do it again.

 

My plan for the departure day was to set off earlier, by bus, and stop to see the Skoncja Caves near Divaca. The Karst region of western Slovenia is built of long stretches of limestone, perfect for the formation of cave-systems. Postojna is the typical tourist destination, being so large that it can accommodate a inner train system, but given its steep €30 fee, I decided to go for the half-the-price, smaller cousin at Skoncja, and hoping not to be disappointed. I wasn’t.

Road near Divaca

After I dropped off the coach at Divaca I asked some of the locals, in a mixture of pidgin English and improvised sign-language, where to go for the caves. Eventually, after frantically pacing around some roads I found the pathway leading to the caves (marked by tiny, discoloured signposts the size of my foot. As I passed the last village and went into the forest behind I encountered more and more reassuring signposts. Although the signs were about 500 metres apart from each other, they all repeated: “Skoncja Caves – 15 minutes”, as though it remained eternally distant, no matter the effort I made. I smell lazy signposting.

Path to the caves

As I’m walking through the glade I hear a faint stream. Nope, it’s probably a small river actually. Ok, maybe a middle-size one … with a small waterfall. A few seconds later, there’s a clearing in the woods and …

… I find it. The first part of the cave system. This massive eye-gouge in the Earth was initially part of the caves, until it collapsed in the 19th century and opened up the caves to Austro-Italian explorers. Checking my maps I can see that the cluster of houses (the term “village” feels a bit too permanent for this dangerously placed location) is indeed, Skoncja. I skip along and find the tourist centre, naturally filling with people, and get onto the first tour.

Unfortunately most of the tour was photography-restricted, so I had to take a lot of photos on the sly, and most of them turned out, well … shit. Except for this one, which doesn’t convey half the wonder and amazement I felt being inside this gateway to hell:

 

The picture above was of only one of the caverns. All in all, the cave was large enough to swallow a block of flats, at least 100 metres in height, complete with a “Bridge of Moria” style path across a narrow ravine placed across a raging stream. My sense of wonder actually managed to overcome my fear of heights and I peered over, into the abyss where sharp rocks had claimed several explorers a century ago.

I get picked up by Milos and Taja back in Divaca. Along the road, we discuss the Slovenian economy (not a cheery topic, I’m afraid) and we engaged in the time-honoured tradition of exchanging swear words in each other’s languages. On that note, I was pleased to find out we had some in common, between Romanian and Slovenian. On the downside, it does explain why I got some indignant stares from old ladies in a bus stop when I cursed a vending machine that wouldn’t give me change. Oops.

Some photos taken exiting the caves – these were the few that came out alright

We went briefly to Ljubljana, but we only had time for half an hour, so we sauntered a bit about the city centre and had a coffee.

We hadn’t suffered a delay at the border yet and that day our luck ran out. We were stuck for some time. I’ll spare the details of crossing the border, but here are some bullet points from my notebook (bear in mind these are the inner ramblings of a tired, thirsty traveller awaiting sunstroke while his door window can’t open):

  • there’s a chance we might miss training; the line is long. I’m staring at my passport photo and realizing that one of my eyes is off center and it shows, somewhat.
  • I wonder how the geography here affected the isolation of villages in the area …
  • I have some postcards for my grandparents that I forgot to send. They’re from … Avignon, France, feck. I’m a terrible grandson.
  • Why are they still playing Tina Turner on the radio??
  • And we’re through!!

 

We made it to training in outer Zagreb just in time … to be half an hour late. No matter, we warm up quickly, shake hands (again, firm and friendly clasps) with all and with the black-belt, Bojan. He’s a smiling mountain of a man. He shouts and starts the long rounds of drilling that last till the end of training. Our starting position is standing-guard, alternating who gets to begin in reverse piggy-back. Being fresh, we start alright, even someone who is as much of a novice to gi as me. But stamina wears down quickly with this one, and the several times that Bojan himself jumped onto my hips gave me a slight feeling of dread. No matter, for that finished quickly every time when he manacled my limbs and lapels into discomfort I hadn’t yet experienced. This was definitely a step-up in skill from the previous gyms, and I learned even more from those exhausting rounds.

 

Then came my favourite part of the evening. After a satisfying training session we’re all queuing for the showers. I have four times the luggage of anyone, since I have two backpacks and my gi-bag, and Milos asks around if anyone can help me find my hostel. You’d think that tired, busy Croatians would reply with some sloth, but no. When that question rang out, a forest of naked Croatian men jumped on me, demanding:

“Where is your hostel? Do you know the tram system?”

“What’s the address? Have you been here before?”

“It’s free after a certain hour, I’m pretty sure-”

“What?! Haha, don’t listen to this guy, it’s cheap anyway, you can buy from the driver …”

in quick succession. All this time I’m frantically trying to answer their questions and find the damn email with the address in my inbox. And clutching at my shower items.

 

One of the guys, a friendly, bearded purple-belt, offers to take me to tram stop and waits for me to finish showering. I’ve forgotten his name and only remember that he was a petroleum engineer (to you, good sir, hvala!). He walks me over, inquiring about my travels and telling me about the club. When we get to the stop he assures himself that I know which stop I have to get off at.

 

He asks me if I have enough kunas (I needed 4). As I begin to fumble around my pocket, I don’t have two seconds before he shoots his hand into his wallet and produces a 5 kuna coin. before my dumbstruck mouth even manages to articulate “Oh … plea-”, he shoves it into my hand and tells me not to worry.

 

We had dinner with Bojan and a friend of his at a damn good Bosnian restaurant in the area. I don’t wish for other globetrotters to come and exploit local generosity, but I have to state, with full gratefulness, that Bojan paid the bill, for his friends and included me as well. By this point in my travels my ability to absorb hospitality was rendering me stupid. Later on I sat on the tram and felt annoyed that 9 years of living in Britain had rendered me incapable of not feeling awkward and flabbergasted at these gestures. Such warm people-

-And even then, the Balkan spirit would not leave me alone: as it became obvious that I was confused about where I had to go and pay on the tram, a complete stranger came over and helped me direct my kunas in the right direction. That was generosity’s way of signing its name and saying “Welcome to Zagreb”. It’s too much I thought, I’m happily going to my hostel to collapse right now. I’ll write next about Zagreb and why it’s so beautiful, and, most importantly, about the people here.

Stockton UK

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Greetings From Stockton UK!

I got into Stockton easy enough, it was only a short train ride down from Edinburgh. It was probably my shortest trip in the UK. Stockton is a small town, I don’t know if it’s smaller than Wigan but there’s not a lot going on in this town. That’s ok though, I could use a break from sight seeing.

The bridge of the town, pretty much the only ‘sight’ to take photo of.

Miscommunication

It was a nice sunny day, I was supposed to meet up with Chris at the train station so I hung outside for awhile, texting him to let him know I was in town now. While I was waiting I looked at the map on my phone for what was around the area and how far I was from the gym. I decided since it was only a few minutes away and on the way to gym, I’d walk up to the Burger King and re-charge my phone, and use their wifi with my laptop. I was there for a while, probably 2 hours even, and still I wasn’t getting any response from Chris. So I decided I would walk up to the gym, by the time I got there it would be about 7:30, prime time for classes, hopefully someone would be there. But no one was. Now I was getting annoyed. I was stuck in a town with no one to contact, I was supposed to be put up by Chris and his club so I didn’t have a place to stay let alone train at. What do I do? I decided I’d try my luck with some of the hostels, or guest houses as they were called, and I went by 3 different places, no one had room. Apparently there are a lot of of town workers, contractors, that come in and stay in these guest houses during the week. I ended up having to take the city bus to Middlesbrough, which is right next to Stockton, and get a room at a hotel that was out of my usual price range but was my only option. At this point, after checking into the hotel and finally being able to drop my bags off after carrying them while marching around town for a few hours I got a message back from Chris. He was in Italy for a seminar and just came back. I was battling between being mad and concerned during this whole ordeal. I was mad for being stood up, and also at myself for not sending a message the night before to confirm everything before leaving, but I was also concerned that nothing serious had happened to Chris or his family.

Tons of swans hang out in Stockton apparently.

As it happens Chris was thinking I was coming another week and didn’t get back into town until evening time. After we got in contact with each other we made plans for training the next day, and Chris would set me up to stay somewhere else for the remainder of my time in Stockton. I didn’t just get set up at a friend’s couch or at the gym mats, Chris and another student, Amin came to pick me up the next day, both of them by the way are huge guys, I don’t think I ever felt so small as with these guys (well, other than being at James Foster’s in Seattle), anyways, they came and picked me up from the hotel in Middlesbourgh and brought me to a really nice hotel in Stockton that is way out of my budget and set me up there for the next few days. It was pretty awesome and totally not what I thought was going on, I actually figured I’d be camping out on the mats at the gym. Chris really took care of me, once we got the miscommunication out of the way and met up it was a great stay, and I learned so much from him too. I’m seriously thinking of going back for a short camp and learn some more Catch Wrestling from him. Thanks for everything Chris!

There’s a water course beside the hotel Chris put me up in.

 

 

A kayak club was going through the course one day.

My Introduction To Catch Wrestling With LPW – Legit Pro Wrestling

Chris Crossan is both a veteran of Catch Wrestling and a BJJ black Belt so he has a lot of experience and insight into grappling and a very different style. This allowed him to be able to really pick part my game and show me techniques that would work perfectly with me. When Chris and Amin picked me up and checked me in the hotel, we then went to the gym. LPW – Legit Pro Wrestling is a unusual set up, it’s not in fitness gym or sharing a space with another martial arts club, it’s in a community church, Sowing Seeds Ministries. The two rooms for the gym are large mated areas, with lots of space to roll and train techniques on. Chris and Amin brought me to the upstairs space, which is a bit smaller then the main floor space. With just the three of us I had basically I own private introduction to Catch Wrestling. We starting some warm up drills, working pummeling and arm drags, and then moved to testing me with some positional rolling and then showing me some techniques to help each position. We went over different techniques with Chris taping them and then replaying them for me to see where I need to fix it, for at least an hour. I learned a lot of cool tips that have really helped my game as well as get a great introduction to Catch Wrestling.

One of the gym rooms, this is bigger longer one, but both are pretty big.

BJJ VS Catch Wresting

The next day I went to the open mat and got to try out my new techniques and tips I was shown the day before. I was looking forward to working out my no gi game against catch wrestling and seeing what different things they would do. I will admit the first few matches I was pretty lost, just not used to how they reacted to my game or the move sets they used, but as the matches went on I found my footing and was able to work my game. As I was rolling with the class for the first few minutes I thinking maybe they were wanting to take it to the “new guy” and were be being overly rough or just doing ‘dick moves’, but I quickly came to my senses and realized, this isn’t BJJ. Submission wrestling plays with different moves, a different move set and objective from BJJ. In the Jiu-Jitsu community you hear of ‘dick moves’ and lot of them come from a wrestling, or other grappling sports, background. This got me thinking, what if a lot of these ‘dick moves’ that the Jiu-Jitsu community says not to do in the name of safety, are really more about shutting down submission wrestling to make it less effective against BJJ. It’s just a thought I’ve had since my time with LPW. I understand there are some moves that are definitely frowned upon in the interest of safety, like neck cranks,  but there are also a lot of moves I wonder why people call them ‘dick moves’ and we’re told not to do them. Footlocks and wristlocks are frowned upon or just not studied depending on the club, which to me is really weird, they’re out there and they’re allowed, especially at non IBJJF events which are gaining more popularity now a days. Things like using your elbows to break guard or ‘pie-facing’ to control the opponent’s mobility definitely aren’t fun moves when they’re done to you but they’re not actually hurting you and they work. Using your elbows to break guard was actually the way I was taught in traditional Jiu-Jitsu make in the 90’s, then when I started in BJJ later on I was told ‘it doesn’t work’ and that it’s a ‘dick move’.

I remember the first few times I got armbarred by a wrestler who would ‘pie-face’ as he put the submission. It sucked, and I would think ‘why does he have to fight dirty to get the technique?’ but let’s look at the technique. putting my weight on your head to control your spine so you don’t move while I lock up a submission seems pretty logical to me. In BJJ we use shoulder pressure when in side control, that’s not a ‘dick move’ so why would me putting my weight down on the side of your head while in half guard to keep you from getting deep half or sweeping me be considered such? I’m not saying I agree with everything, I’m not a fan of slamming for instance, to me that’s a safety thing (except for jumping guard, I that’s most stupid move ever and they deserved to get slammed for it, and then put to sleep with the Million Dollar Dream), but there seems to be some moves that people don’t allow in BJJ more because it shuts down BJJ than safety or any other factor, which just reminds of the Jim Carrey Sketch of ‘You attacked me wrong!‘          

Chris Crossan and Catch Wresting Techniques 

At the end of the open mat Chris and I did a video together where he explained to me about Catch Wrestling and his school as also showed me a few moves. It was cool getting some details from him on video. I got Chris to show me the double wristlock, or as the BJJ community knows it as, the Kimura. There’s a large variety of move sets, both offensive and defensive, from the double wrist lock in catch wrestling and if you watch old pro wrestling highlights, like the Lou Thez highlight, you’ll see it used from practically every angle. Chris was also happy to show me the Lancashire Grovet, the signature move of Catch Wrestling, it’s basically a neck crank guillotine. Check out the video below, it was a lot of fun and going forth I may try to get more moves on video for the articles, whenever I can manage to get a video done.

To see the video head over to the Panda’s Odyssey YouTube Channel and watch it there, and while there show some love by liking, commenting, sharing and subscribing, thanks!

After an all too short stop learning some Catch Wrestling I was on my way back to London, the last stop of my UK and Ireland trek, to meet up with a friend from BJJ Globetrotters, some old friends from Canada and also meet an artist and Jiu-Jitsuero that I’m a big fan of, Meerkatsu!

Until next time,

see you on the mats!

OSSS!!

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Weird. Challenging. Beautiful. Scary.

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Weird. challenging. Beautiful. Scary. A mix of bad things to deal with, or as my over-positive former boss used to call them “challenges.” That guy is either a millionaire, or a broken down hobo talking to himself in catch phrases. If anybody knows Mike Scarr, tell him I miss him. I hope he’s really successful, he was too slight of build to be a survivor on the street. 

Let me start off by saying that life is like Jiu Jitsu. It’s not the other way around, because from my perspective, life could learn a lot from Jiu Jitsu, and frankly, it’s not as important. Or as cool. However, it is filled with moments of triumph and mastery, followed quickly by pain, humiliation, and quiet, private tears. Hiking the PCT is a lot like Jiu Jitsu, although it’s not that much like life, except in some ways. Okay, it is, fine, but it involves much more walking than most of us would be comfortable with. Hiking the PCT is one of those things that most people tell you that they admire, and would like to try one day, and then they sort of back away slowly, trying not to take their eyes off you, but also not making direct, potentially perceived as a threat, eye contact. There’s a madness to these endeavors, one that alienates us from most of the people we encounter. There’s also a lot of hours. 

I train about 10 hours a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, but let’s say it’s forty a month, or 480 a year. No, I don’t take the holidays off. That’s open mat season. I expect, if I stay on track, don’t get injured, come to my senses, or fall in love with fly fishing, which, let’s be honest is a much more appropriate pastime for a man of my age and athletic prowess, I will earn a black belt in the ridiculously named Gentle Art in about 11 or 12 years. So, roughly, 5300 hours of training will yield unto me the god like powers that all black belts in BJJ seem to possess. 

Yay! Jen, my beloved hiker of misty mountains, walks about eight hours a day, six days a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but let’s call it, for simplicity in math, 48 hours a week. She anticipates finishing this madness, baring coming to her senses, taking up gardening, or, as others have done failing to complete their through hike, writing a best selling novel and getting really famous people to play her in the movie adaptation. Note that Wild, written by Cheryl Strayed, started in Mojave, and finished in Oregon. Less than half the trail. Also, Bill Bryson, who is awesome, hiked less than half of the Appalachian Trail, and wrote a book about it. Reese Witherspoon played Cheryl, and Robert Redford played Bill. Yeah, this guy, played by Robert Redford. Jeesus. 

My point being, and I do have one even if I had to scroll up to remember what it was, is that Jen is hiking about 200 hours a month, for up to six months. That’s over 1000 hours, if she moves quickly. That’s a lot of time to put into something that doesn’t pay you anything in money and few people actually understand. Which is exactly why it’s so damn cool. 

Enough of my ranting. For now. Jen is doing something amazing, which most people, while they wouldn’t do it, certainly see it as something worthwhile and understandable, which makes it unlike Jiu Jitsu and she took off after resting her feet for a few days in the trailer in Idyllwild. This place was really beautiful, a rugged, very steep range of mountains. On one side, the Inland Empire, which as far as Empires go, would be sort of like Tatooine. The other side of the mountain is Palm Springs, the most unnecessary place on earth, with maybe the exception of Dubai. The wasted resources that go into that hell hole (either one) to make it habitable is just gross. On the plus side, Palm Springs is the gayest place I’ve ever been to, which makes it super fun to people watch, even  as you’re spending $1700 at the vet to get a grass seed out of your dog. Oh, Palm Springs is also expensive, even if the BJJ was free (thanks!) to http://hurricane bjj and http://palmspringsjiu-jitsu.webs.com/. 
 
We started this episode by Jen insisting on hiking the section she’d missed due to blisters. Keep in mind that most hikers had come out around mile 160 to skirt the fire damage
and eat some pie. Jen walked to 163, decided, wisely, that her feet were fucked, and, after hiking an extra 3 or 4, came out for a few days to hang out at Chateau Marley. Remember that part where I said she’d be a good Catholic, never letting go of any deviation from the Catechism. Not that I’d know, I was marginally raised Lutheran, and wasn’t any good at even that lowered standard. Back to 163, which involved two miles up just to get there, then the 3 miles, then another three down. If you’re keeping track, and good math, that meant tacking on about 9 miles of non-PCT trail, to make sure the 3 got done. We returned to the estate, and dined on Pizza and puppy love. 
 
Speaking of weirdness and challenges, Jen had notice that Marley, beloved Marley, had a little lump under his chin. I felt it, and figured he had a little bite or something, and let it be. It wasn’t until a couple of nights later, as our trailer park rendezvous was wrapping up, that I noticed that Old Blue Eyes wasn’t himself. The next morning, as Jen was preparing to get back on the trail for a few days, that I got worried. Big boy didn’t want to go for a walk, wasn’t really hungry, and the lump had swollen significantly. I thought bug bite, maybe a spider, since snake bite would have been more dramatic. 
I dropped Jen off, left Marley in the car, not a good sign that he was cool with that, and headed up for a couple of miles of send off hike. Bernardo came along, and apparently only likes cool weather hiking. He was a freaking maniac on the trail. Usually he’s good for a couple of miles tops. Today, he could have gone to Canada.
 
We had to turn around, because I had made a vet appointment for Mars Bars. Say goodbye to Super!
Let me just say this area is amazing, and I live just outside of Tahoe. That’s saying something. Really dramatic, steep hills of old granite, mixed forest, water and springs and something that flew past me going about ninety and sounding like a jet plane. I’m guessing a hawk flying down a 45 degree hill. I didn’t see it, just heard this feathered roaring. 
After that, I put Bernardo back on his leash. He’s all dog, but to big raptor, he probably looks like an ugly bunny. 
The area is called Humber Park, and the trail is the Devils’ slide. Appropriate, yes, given our struggles? 
I drove down to Palm Springs and took my boy in to see the doc. The swelling had gotten worse, and while we were at the vet, he ruptured it. Gross. Blood and pus. Definitely not something that I should have treated with Benadryl and some epsom salt. The look him over, and give me an estimate of the bill. Remember how I was pleasantly surprised when the car guy estimated $700? This was a very different experience. $1700! Holy crap. The lady asked me what I wanted to do, like there were options. I guess some people would say he’s just a dog, and walk away. Maybe if the choice were between eating, or sending your kids to school, but as a Child Free (not childless) adult, there was no question. 
After about four hours a surgery, this is what they found out. 
No, that’s not some alien life form, or a bug of some sort. That my friends, is a grass seed. A particularly nasty kind, known as a foxtail or cheat grass. I’d been checking his eyes and ears, since Marley loves nothing more than to rub his face in weeds. Except maybe mud.  I had even combed him out after his latest excursion had him completely covered in a wide variety of plant life, but I missed this thing. It worked it’s way under his skin, just below his collar, burrowed down all the way through his muscle. I’ve read about them getting into internal organs and killing dogs. Gnarly. The doc got deep in there, and found this nasty little bugger, put a little drain tube in Marleys’ neck, and fitted him with a cone of shame. 
Poor little guy. 
Meantime, Jen was hiking up and over the San Jacinto mountains, and heading into Whitewater, just west of Palm Springs, where it had been over 100 for weeks. And then it snowed. 

My BJJ Journey: An Introduction

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Hello to all! ¡Hola mis amigos! Olá meus amigos! Bonjour mes amis!

 

As I type out this blog post on my almost decade old-Macbook, I find myself at a loss for words. Had you told 13-year-old me that within ten years he’d be a sponsored athlete; that he’d be on the cusp of graduating college, preparing to leave on a seven week journey to do the things he’d love most in the world… well, 13-year-old Mike Barr would’ve awkwardly laughed in your face.

 

My name is Mike Barr. Before I go anywhere with this, I have to thank BJJGlobetrotters for giving me the opportunity to share my story, my journey, and my experiences with all of you. I am humbled by their interest in my upcoming odyssey, and hope that my words can do it justice. Now, back to my intro.

 

Like I said, my name is Mike Barr. Bald Mike, Baldy, Magic Mike, Mikey, Unicycle Guy, Tightrope Guy; all names I’ve been known by as of yet. At the moment I’m writing this, I am 21 years old, on the cusp of graduating university, and am, like most twenty-something grads, absolutely thrilled, yet terrified, to be entering this new chapter in my life.

 

A slightly chunky, even more slightly awkward 13-year-old Mike in the flesh. 

 

After a serious amount of thought, a few beers at the Red Jug Pub in my small college town of Oneonta, New York, I decided that my first blog post to all of you should be, well, about what go me here in the first place. Don’t worry; I’m not here to share my life story. I’m here to write about BJJ, and write I shall!

I was introduced to grappling at a rather young age. Though my parents never really ventured into the world of martial arts, I am the younger middle child of a family of four boys. Needless to say, living room wrestling and basement smackdowns were a normal part of my formative years. Additionally, weekend wrestling tournaments were the norm for my family; my oldest brother, Larry, wrestled for much of his life (6th grade to his junior year in college). I didn’t care much for it back then; the tournaments were boring and I didn’t understand the sport as a quiet seven year old. 

 

My first introduction to BJJ, however,  is rather typical for today’s practitioners; I recall watching UFC around the age 8 or 9. Around the same time Tito Ortiz and Chuck Liddell were at the peak of their rivalry, my older brother Dan had started training at a small hole-in-the-wall MMA gym a small hike from my house in Mount Kisco, New York (a small suburb of New York City).

 

My first BJJ class was somewhere around 2006/2007, and it was during this haphazard period where Dan was desperately trying to get me involved. I remember walking into Black Dragon, putting on a smelly, white jacket that seemed WAY too stiff to move around in. I tried, and quickly failed, at tying my pants; pants that dragged past my heels and tripped me up rather easily. Dan helped me tie them hurriedly before we sat in a circle and stretched. We were never terribly close, and still aren’t, but I’ll never forget that class. I recall everything being so strange and foreign; the movements were so difficult. I found myself struggling with a kimura from the closed guard as Dan and Sifu Brandon guided my pudgy eleven-year-old body through the motions. Before long, the white, stained jacket had seemingly gotten tighter and heavier, and constricted my breathing as it enveloped my chest like the worlds worst hug. I couldn’t breathe, and the panic attack was imminent. I tore the jacket off, tossed it aside, and sat on the edge of the mat until class ended, embarrassed and ashamed. 

Though Dan’s surging confidence in BJJ interested me for a time, I became focussed on another area of my life, music. Between this interest and my hellish first class experience,  my BJJ journey had been forced into dormancy. For the next few years, BJJ was simply something that existed. It was nowhere near what it would become, but it never really went away. I’d watch UFC and think, “Oh, there’s a triangle,” or “Oh, he’s got back mount.” I’d occasionally scroll past a Flying Triangle tutorial on YouTube, inevitably dragging my little brother downstairs to practice. I never succeeded.

 

My high school years came and went with minimal exposure to the martial arts; a gym-class judo unit here, a self-defense seminar there. Though this was fun, I was much more involved in my artistic interests for most of high school (read: I was a theater nerd. No shame.) And alas, as the summer of 2013 drew to a close, my family packed up my dad’s white Jeep Cherokee, we piled in, and off I went to my first semester of college at the State University of New York, College at Oneonta. At the time, I was in a long-distance relationship with my high school sweetheart; a relationship that definitely took a toll on my health. I was pretty overweight, out of shape, and had an overarching negative view of myself. I needed something to get myself back. I needed a release. 

 

At the time, my oldest brother, Larry, had been making strides in BJJ. He’d transitioned from collegiate wrestling to BJJ roughly a year prior, and was absolutely killing it on the competition scene. After seeing him medal at the Dallas Open as a white belt, I decided on a whim to check out any BJJ schools in my college town. Oneonta is a small town of about 14,000 people in upstate New York, located smack dab center between Albany and Binghamton. Needless to say, it’s more or less in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t exactly optimistic when I’d searched “Oneonta Brazilian jiu jitsu” in the Google search bar. 

 

… and then something popped up. I couldn’t believe it. I clicked on the first link: Infinity Jiu Jitsu. They had a pretty simple website; class schedule, About Us, Instructors, etc. After clicking on the “Member Rates” tab and seeing “Unlimited Training only $80 a Month”, I knew I had to pull the trigger. A few clicks led me to their Facebook page, where I then conversed with a nameless representative who invited me down to the gym that coming Monday for my first week of training. As it turned out, I had contacted them barely a week after they’d opened up shop at their new location. They had advertised a free first week, which excited me.

 

On October 2nd, 2013, I trekked the mile up the road to the gym and… couldn’t find it. I came upon a Real Estate office and a gas station, but no gym. I called the number they’d given me, and spoke to a surprised male voice who said, “Oh! It’s below the Real Estate office.” I walked down the hill, saw a small sign above the door that simply said, “Jiu Jitsu”, and walked inside. The rest is history. After walking out of class that night, I promised myself I was coming back. I grabbed a business card off the desk, and kept that card on my person every day for that first year of training. It was in my wallet, in my pocket, or in my backpack for 365 days and it always brought me back. 

 

Oneonta Jiu Jitsu Academy before it was OBJJA. The business card that changed my life.

 

I could write for hours on my days and nights spent in our little gym for hours (and I plan to: stay posted!) In the four years since walking into that tucked away slice of BJJ heaven, I’ve become the best version of myself. Jiu Jitsu has given me peace that no music ever has, and to this day remains my greatest passion. It is a part of who I am, and is my source of peace. For the 12 hours a week that I train, nothing else exists in the world. I’m not worried about the classes stressing me out, the rude and unpleasant customers at work, the papers that need writing, etc. I’m beyond proud that I’ve been able to watch as this gym grow from a few guys and girls rolling at Infinity Jiu Jitsu to the Pan Am Champ producing crew of monsters that Oneonta Jiu jitsu Academy has become. 

 

I am so humbled to share my upcoming journey with everyone reading. I hope to meet you in my travels and share my love for this lifestyle we share! Follow me on Instagram @mikebarr93 or @koh.magic for constant updates on my trip! Until next time, go train!

Thailand Week 1: Going Hard

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I’ve been in Thailand for one week and yesterday was the first time I had more than few hours of sleep. Bangkok has been a whirlwind filled with training, sightseeing, work and partying. It’s been crazy and I love it!

 

Embracing the BJJ Globetrotter Community in Thailand

For the last three month traveling South East Asia, I found BJJ gyms by searching on google for the places closest to my hotel. I found amazing gyms in Kuala Lumpur and Phnom Penh with this method, but I knew there was more I could do to connect with local BJJ communities. Right before I took off for Bangkok, I reached out on the Members of BJJ Globetrotter Facebook page for the first time. Within hours I had a handful of people telling me stop by gyms in Bangkok, Chiang Mai and Koh Tao. I can’t believe I waited this long to reach out the Globetrotters community. I’m definitely going to meet a ton more cool people and train in a lot of diverse gyms in the next 8 months.

 

First Week of Training and Exploring

My flight from Phnom Penh landed about 8pm Saturday night. By 10pm I was on the infamous Soi Cowboy street with a beer in my hand. This street is exactly the stereotype the Hangover movie portrays – bright neon lights, tons of booze and strippers. I figured I had to get this party out of the way on the first night. Sometime after 2am Vara and Alex, two new friends from BJJ Globetrotters, magically showed up (I forgot I had been messaging them at the start of the night) and convinced me to show up for lunch class tomorrow. Vara mercifully dragged me away from the bars and threw me in a cab headed for my hotel.

Soi Cowboy Street

The only picture from Soi Cowboy night that I can show you.

I woke up the next day just in time to run out the door and meet Vara in front of EMAC (Executive Martial Arts Center). After some technique, I learned how hard it is to defend against top-notch De La Riva sweeps while hungover. I grabbed lunch with a few guys after class and Erno, a black belt from Finland, invited me to come out to visit him at his new gym in Chiang Mai. (I’m planning this side trip sometime next week.)

The next morning, Vara brought me to a huge CrossFit facility with some mat space reserved for  Bangkok Fight Lab. After struggling to stay alive for just a few rolls in extreme heat and humidity, another group of us went out for lunch. Two days in a row, I met new BJJ friends and shared meals with them. I couldn’t believe how welcoming everyone in Thailand has been.

De La Riva Sweep

Stoked to finally get the De La Riva Sweep right.

Fight Lab Group Picture

Bangkok Fight Lab lunch class.

For the rest of the week my schedule was wake up, go to BFL, find food and a mini-adventure then work until about 4 am. By Saturday, I was exhausted by the non-stop activity, but I was really flowing well on the mats and learned a fun new De La Riva sweep I can’t wait to show off when I come back home.

 

Side Trip to Kanchanaburi Waterfalls

On Sunday, I took a day off from training and headed to Kanchanaburi waterfalls. It’s a two-hour drive from Bangkok and we stopped halfway to see the Death Railway Bridge and Museum. The WWII history lesson was interesting, but we spent too much time at the museum and got to the waterfall around 2pm. There is a hiking path that winds up 7 layers of waterfalls that usually takes about 2 hours to hike. We had one hour before they closed the top 3 layers, so my buddy Mike and I ran the entire way up.

Kanchanaburi Death Bridge

Kanchanaburi Death Bridge

After jumping up boulders, climbing unearthed tree roots and running through dried river bed, we made it up to the top. The park ranger told us we had 5 minutes before we had to leave – Victory! We immediately jumped in the water and found out it was filled with fish that loved to nibble toes. If you didn’t move for just a second you had at least 10 fish all over your legs and feet giving a free pedicure. We were hastily guided down the waterfalls by the tired park ranger and stank up the bus for the 2-hour drive back.

Kanchanaburi Waterfall 7

Sweating bullets after racing to the top of the Kanchanaburi waterfalls.

Thailand has been an amazing, non-stop adventure so far and I still three weeks left! 

Jiu Jitsu in Chile- Region 5

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Cohab  Jiu Jitsu Vina Del Mar- Chile

Cohab Equipo in Vina Del Mar.

I spent most of my time here.  A exciting group of competition players.  The higher colored belts put me through the ringer as soon as I first stepped on the mat the first night.  Andres Perez is the head Black Belt and coach of Cohab.  He spoke English to me and was very welcoming.  I enjoyed the training environment and schedule. On average there are 3 classes a day with open mat sessions on Saturday and Sunday.  I was able to train everyday when I wasn’t working at my hostel.

Gracie Jiu Jitsu, Valparaiso, Chile

Gracie Jiu Jitsu in Valparaiso, Chile. This gym was about two blocks from my hostel.  So it was very convenient.  It was the first gym I visited when I recovered from my cold.  The blonde haired purple belt, Nico, really put it on me when I was there.  He was also preparing for competition the next day in Santiago. Samir was the Black Belt there.  A friendly fellow and waived my mat fee.  I would have trained more if their schedule was than three times a week.

Raul Valencia- Cicero Costha- Vina Del Mar

Raul Valencia Cicero Costha- in Vina Del Mar.

There is a good training here. I trained here twice.  It’s one of those places where the white belts get taught to bypass the opponents guards fast rather than play into it.  I was x passed many times by white belts.  I like to go easy on white belts until they start using strength. They train hard here, an hour of training after drilling.  I enjoy that kind of training.  I didn’t train that long at any other gym in Chile.  Raul Valencia was the head instructor there, Brown Belt.  Big Ups to Francisca Floras for showing me around my last  day.

Cohab- Reneca- Reneca, Chile

Cohab- Reneca.

Andres Perez has a brother, that’s also a Black Belt, Fernando Perez.  I went to visit him but he was out that day.  I met Guillermo, purple belt, instructor. It was a small group with all white belts except Guillermo and I.  Only white belts, but they were strong and quick.  I had a white belt really tried to tap me with strength.  He had good submissions on me but kept using his grip to pull, rather than adjusting position or abandon and try something else. Other than that it was a good time.

Here’s a good discussion questions. How do you roll when you travel? Hard or smooth? Do you give up position to lower belts?

I learned that I still don’t know anything about Jiu Jitsu. What I know is few drops in a water bucket.  It’s never ending.

Entering the Balkans …

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I’m led down the stairs behind a bar. The lights are a bit weak but I can make out a door to the right at the bottom and some kind of big-ass freezer directly in front that I pay no attention to. We take our shoes off and Milos leads me into the Koper BJJ gym.

 

I’m impressed; not just by the good size, the equipment, the small weight-training area but foremost by the attention to hygiene. “We leave our shoes outside … and we wash our feet before we go on the matts”; he shows me to the long bidet where I scrub my filthy, backpackers’ soles clean.

I am shown to my little corner, in between the kettlebells and the squat rack. I prop my bag against a workstation.

‘Put your stuff here, don’t worry,’ he says ‘we don’t have to use this space while you’re here.’ Nevertheless, I try and make my stuff fit into a tidy corner so as not to obstruct. I now have an entire gym to myself.

‘We have wifi from the bar, but, uhh, you have to step outside, cause the walls are quite thick down here,’ Milos tells me. Bemused, I smile and nod. Quite the basement. When I’m in the doorway I measure the wall’s thickness: about twice the length of my hand, wrist to fingertip! All concrete. I’m curious as to why a standard tenement block would need this.

‘This was an anti-nuclear shelter,’ I take that information slightly for granted. That is until I look around, past the training gear and matts and notice the long ventilation tunnel and shaft, the rusty steel shutters on the windows and – last, but most certainly not least – the door.

Remember the huge freezer thing I mentioned? Yeah, that wasn’t a freezer. That is the door.

 

 

It’s a huge, vault door, with two locking levers as long as my goddamn arms. This thing was meant to seal in a whole group of Slovenians to their post-apocalyptic fate. Someone planned this place with an end of the world-scenario in mind and this is where I am sleeping. Sweeeeeet. I feel like I’m in a budget-larp of Fallout. And this is barely day one.

Not even the president of Slovenia sleeps this safely.

 

—

A bit of background to how I arrived in this weird and, frankly awesome, lodging place. I’ve been travelling Southern Europe (heading from Portugal to Serbia) and the 2nd half of my trip has just started. I’m gonna do the Balkans in a month.

I’m a little bit stuck. I’m in Trieste, a few kilometres away from where the dividing line of East and West was for the better part of a century, and I can’t get in. I had been warned that the Balkans are infamous for a very partial transportation system, but I had not expected a delay to happen on the very first day. The bus to Koper has been delayed. It’s travelling from Croatia and has been at border control for six hours long. The refugee crisis and its aftermath ramped up the level of security control. I sigh, resign myself to the bench and call my host.

 

I’m meant to be meeting up with a Slovenian purple-belt called Milos. He’s my first point of contact for the Balkan BJJ community. I’m excited since it’s been a few weeks of travelling in Western Europe since I’ve rolled. I’m even more excited by the fact that I’m finally gonna see the former Yugoslavia. When I stood in the station, that whole land was shrouded in historical Wikipedia posts and stereotypes. I had no personal experience of it, but to me it sounded exotic and unspoiled, unlike the West of the continent. I was overjoyed to find Milos through the Globetrotter’s website and now, after so much anticipation, I finally get a chance to meet a local Balkan!

 

I want to tell him that I’ll be late and that I may be arriving at night. He won’t hear of it, he pleadingly offers to come and pick me up. A bit flabbergasted, I stutter and say “ Are you sure?” He is fine with doing that, since it is only 20 minutes drive. Ok, I go and get a ticket refund and wait for him. I must remember to pay for drinks when I get the chance.

 

20 minutes later, an old black Volkswagen Polo pulls up and a guy in black Adidas tracksuits and sunglasses opens the door for me: “Hey! Nice to finally meet you!” and I’m in.

The streets of Piran

Hours later, after we drop off my bag, Milos drops me off in the port of Piran for the day, since he works there. This place is a treat for anybody into old Southern Med architecture and history. I ramble along narrow Venetian streets, marked by the lion of San Marco and sun-flag of the Koper region. The four-storey tall bell-tower dates back to the 12th century, and quite frankly the steps inside it feel that old too. They’re old, creaky wooden planks that groan with every step, accompanied by the sound of a bat nesting somewhere. It was worth it though: could see from Trieste to Croatia, and, if I squinted, large chunks of the Julian Alps were visible.

The view of St George’s tower

I rent out a bike for two hours and speed down the coast, overtaking scores of slow Italian families on holiday. I zip past pretty coastal towns, some villages and circumnavigate the Seča salt pans.

I turn back once I’ve reached the Croatian border.

I whizz back to Piran, hand my bike in and end the day with a refreshing Slovenian beer, after 18 km. Today I can say that I “saw” three countries. Not bad for a first day in Slovenia.

Pirano by night

 

When Milos finishes his shift we head back to Koper and we briefly join some of his friends who are chilling and drinking in the backroom of the laundromat that one of their friends owns. I can’t properly join in with the conversation, but I’m content to look about the place and focus my eyes on the old maps of Europe, the Tito-themed calendar and the 1960s radio with a “YU” for Yugoslavia branded across it. I am treated kindly with pizza and rakja, the omnipresent fruit-brandy of Eastern Europe. This delicious spirit can be found all over this part of the continent, from Tirana to Chisinau, although most countries in between use different fruits or names. Afterwards Milos kindly drives me back to my lodgings, back into the depths of my matted dungeon. It sounds almost a bit too Fifty-Shades, doesn’t it?

 

This is both the most private and most public accommodation I’ve had over the past month. Private because, unlike the hostels I partook in, I don’t share it with 13 other people; public because, well, it’s a big-ass gym with thick concrete walls. When I drop my phone on the floor the echo comes back to haunt me a few seconds later. I make my own little comfortable den in the weight-training area and arrange my clothes neatly. Pyjamas on, industrial lights off and I’m tucked in, dreaming of getting up and literally rolling onto the matts (lol).

—

Happy May Day, tovarash!

Woke up in the dungeon to the sound of Slovenians above me moving store goods. I try to go back to sleep but it’s too damn cold. I cover my face and hands, pull my sleeping sheet around my head, my hoodie on my face, my hand in my pockets: why did I buy the thinnest sleeping bag?! (a day later I finally have the brains to ask Milos how to turn on the heating) I look like a mummy in recovery position. I get up to get warm and get ready for 10 o’clock training.

 

My arrival in Slovenia was ill-timed. The first full day is the 1st of May, which is a Communist holiday meant to be the official day for labourers. My calendar, set-up in the UK, tells me that it’s a “Bank holiday” – I feel that it’s an appropriately ironic nod to the historic contrasts of two opposing civilisations.

Venetian buildings in Koper city centre

Very few people in training and most need to go and spend time with their families today. I don’t mind of course, during the day I have plenty of time to ramble and read, although it feels weird when people shower after training and head to the comfort of their homes whilst I just putter about, as if I was in my own living room. I’m still a newbie to training in a gi so every chance to train and practice gripping – something that felt extremely alien to me all too recently – is a huge learning boost. 

 

I need to finish this first post with a note on my host, Milos. It’s cliche, but there is a stereotype of Balkan people being incredibly generous and hospitable. I’d say that he fulfills that stereotype, and surpasses it. Even though he is busy and constrained by responsibilities he made my stay very worthwhile. In the afternoon, over coffee, he mentions that he knows a good gym in Rijeka on the other side of Istria and also that his instructor, Bojan, has a gym in Zagreb. Next he begins to give a list of other gyms that come to his mind in Sarajevo and Belgrade. This was unexpected. I had come with very few expectations and was afraid I’d go for days without training at all. But, thanks to Milos, I would not go hungry for training – more Balkan tales to come!

Satan working my end too!

/in /by

Joe was right about one thing, that sound coming from my trucks’ transmission wasn’t normal. I’ve been driving the thing with a weird spinny squeek for years, and since I don’t drive it much, I kind of ignored it. I pulled the trailer, aka Super Jen resupply enclosure, up to Idyllwild campground, and the noise got much worse. Even turning up the radio wouldn’t let me pretend it wasn’t a problem. 

Super Jen is taking a few zero days, letting her blisters heal, and trying to change her bad boyfriend boots’ behavior. She’s got them all oiled up, and is stepping on the toe box in an effort to get them to loosen up a bit. I don’t have faith, but she does, and in the end, she’s got to walk in those things. Not my clowns, not my circus. 

She’s holed up watching episodes of Rue Pauls’ drag race, and hanging with Marley and Bernardo, so that gave me the opportunity to get out of dodge and get some training in. I jumped in the PickEmUp truck and went down the hill to Palm Springs, current temperature 101, wtf, and hoped my truck would self heal. Mechanics are like Doctors, they’re expensive, and I usually assume that, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, these things will self heal. Ask my shoulders how that is working. They’ll respond by making grinding and popping noises.  

Finally I had to admit that, much like Bobby Hill, something about that truck just wasn’t right. 

Of course, broken trucks can wait, there was Jiu Jitsu to be done, so I pulled this squeaking hulk into the parking lot of Hurricane BJJ in Palm Desert. http://hurricanebjj.com/

Cathedral City actually, but how is one to tell one place, who’s defining characteristics are excessive heat and a lot of old people, from another, also very hot and filled with old people. Regardless, the school was really nice and clean and new, and Professor Hurricane, aka Josh Dubinsky, was very welcoming and chill. I really liked his warmup, which consisted of lots of technical shrimping movement, technical standups, and other BJJ related moves. People whom I train with are laughing at this, because I’m famous for being the “guy who skips warmups” guy. Everybody else runs around the room, while I pretend to tie my belt. 

We worked a couple of loop choke varietals, and then got some rolls in. I got the small white belt who should have tapped to a key lock guy, the really athletic blue belt, and a huge 250 lb former wrestler white belt, who was shockingly chill. I love huge people who are all about learning the technical end of this sport, rather than laying on people. I should do that more. 

Sadly, I had to return to reality, and to my truck. I had spotted a transmission shop on the way in, which is I guess how I knew this was the gritty part of Palm Springs, and in I went. I was fully expecting to get the “see you in a week” treatment, but they took me right in, drove the truck around a bit, and diagnosed it for me. Bad U-joints (much like my semi-arthritic shoulders), and probably a bad drive shaft. I was logging in to get a new car loan and doing the “dump it or fix it” math in my head. I figured about $2,000, ten days, lots of hassle. Is my 1998 Ford f-150 worth fixing? 

$700 is the worst case scenario according to Mr. Transmission Guy. Wow, really? When can it be done? I tell him that I’m not from here, need to be on the road, he says Friday. Really? Wow, this is not the mechanical Hell I was expecting. So, it was less than awesome, but Satan still didn’t get to us. 

Jen has been off trail for two whole days, and is getting back on tomorrow, starting at mile 180, after the fire detours. 

Oh, and I got to train again! This time I went to Palm Springs BJJ, and got a good two hours in. http://palmspringsjiu-jitsu.webs.com/Whew. Now I’m tired.  Prof. Ramon Diaz was awesome, and he was really excited about Jens’ trip. He hikes a lot in the local area, so maybe this visit will inspire him to get on the trail. Go Professor!They have a great school, but it’s one of those really unlikely locations. A water park. The story is that they used to be housed in a gym, but when the park changed hands, the gym went away, but they stayed. 11 Years later, it’s pretty much an empty building, with the BJJ school occupying a small piece of it. Can’t judge a book by its’ cover, they were really welcoming, had two black belts plus a brown belt on the mats, and we worked Kimuras’, so I was pretty damn happy. Plus, live rolls!

Jen is ready to get back on the trail, my truck is ready to pick up, I might get a session in tomorrow, all is right. Oh, and I’m making steak for dinner, so that’s going to be awesome. 

Home

lo

The contrasts of traveling

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One of the things I really noticed when I went on my 5-month long trip around the world was how interesting the feeling of a quickly changing scene from one extreme to another, was. Going from a cold place to a warm, from a city to a beach or just quickly traveling through different countries or cultures every few days. While on the trip, I started to experiment a bit with this; aiming to purposely go to as different places as I possibly could, preferably at a really high pace. And it worked. There is just something about it that makes the memory of the trip (which is really what you’re aiming to ultimately accomplish) even better than if you just did one thing or stayed in one place.

Since then, I’ve always tried to keep this in mind when ever I’m planning any trips; be it a family holiday or our BJJ camps. If you’ve ever wondered why the camps are so different from one another, now you know the answer. I even tried a few times to run the camps really close to each other for a fast paced change of scene. While it was really fun to ski Monday in Austria and Surf Friday of the same week in El Salvador – or go from Greenland to Sardinia with very little break in between – it was also extremely exhausting.

Monday and Friday of same week

Monday and Friday of same week

Two days ago, I came home from a little holiday with my family in New York. With a little help from friends I’ve made at the camps, I feel like I put together a nice, contrast-filled trip. We spent a few days in busy, noisy Manhattan, then drove 4 hours upstate to the Catskill Mountains where we stayed five days in an amazing wooden cabin found on AirBnB at a really good off-season price. Lastly, three nights in authentic, American suburbia on Long Island before heading home. 

Think about it when you plan your next trip. Of course, traveling in itself is almost always a contrast to your home, but I feel like there is something to be gained by pushing it a little further and look for contrast during the trip as well. It’s too easy to just sit by the hotel pool for a week. Challenge yourself, see how far you can take it. How many different things can you experience over the course of your trip?

The first of many!

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Hey guys!  This is my very first blog post ever, and it’s about my very first trip to anywhere in Europe.  I hope you like it!

Tomorrow I leave for Barcelona for 4 days.  I’m staying a total of 4 days, which isn’t much time, so I’m hoping to explore as much of the city as I can.  I’m visiting friends who are plant-based athletes.  I’m a meat-eater myself, but I’m excited to see what Barcelona has to offer in terms of healthy, vegan food.  

On Saturday I’m competing in the IBJJF Master International – Europe.  After that there will be FOOD!  Preferably in the form of carbs. 

Stay tuned for pics and updates on my adventures in Barcelona and my first European bjj tournament!

Ossss

 

Not today, Satan. Jen 12, Satan 1.

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I should mention that Jen has two modes of operation. Total Walk Star (thanks Whitney!), or slouch potato. Whilst in Slouch mode, she’s addicted to Rue Pauls’ drag race, as well as many other less entertaining reality (cough cough) shows, such as vindictive trophy wives with nothing better to do than back-stab people that are, from most perspectives, indiscernible from themselves. Ya know, I’m all about the bitter and the hate, but I really can’t get into the self-loathing misplaced hatred thing. Maybe because I’m part Jewish. 

In her finger clicking travels, she has found this slogan/meme/catch phrase, that until five minutes ago, I didn’t know was from Bianca Del Rio, one of Rue’s amazing “girls.” Not today, Satan, NOT today. Today was Satans’ day. The PCT was against Jen, and Jen gave in to despair. That’s the hard thing about challenging yourself every day, somedays you lose. 

If you don’t have a total melt down every 150 +- miles then you’re not really doing it right. Life, and hiking the PCT, is allot like Jiu Jitsu, and since I haven’t been able to train up here in Idyllwild, that’s all the BJJ you’re getting in this episode. Except it’s me, so I’ll fit it in somewhere. 

Jen has a toxic relationship with her new boots. She loves them, and what’s not to love? They’re full leather, classic in a Sinatra-might-hit-you sort of old-school way, and solid, so that there is that support that a lighter shoe won’t give you. Sure, the lighter school is light and fast and pretty, and usually won’t hurt you, but they’re also sort of like a metro-sexual (yes, I know that was at least ten, probably twenty years ago, shit, this isn’t a hip blog) way. So, she, an uptown girl, fell in for a downtown boot, and he’s not good for her. 

Today, things got ugly, and she had to call me, not the cops, ‘cuz I’m discreet. Aside from blogging about it. For the record, I did NOT rescue her. I didn’t carry her, cut down her miles, call in a chopper, nothing. I did what any metro-sexual would do, since we are largely physically unable to actually render aid. I was there for her. I held her hand, let her cry, and then she walked anyway. In Jiu Jitsu scoring, this was no tap, Satan wasn’t even up on points, he got an advantage today, but like the pussy he is, he couldn’t finish. Sorry, this wasn’t the only BJJ reference in this episode. You have met me, most of you, so you know. 

The blisters got the best of her today, and she ended up putting those Ray Liotta in Something Wild boots in her back, and going lesbo. By that I mean she wore her birkenstocks. Don’t call me a hater,  I drive a Subaru. I’m an ally. 

The plan was to hike from 140 where I dropped her among the desert flowers, and pick her up again at 166, where a 2013 fire forced a reroute. This is the PCT, especially in our current and future weather pattern. Wild fires frequently derail or detour hikers, and in the big scheme of things, many hikers detour many miles. Jen is kind of a purist when it comes to things shes’ obsessed about (remember, only one “N” when shorting her name, or you’ll get cut like a bitch), so she wants to hike every mile she can. 

Many hikers were out at mile 15o, where the Paradise Cafe, serves burgers and pie, and an obscene looking brownie thing, which I watched this 150 lb Scottish guy eat. Normally, watching the Scots eat is not encouraged, but I couldn’t turn away. This was not like watching a man raised on Haggis work his way through a sheeps head, this was pure poetry. Jen ate two pieces of pie, ala mode, btw. Impressive, but not giant brownie thing impressive. They rejoin around 178, Taqhuiz Peak, or 180, Saddle Junction, after the closure.  Jen wasn’t having it. Mile 166 followed by a run down a bunch of gnarly switchbacks as acceptable, just barely. Until the blisters started slapping her around. 

She decided to come out at mile 163, cutting off an entire 3 miles out of 2640 or so, and come out at Cedar Spring, where I would drive in and grab her up, and then redeposit her after a night at Taqhuiz Peak. Total miles would be the same, actually, as if she hadn’t detoured, they’d just be slightly different. This didn’t sit well with her, but the trail is closed, and no longer the PCT at that point. She would have made a good Catholic. 

This is where the wheels kind of came off. I rode the bike up the canyon (an immense Honda dirt bike purchased just for this type of opportunity), and started hiking up the trail to meet her. I hiked and hiked, and having gone nearly as much as Jen does before coffee, I started to worry. No cell service, so I re-checked the text messages, looked at the map, and started regretting not bringing water. 

Soon enough I get a message from Jen: “I’m at the intersection, heading down.” By now I was well past where I thought I’d meet her, but she’s hiking in Birkenstocks, having a shitty day, and not her usual motoring self. I keep hiking, and an hour later, I’m not sure that things aren’t going the wrong way. I get Jen to send me her location, as I’m now high enough in the Canyon to get cell service. Not good. She’s a mile off the PCT, heading towards Palm Springs, the nearest civilization, if you call Palm Springs that. Why do people go there? I don’t get it. It’s like somebody decided that Las Vegas had too much culture, too few laws, and not enough heat. Like an inverse Chicago, you take the shitty out of a place like New York and concentrate it into a new, hellish world. WTF, it’s not like L.A. or San Diego are freezing or something and you need a warm place to get to……

Now she’s got to turn around, and hike up a mile of rough trail, with huge blisters, and these miles don’t even fucking count. Crap. I hustle up the best I can, hit the PCT, then go over to the wrong side, looking for Jen. It takes a while I left at 1, thinking I’d see her and her tortured feet at 1:30. It’s now 2:30. I find her. Not good. The PCT and Satan have won this round, and she’s crying, and out of water, and wearing cheap plastic sandals. 

Of course we hike out, and we make it over to the right side, and the walk is really kind of pretty, and the number one insect on this section is ladybugs, so I know it’s going to be okay. We find water, although we weren’t too low, and climb onto my big bad-ass motorbike, and say hello to the boys, and get a steak dinner. All is right in the world, and Jen is going to take a couple of days in camp to let her feet heal, and once, again, Satan is defeated, and Jen will continue walking the walk, while I talk the talk. 

Savannah, Georgia

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SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

 

     This city has been one of my favorite spots so far, although there wasn’t a lot of training during our stay; we still had a lot of fun. I say there wasn’t a lot of training because Savannah doesn’t have many BJJ gyms. I mainly trained at Coastal Combatives, which has a small matt room at a YMCA. While the facility wasn’t very large, the classes were awesome! There were always 10-14 students at every class I attended, and the Professor was extremely knowledgeable and training there was quite enjoyable. I was also able to train on Fort Stewart, a US Army base that is fairly close to Savannah, as I always try to at least stop in when I’m close to a base.

     Now, lets get into why I enjoyed Savannah so much. First off, the downtown area is absolutely beautiful. A well populated place, bustling with movement like any other fairly large city, but the southern charm is what will draw your attention. We spent quite a bit of time Geocaching around the city, which has over 240 spots to find. If you don’t know what Geocaching is, its kind of like a scavenger hunt where you get coordinates and hints to find hidden boxes that are scattered throughout the city. Inside the boxes are filled with small trinkets and knick-knacks. The idea is to take something from the box, and place something of your own in return, sign your name on a list, then move on to the next. My kids really enjoy this type of activity, and some of the spots are located at historical markers such as the Girl Scout Museum.

 

 

Geocaching in Downtown Savannah

     Another thing we did was go to Tybee Island, a beach town about a 25-30 minute drive from Savannah. There, we were able to enjoy the Irish Heritage Festival, which consisted of a huge parade, lots of booths selling different things, and of course, copious amounts of beer! We left before St. Patrick’s Day, but from what I hear, it is a pretty amazing place to be for that particular holiday and was told the city was expecting over 3 million people to be in attendance for the parade.    

The Irish Heritage Festival Parade

     I don’t drink alcohol, but I do enjoy food, especially seafood. While in Tybee Island, I found my new favorite seafood restaurant, The Crab Shack. This is not to be confused with the national chain restaurant, The Crab Shack is not just a place to eat, it is truly an experience all by itself. They have ponds where you can see live alligators and even feed them, along with a large room by the gift shop with probably 30 different types of birds. Aside from that, the place is like a big party! There is a large music ensemble that moves throughout the restaurant playing music and keeping the party going. The food, if you order a platter like I did, comes out in a large tray with shrimp, crawfish, crab legs, mussels, sausage, potatoes, and corn, all flavored with Cajon seasoning and is absolutely delicious. The best way I can describe the atmosphere there is Mardis Gras with food and Georgia weather.

 

 

The Band at The Crab Shack

     I highly advise checking out Savannah on your travels, even if the training is limited; the city is a southern beauty with tons of charm.

Going from Central America to The Carribean.

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This morning I found myself shuffling my feet like a zombie through the airport in Saint Martin. I was exhausted after only getting 3 hours of sleep in the night, it wasn’t even 3 hours of good sleep. I could only blame myself though, I had gotten this idea that it would be funny posting a picture of myself at rooftop party in Panama City before going and meeting up with Christian in the Caribbean. He had done the same, getting quite the reaction, before going to El Salvador where I last met him. Of course when I found a rooftop party I had found some good company and I thought that you don’t get many chances like this, so I’d better use it.

When I got aboard the airplane I soon realised I didn’t fit in. Everybody on the plane was either well an dressed Panamanian or an American tourist in a Hawaii shirt, everybody going on a nice vacation. Then there was me, hung over Icelander, still pale compared to everybody, ruffled hair and the scruffiest beard I’ve had in my life, travelling out of a backpack haircut is not high on the priority list. I probably looked like some red haired viking who missed the note that pirates belong in the Caribbean not vikings.

I knew that the Caribbean would be completely different then my trip through Central America. For the last two months I have gotten used to standing on my own feet, only with my backpack and not speaking a word in Spanish. That backpacking lifestyle where each day was an new adventure had become my norm. Each adventure had become less and less exciting and I caught myself missing things back home that I didn’t think I would miss, cakes and skyr for example. 

I am happy to be starting a new chapter in my travels, even though I still haven’t accepted this as the new norm. I started this trip to challenge myself, at the time it was the hardest choice I had in front of me, going off the beaten path. I always want to keep on challenging myself, following my own dreams and ideas. Back home I had the chance to train consistently, getting slowly better like I’ve done for almost 9 years of martial arts but that wasnt enough. I dropped out of university over a year ago to follow my passion and seeing this trip come together, already going beyond my wildest dreams, confirms that this is all worth it. 

From Hero to Zero

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A word of warning here. There won’t be as much BJJ in this blog, so hopefully you’ll be okay with that. Jen started sending pictures and videos out, and I picked here up at a trail crossing somewhere outside of Hemet. Yes, there is an outside of Hemet. 

First, the Jiu Jitsu. Scroll down 4 paragraphs if you’re not a fan. I had a good session with Joao at Ribeiro in Carlsbad, and said good bye. Please check out his school there. http://www.ribeirojiujitsucarlsbad.com/  Also, it wouldn’t be modern media if I didn’t ask you to like him on Facebook too. https://www.facebook.com/ribeirojjcarlsbad/

It’s only been open a short while, but he’s the best dude and knows how to teach. I feel like I made a new friend. Maybe it’s because he’s short and bald and on the wrong side of fifty, but I feel like we have much in common. Except he can speak Portuguese. I can speak Spanish, but only kitchen Spanish, which involves much discussion of lechuga and who’s sister is the town bicycle. It helps if I’m drunk, much like my dancing. 

On my way out of town, I dropped in at Studio 540 again. I had mentioned that I was there, and the instruction was really good, but no rolling. Today was the opposite. Some high level concept stuff for back control, including a cool lockdown from back, and all positional drilling at 50% effort. Then rolling! 

This is paragraph 4, so we’re almost done. Let’s just suffice it to say that I really learned allot about the wide range of skills at Purple Belt. Which means that I had my ass handed to me by two purple belts at the school. These guys owned me from start to finish. All survival mode, which was less than totally effective.  Then I rolled with the Professor, Aaron.

Not effective at all. Really cool guys, but they are “competition Purple” compared to my “hobbyist Purple” 

Best Hike Today

I don’t know how many of you have seen this thing, but it’s both really cool and kind of daunting. This is the map. 

https://www.pcta.org/discover-the-trail/maps/

You can click on the Half-mile way-points, and see the miles. I picked Jen up on this dirt road in that Anza Borrega State Park. It’s a trip, because there were all of these for sale signs for what appeared to be empty, rocky desert on this rough dirt road leading to the PCT intersection. Besides Sarah Conors’ sketchy friend from T-2, and some outlaw bikers, I can’t imagine who would buy a lot out here. 

BTW, Terminator Wiki says his name is Enrique, and he’s Guatemalan. You know who else was Guatemalan? This guy.

Anyhoo, the point is, I picked her up in this lovely and strangely hot selling area at MILE 139. 11 Days ago, when she started out, I was supposed to meet her at Mile 100, give or take, which was two days ago. But it was supposed to be today. You picking up what I’m laying down? She’s 39 miles ahead of schedule. Most of us will never walk 39 miles, let alone be 39 miles ahead of the 100 miles we’d already walked. 

Lucky for most of you who don’t want to read about which gym I got my ass kicked at, Jen is now here, in the trailer, full of pizza and cuddling the dogs. Also, hogging the blankets. I think we’ve both gotten used to sleeping by ourselves, and it’s an adjustment to crawl back into bed with someone. 

Speaking of crawling into bed, Jen found a perfect cuddle buddy for Joe, our PCT veteran friend. 

This one is not of the rattling variety, but he’s big. Funny story: when I was growing up, we had a lot of snakes, mostly of the rattling biting variety, on our property. My father always warned us to be careful, and for the most part, we were. He also said that the non-rattling kind were harmless, and don’t be afraid. To make his point, he showed us a king snake that had gotten got in some bird netting around a fruit tree. Dad grabbed the snake to cut him free of the netting. The snake promptly bit him on the thumb. Hard. Lesson learned. Snakes are like cats. They can’t help biting you. 

Since you’re probably bored of my meandering, here’s a cool video Jen took of her hike:

https://www.facebook.com/jenniferlraydon/videos/10212879659935526/

Her hike that afternoon. Not the one she did that morning. Or the the one she did the day before. Or the one she did the next day. What she is doing is really hard, but I think part of why she likes it is that it’s simple. What do I do today? Walk. Tomorrow? Walk. Next four months? Walk. We live in a world of endless options, and not to be all hippy about it, but deciding where you’re going to get your fat-free half-caff vanilla macchiato sucks up a lot of our time, and I don’t think it adds much to our lives. 

While I was fighting with my cable company so I could watch T.V., Jen was watching this ant haul what I assume is a giant rabbit turd back to his hole. 

 

“The joy of my afternoon is stopping to watch with tiny ant push this ball of something home. Cause he’s got high hopes. High Apple pie in the sky hopes.”

So, in that vein, here’s what she did the next day. Walked. I guess my lifestyle isn’t as rewarding right now, but at least I don’t get blisters. 

 

Isn’t she lovely: 

https://www.facebook.com/jenniferlraydon/videos/10212878510986803/?video_source=permalink 

The country here is what is called the desert section, but we’re sitting at 4000 feet right now. That’s more than 1000 meters if you’re from Europe. I think. I don’t metric good. It’s full of sandstone pushed up by granite and what I assume is a huge tectonic plate smash up. http://www.abdnha.org/anza-borrego-desert-geology.htm It’s really cool and amazing, and looks like a Western. Plus, there’s snakes. For Joe. 

We’re hanging out for the day, Jen is sleeping in, eating a large pizza I got her, and petting the puppy dogs. It’s her first rest day, called a Zero in PCT hiker lingo. She’ll get back on the trail tomorrow most likely. She’s got her boots back from the boot stretcher, so we’re hopeful that the blisters will calm down. I also got her a bunch of fresh tortillas. She eats them with tuna. For some reason, that sounds disgusting. 

Last note, Jen walked past the “town” of Warner Springs, which was officially the end Section A of Southern California! That’s the second official PCT accomplishment, the first being 100 miles! I think she gets to unlock some kind of charm or power-up for that, right? She’s now in Section B. Southern California ends at Section F.