Tahoe Weekly Article by Tim Hauserman

https://thetahoeweekly.com/2023/06/alenka-vreceks-she-rides-powerful-memoir-of-adventure-love/

Alenka Vrecek’s Tailgate Talk | June 20 | 7 p.m. | Free | Alpenglow Sports | Tahoe City

Alenka Vrecek’s book, “She Rides: Chasing Dreams Across California and Mexico,” will arrive in bookstores on June 13. It tells the tale of the longtime North Tahoe local’s solo 2,500-mile, mountain-bike ride from her home in Carnelian Bay to Baja.

At age 54, she set out on the momentous ride after some tough years that included a serious knee injury, a diseased colon that nearly required removal, breast cancer, a car crash that severely injured her daughter and a Parkinson’s disease diagnosis for her beloved husband Jim Granger.

“She Rides” is entertaining and powerful and is much more than a great travel/adventure story. It’s also a stunning memoir about Vrecek’s emotional journey to move past all the challenges she had just had to face. It’s also a touching love story. And finally, it will be inspiring and rejuvenating for anyone who is facing any of the issues that Vrecek faced.

The idea for the ride, according to Vrecek, “was born from when I was at a low point after the dissolution of my marriage. I’ve always been an adventurous person and wanted to get on my own and do something by myself.”

“After what was happening to me and [my husband], I needed to build my confidence back after all I’d gone through. Also, when you face mortality and other difficulties in life, you realize, if not now, when? Am I going to just be the person reading about other people’s adventures? This was my Everest.”     –Alenka Vrecek

But her ride idea languished for 15 years as she lived a busy life raising her three children. Then she faced several difficult years.

“After what was happening to me and Jim, I needed to build my confidence back after all I’d gone through,” she said. “Also, when you face mortality and other difficulties in life, you realize, if not now, when? Am I going to just be the person reading about other people’s adventures? This was my Everest.”

So, she went on to conquer her own Everest and then sat down to inspire others with her story.

A key part of the story is the courage it took both Vrecek and Granger to deal with her absence on a months-long journey. Vrecek realized that if she was to live this dream, she had to leave him home, even though with Parkinson’s he was facing his own challenges. She knew he would worry about her the whole trip. But she also realized that as Granger’s disease progressively got worse, now might be her only chance to take this journey.

“It takes courage to let people go and trust that they will return back to you. In that lies the power of true love,” she said.

During the ride, she ran into obstacles and grueling riding conditions. There were times where she was desperately searching for water or a place to lay down her head, while using every ounce of energy to climb that next mile. But she also found incredibly generous people, especially in Mexico, who came to her rescue with food, water or crucial information at just the moment she most needed it.

Vrecek feels that in the end the greatest lesson from her trip was the realization that: “Home is not a physical place. It is where the people that love you are. You can make a home wherever you are.”

Riding 2,500 miles is challenging, but Vrecek discovered that writing her story was also difficult.

“This book is not about the ride, it’s about life. Life is messy and I had to be vulnerable. Revealing my personal life was tough living in a small community,” she said.

“One of the big challenges with major illnesses like cancer, is that during treatment you get lots of love and support but then when you are done and trying to move on, you get stuck. There is a life after cancer, you have to get through it and I want to inspire and encourage people to go on,” she said.

While being older might have made the ride harder, Vrecek said, “We are getting older, but we are also getting wisdom. It is good to share some of our bits of wisdom. I wanted to make sure it was not going to be a poor-me book. I wanted it to be relatable. I always wanted to do this, and now I’m going to do it.” | alenkavrecek.com

by Tim Hauserman:

Tim wrote the official guidebook to the Tahoe Rim Trail, as well as “Monsters in the Woods: Backpacking with Children” and the children’s book “Gertrude’s Tahoe Adventures in Time.” Most of the year he writes on a variety of topics, but you will find him in the winter teaching cross-country skiing and running the Strider Gliders program at Tahoe Cross Country Ski Area. He has lived in Tahoe since he was a wee lad and loves to be outdoors road and mountain biking, hiking, paddleboarding, kayaking and cross-country skiing. 

Paradise is Far and Near-Monshine Inc

I look up at the Baja night sky and trace the line from Orion’s Belt down to the brightest star, Sirius, wishing its beam could pull me into space.

An essay published in Moonshine Inc. : Paradise is Far and Near

This essay was two years in the making. It was difficult to write because it was so deeply personal. I am hoping it opens up the conversation in our mountain community brimming with athletes and health obsessed people. In the end, we are all vulnerable, even the people we worship and put on the pedestal of invincibility.

Zmogla bom vse kar me se caka- Revija Zarja Jana

This article was published in a Slovenian magazine Jana: Zmogla bom vse kar me se caka

It is written is Slovene language

Article published in Slovenian News Paper Nedeljski Dnevnik

To read the article in Slovene language (after you take the crash language course): click here

Bled, Slovenia, my home

I grew up in a small country of Slovenia not exactly known for cinematography. However, every kid of my generation watched and loved a movie called Kekec Adventures. The story is about a brave, young boy’s adventures and misadventures in beautiful Julian Alps, first published in youth magazine in 1922. I still remember the lyrics from the movie, which became somewhat of a cult. The scenery is breathtaking and the movie captures the life in the mountains in the now, a bygone era. A young boy and his friends tend to their sheep and cattle in the high Alpine pastures. Whenever I was feeling tiered and lonely on my bike journey, I sang and whistled the Kekec song. I bet my Slovenian friends will relate, so sing along with me:

Jaz pa pojdem in zasejem
dobro voljo pri ljudeh.
V eni roki nosim sonce,
v drugi roki zlati smeh.

Kdor vesele pesmi poje
gre po svetu lahkih nog,
če mu kdo nastavi zanko,
ga užene v kozji rog.

Jaz pa pojdem in zasejem
dobro voljo pri ljudeh.
V eni roki nosim sonce,
v drugi roki zlati smeh.

Bistri potok, hitri veter,
bele zvezde vrh gora,
gredo z mano tja do konca
tega širnega sveta.

Jaz pa pojdem in zasejem
dobro voljo pri ljudeh.
V eni roki nosim sonce,
v drugi roki zlati smeh.

To read the article in Slovene language (after you take the crash language course): click here

Time Passage / 2023 Solas gold award for best travel article and a winning essay at Book Passage 2022 Travel Writing Conference

Island Sipan in Croatia

The warm September sun reached the edge of the horizon, painting the stone buildings of the Sudjuradj village a soft honey color. Returning to this small island called Šipan in Croatia, where I spent endless summers of my youth, simultaneously filled me with excitement and dread.

I stood on the starboard side of the ferry, anxiously scanning the shore, searching for my parents. As we neared the landing, the diesel engine groaned louder.

 The pandemic had insinuated itself into our lives, delaying my visit by two years, which, for my ninety-year-old parents, represents an eternity. While my parents live in Slovenia, they spend their time from May through October on this jewel of an island in the neighboring country of Croatia. They built a small summer cottage when my brother and I were still young, kicking a soccer ball in the village square with the local kids. I now live in California, and with the entire world in lockdown, I haven’t been able to be with my parents when they needed me most. The isolation and the fear of the unknown plunged my mother into a debilitating depression. My father, always my anchor, had been diagnosed with dementia since my last visit. For the first time in many years, they haven't been able to migrate to the island for the summer, uncertain if they would be able to return.

 Finally, things relaxed in the spring of 2021. As soon as my parents received COVID-19 vaccinations and a blessing from their doctor, my brother packed up the car and drove them to their island.

International travel was still on hold. Time crawled. Finally, I received my second COVID vaccination and the green light to book my flight. I was going home to see my parents at last.

When I arrived at the Reno, Nevada airport, the line stretched long. Reaching the counter with no time to spare, I handed my negative COVID-19 test results and my passport to a stern-looking agent at the airline counter. She informed me I needed additional health documents: one to pass through London, England, the other to fly to Vienna, Austria. “Do you have the forms?” I asked. “You need to download an app and fill them out online,” she answered briskly, and turned to the next passenger behind me.

That set the tone for the next twenty-four hours of missed flights, endless lines, and anxious eyes peering above face masks into the confines of the crowded airplane. The world was ready to travel again; I just wanted to fly home. When I finally landed at Vienna airport over twelve hours after I was supposed to, I learned that my luggage was lost in the bowels of the Heathrow Airport and would stay there for the remainder of my trip. On a five-hour train ride from Vienna to Bled station in Slovenia, mountains, trees, churches, and cows streamed by until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I was awoken by the train whistle announcing the arrival at a station a mile away from my childhood home.

My journey wasn’t over yet.

“Aren’t you going to stay to rest?” my brother pleaded with me when he picked me up. “I have to go see them,” I said. He understood and handed me the keys to his car. At home, I quickly showered and took off on the ten-hour drive toward the ancient fortress city of Dubrovnik. Stopping only once for gas and a pee break, I caught the island ferry at the port of Dubrovnik in the nick of time.  

For the next hour, I stood on the upper deck, holding tight onto the railing until we rounded the lighthouse point and entered the bay. I imagined my parents hurrying down the many steps to meet me. In my mind’s eye, I could see my father pacing back and forth on the old marble-stone dock, his hands folded behind his back, which now bends like the bow of an old fishing boat.

But something was wrong. I couldn’t see my parents on the landing. The expectation caused my heart to thump in my tightening throat, and droplets of cold sweat like tiny pearls collected on my upper lip. What if my father fell on the steep stairs leading toward the harbor? Perhaps my mother suffered another nervous breakdown? Maybe my father had another stroke? I am too late, too late, too late… The words reverberated through my entire body like the rumbling of the ferry’s engine. My parents always wait for the ship to come in, even if they are not expecting anyone.

 Where were they?

I felt acid rising in my throat and wanted to jump off the ferry before it was even docked. The turbine engine revved and lurched into reverse and the captain expertly aligned the stern of the ferry with the shore. The deckhand threw the thick line to the outstretched arms of a man on the dock, who looped it to the cast iron bollard. I grabbed my handbag and ran, dodging passengers disembarking ahead of me.

I ran through the village across the ancient marble stones. The sea was to my right. Blue and white painted fishing boats were tied up, rust-colored fishing nets piled in their bows.

 The narrow stone path led me up the hill. Bougainvillea branches thick with magenta blossoms hung off the walls on both sides of the path. I took the right turn onto an even smaller and narrower trail winding among the olive trees — and stopped.

Before me stood a small white marble stone house with a red terracotta roof. The green shutters of the two tiny windows on the east side of the house were closed. It appeared as if no one lived there anymore. I let go of the handle of my bag and wrapped my arms around my trembling body.

 The house used to look so much bigger when I was a child. There were several olive trees surrounding it. Some of the larger branches hung over the roof, threatening to swallow it up. They needed to be cut. The grape vine, loaded with dark purple grapes that drooped off it like oversized jewels, was shading the terrace. Waist-high purple flowers lined the remaining part of the path leading up to our tiny cottage. The sweet scent of lavender permeated the air and my body vibrated with the shrill of the cicada’s mating song.

 My mother rounded the corner, carrying a green watering can. Startled, she looked up at me, pressed her left hand tightly against her mouth and dropped the can. The water spilled onto the stone path and disappeared through the cracks. I held my breath and waited for her words to come.

“Oh, Jesus, Marija!” Mother’s call for help penetrated the silence and my father, all bent over, came shuffling from the terrace. He looked frightened, like a little bird. They both stood there, holding hands, staring at me as if I were an apparition.

Then my father turned to my mother and asked, “Who is this?” My breath left me when he added, “What is she doing here?” His raspy voice filled the air like shattered glass.

My legs were wobbly. I lowered myself slowly onto the stone wall behind me. My mother gently touched his arm, “It’s your daughter,” she whispered into his ear. He stepped back, looking confused. The air was thick with pain. My throat tightened even more. I was desperately trying to hide my shock at seeing both of my parents so frail.

“We weren't expecting you until tomorrow!” The tears welled up in the corners of my mother’s eyes and she looked so vulnerable, fragile, feeling sorry she mixed up the days of my arrival, but at that moment, as I sat on the ancient wall, trying to find my breath and my words, no one was sorrier than I. Sorry for all the years of my absence, sorry for the lost time never to be regained.

 I rose, made a step in their direction to erase the distance, erase the years since we last hugged. Slowly, I walked toward my father, afraid that if I moved too fast, he would topple backward or fly away. I stood before him and he, bent over like a weeping willow, leaned over to stroke my cheek. His milky blue eyes stared into mine for what seemed like forever. His bony fingers trailed down my cheek, then paused at my lips, as if a blind man was reading my face by Braille. Finally, my father whispered my name, and it floated in my direction on the soft evening breeze rising from the sea.

In the morning, the rumble of the ferry’s diesel engine woke up the village. We sat on the terrace, just the three of us, drinking coffee, and together we watched the sun rising out of the Adriatic Sea. Not all was lost, not yet. I was home.

From Tragedy to Triumph-Tahoe Quarterly

My bike journey took me through some of the most spectacular places in the world

This article was published in Tahoe Quarterly and written by Tim Hauserman.

To read an article, please click here: From Tragedy to Triumph

A journey in search of home-Reinventing Home

We are all searching for a true meaning of home

I am honored to have my story published in highly respected online magazine In great company of one and only Isabel Allende. Reinventing Home was founded in late 2019 by a group of writers, academics, artists and activists who believe that home is our primary attachment, setting the stage for lifelong patterns of intimacy and self-renewal, and determining the values of our culture.

To read and see photos, click on link below:

A Journey in search of home

Water Please-Adventure Cycling Magazine

I dreamt of water. I hoped for a miracle.

This article was published in Adventure Cycle Magazine.

To read the story, please click on the link here Water Please