Coyote Coulee night ride

I'm still not sure when it happened, but sometime in the last 3 months I lost any level of fitness I had, and now I move about as fast a koala bear.  While sloths have a reputation for their sloth, koalas make them look like veritable type A workaholics.  Koalas sleep 20 hours a day and the rest of the day they spend stoned on eucalyptus leaves.  Somehow since September between the packing and moving, and moving and unpacking, basically life getting in the way of any weekend jaunts I was reduced to climbing hills about as well as a VW bug with bad spark plugs and blown head gasket. Even the middling climbs of Coyote Coulee had me gasping for air, for chrissake this was
Coyote Coulee, one of our easy rides, and I cold barely spin the pedals faster than a Bose–Einstein condensate locked in a laser trap.

Enough of the whine, whine, whine we already know you were weak, I know you are all thinking. What we want to know is; how was the ride?

Well, the sun sets a wee bit earlier this time of year, so it was dark before we ever started.  A couple of inches of snow covered the trail, hiding smaller rocks and greasing the water bars. The water crossings were frozen solid, keeping our feet dry.  Even in my weakened state I was amazed how just a little snow makes climbs more challenging and descents interesting at any speed.

 I was reminded that as much as I like lights mounters on the handlebar, a helmet mounted light would be preferable on the turns. As it happens there are some sweet 1200 lumen lights for sale at the barn, just in case anyone is looking to get me a Christmas present. Even with lights the ride still had that ride by braille feel and guess where the rocks and roots were hidden in the gloom or buried under  the thin layer of snow.

I guess most everyone else must have had holidays parties to attend, since I simply can't believe that everyone else wussed out preferring the hamster cages at the Canyons to the some crisp December fresh air. It's not like it was cold out, just barely below freezing.

Many thanks to Jeff and Cory for not abandoning me deep in the woods.  It was always heartening to see the occasional reflections of light bouncing off reflective pants and coats in the distance, instead of glowing eyeballs.

 I'm not sure how many more winter ride we plan, but the week before full moon's seems to have the best chance at light, even if the forest blocks most of the moonlight.  If we are lucky future rides will be fat bike territory.

End of the Season

I've been bad, really bad. Not bad in the comical way a bunch of roadies and triathletes try to stay upright while riding the gravel at the Como Tri, and not even close to the badness of Walter White. I guess I'm not really, not bad, more like lame. I admit I've been lazy and slacking. We had our grand finale ride for the season and I didn't report a thing.  I hope the seven other riders aren't miffed that I didn't acknowledge their dedication with making it to the finale.  We even had one lonely soul who finally worked up the courage to ride with us.

It is probably a good thing the season is coming to an end. Not only was it a challenge to finish an hour ride before being buried in darkness, I just haven't been that funny or insightful this year and I'm worried I'm about to jump the shark.  My blogs kind of remind me of the albums you get of your favorite band about three recordings into their career when they inevitably hit their nadir.

Not that the riding has been bad.  That was once again excellent. August was almost smoke free. The LTBike Fest was awesome and once again a bunch of trees met chainsaws.  Shrek broke another bone. Somehow I never made it to Blue Joint, or Bear Creek Overlook or amazingly Shannon's Ridge. Although the last one could still be on the list for a late season sojourn.



Oh well, there is snow out there now.   So charge up your lights and be on the lookout for the occasional winter night ride notice.

Buttercup redux

The black honda Fir rolled to a stop at the dusty pullout off Little Sleeping Child Road. "Warwick's here now. That make five of us. Is that enough to get the job done?"
"Yeah, with Rob and Cory with we have a solid crew."
"Warwick, you're late."
"Sorry, I wasn't planning on coming. Then the smoke cleared enough for me to see across the valley and I changed my mind at the last minute."
"Same with me"
"I ran into Dean at work and he said that because of the smoke, he was going to play volleyball with his girlfriend."I told him he was undergoing pussification. He didn't seem to like that."
"I guess no one else is coming I guess we better get going. Everyone knows their role.  Without Dean, Jeff can take point. I'll take clean up."
"I heard Jeff is getting a new bike."
"Which Jeff?  Knolly Jeff or Jeff Jeff."
"Jeff Jeff"
" Hey Jeff, What are you getting?"
"An Endorphin"
"Crap, that means you and Knolly Jeff will both be Knolly Jeff. How will we tell you apart when we're talking about you?"
"What color?"
"Raw with orange accents. I couldn't go with yellow since it would look like your bike, and if I went with blue it would be confused with Eric's"
"Hey Warwick, I think this road climb is where we first came up with the concept of Warwicks. 'Just a couple miles of road until we hit dirt'."
"Joel told me he was planning on riding today.  He's actually in town for three weeks between Alaska and middle fork trips."
"Well Nancy is our of town, so he probably felt he should stay home and do the chores."
"Totally sissified.  No worries we'll make sure we do Sleeping Child next week. We know how much he loves that."
"Where's Chad?"
"He said he's still feeling lazy since the Fitz-barn."
"At the fork should we ride the road or the single track?"
"Well we rode the road last time.  There was too much snow on the ridge for the trail."
"Might as well ride the trail, We need to make the ride a little different."
"Do we have enough time?"
"Sure it's only an hour down once we get to the top. We should have light until quarter till 9. Anyway I  figured Buttercup late August, I brought my lights."
"You remember that one time we brought those Missoula yahoos along and they were way over their head, and Tim ended up dragging them out in the dark around midnight.  Well I ran into one of them at the Barn the other day, and the story doesn't end there. If you remember one of them was night blind, so he couldn't drive. Well the other one had some restriction on his license that kept him from driving at night, but he was anyways.  So of course they got pulled over and thrown in jail until they could get bailed out."
"Caballero, why all the dialog."
"Well Elmore Leonard died Tuesday, and he believed that dialog should drive the story, and that fancy word play just gets in the way of the story. He also said don't write about the weather and when writing dialog, only use 'said'. No hoarse whispers, shouts, or exclamations.No barely intelligible murmurs, or sultry coos."
"So should we really make Sleeping Child the ride next week."
"I would, but I guess we should be generous and plan on Bear Creek Overlook."

Blue Mountain

I guess Eric was missing his Bitterroot homies so he invited to us to his new pad to hang with the Missoula Tea Bagging crew.  While seven of Wednesday night gang managed the drive to Blue Mountain, only one of the Missoula bros could find it within themselves for a group gang bang. What could explain their absence.  It was a different night than usual, so maybe that go the date wrong. Blue Mountain is a least a mile west of Reserve Street, which puts you way out in Hicksville. Anyone knows that going farther west than Russell risks your street cred, or whatever the equivalent is for a bunch of scrawny college educated white guys. Probably means you get banned from the Clark Fork Farmer's Market, or they rip the 103.3 Trail sticker off the Subaru.

Most likely they were scared.  Having gone soft in the big city drinking chamomile at Cafe Dolce, they knew they couldn't face us in our hyper testosterone glory.  Now we know why they are called the Tea Baggers rather than the Tea Baggees.  In their state of advanced gonadal atrophy their sorry sacks resembled used and shriveled up herbal tea samples, something hardly worth wrapping your lips around; compared to our pitcher sized tea bags, bulging with the finest leaves from the high altitude plantations of Darjeeling, anxious to release their essence.  I think next time they stop by the Good Foods Store, after their latest session of manscaping or paddle board yoga, they need to make sure their smoothie is supplemented with two stroke oil rather than flaxseed.

Since arriving in the Bitterroot, rumors of crowds and tame trails have dissuaded me from venturing north to sample the trails around Missoula.  These stories have some basis in truth.  The parking lots at both the Rattlesnake and Blue Mountain were packed and there were plenty of dogs and running shoe clad citizens to avoid and brake for.  I was impressed by the pile of shale next to the trails on lower Blue Mountain, they people over the years have diligently moved off the trail.  On the other hand the farther away you get from the trailhead the more interesting the riding gets with more rocks, steeper climbs and more technical descents.  I had forgotten what it like to have trail systems where the whole ride is single track and there are more options than clock wise or counter clockwise.  I have no desire to give up our long descents and hike a bikes, but I wouldn't mind more fire road free climbs, and riding from town.

For our MIA Missoula brethren, I have a series of questionnaire for you to contemplate.

• Do you have a decrease in libido (sex drive) ?
• Do you have a lack of energy?
• Do you have a decrease in strength and/or endurance?
• Have you lost height?
• Have you noticed a decrease in your enjoyment of life?
• Are you sad and/or grumpy?
• Are your erections less strong?
• Have you noticed a recent deterioration in your ability to play sports?
• Are you falling asleep after dinner?

If so you are probably suffering from low MB, and there is only one cure. Get your damn lazy asses on the saddle, find some dirt and start pedaling.

Blodgett Canyon

I hate to admit it but my snark deficiency continues unabated.  I watched a bunch of Joan Rivers red carpet reviews, I tried some rhino horn ( or least that's what it was labelled at the online Herbalist store, Yangtze.com), I wrestled down a muley stag for some velvet, I even went as far as having dinner with my ex.

Sadly neither pills nor suppositories were able to fill the void, so once again you can rejoice at an abbreviated ride report.

Personally the ride up Blodgett was a much needed respite from a stressful week.  A leaky hose flooded my basement while I was cruising the CDT during the Butte 50.  Some unexpected crap at work had left me feeling Surly, more of an Ogre or a Troll than a Fat Dummy.

 Luckily the cobbles, baby heads, boulders, talus, and scree along, in, and around the trail is not conductive to mental distraction, and one jolt at a time the brain noise was flung into the trailside brush. Leaving me feeling if not like a Karate Monkey and least like a judo bonobo.

Since I don't seem to have anything more more interesting or humorous to write about, I might as well use the ride report to report on the ride. Due to a constant trickle of fashionistas arriving progressively more tardy we didn't started until close to six, leaving us only enough time to reach the falls, but not the wilderness boundary.

For those who have never ridden up Blodgett, or for those who are repressing the memories.  This is ride where you where armor for the climb as well as the descent, both directions in the the grandpa gear.

I have to acknowledge a few people.  First Chad and Lehrman showed up, rubber legs and all after their Butte 100 adventures. Beau, off his hard tail, and on a long travel trail bike showed off some serious downhill chops.  Lehrman again for showing up twice this year when I have been around. Once for Camas and now this. I had no idea he was such a lover a rock gardens.  Dean, Jeff, and Quentin; sorry I don't have any special words for you guys. You did your usual.

Also along for the ride was Richard, a real life G'day mate, you call that a knife, this is a knife, shrimp on the barbie Aussie.  Somehow he found Chad all the way from down under and flew up here to buy a Turner from Red Barn and then to travel the states for  five months wearing it out.  It's now an official mountain bike with authentic Bitterroot scratches.  For a different perspective of the Bitterroot, check out his blog.



Special ride next week.  We coaxed Eric into a rendezvous at his base camp / house for some Blue Mountain riding. We'll also try and bag some tea while we are there.

Railroad Creek

You've been here before. Steven King said that his favorite opening line for one of his novels, and if was good enough for him, it's good enough for me to steal,  and I guess that is true figuratively : a hot  fire road climb, a whiff of smoke in the air, riding on Wednesday night, clearing a few downed trees, an overgrown creek side trail with hidden holes.

Literally almost none of you have been here.  Probably only five of the Wednesday riders have ventured onto Railroad, and even fewer have risked the bottom creek.  This season Jeff has made it his personal mission to clear the trail and we finished it last night removing the last few trees on the upper half mile.  This trail continues to grow on me, and all it needs is traffic to reestablish the trail. Sadly this week our numbers were down to a duo, me and the current dictator for life, so the trail remains a mere thread in places, and occasionally vanishes entirely.

You haven't been her before.  I heard the excuses. " I was working late."  "I'm resting up for the Como Tri." "I'm tapering for the Butte 50 and/or 100."  "I was having Italian Festivities."  At least the last one was original.  Since I've never had a woman try to entice me to skip a ride with an an invitation for  festivities, whether Italian, French, Vietnamese, or even English, I'm not sure what I would do.

You probably haven't been here before.  You are middle aged, fast approaching over the hill, still single, still trying out the online dating gig when you get this response to an email, 

"Okay, that was pretty funny...definitely made me chuckle. :) Thanks for your note. I do appreciate your interest and you sound like a really good guy. 

I never know quite how to say this without sounding extremely shallow, because I'm really not...but over the years I've figured out that I'm just not a girl who's comfortable with being taller than the boy. It's obviously not a reflection on you and is clearly my own thing. But, despite my giving it a shot on many occasions, I just end up feeling "big", and being almost six feet tall, have spent more of my life feeling that way than I'd like, so have just kind of made it a rule of thumb to not put myself in that position. 

So, again, I really do appreciate your note and wish you the best in your search, and I can only hope you don't think I'm completely ridiculous anyway. :) Take Good Care..."

Can you imagine if I have wrote back to a woman and said, "Don't think I'm shallow, because I'm not, but your breasts are just too small. If I can't get a nice handful, my hands just seem huge and I feel like I have Marfans."


OK, I get it society makes it hard on taller women, unlike slightly below average height men. Some of the preferences are genetically hardwired, and society has other expectations about masculinity  Still I guess this irritates me, probably since it's not the first time I've been blown off for not being over 6'.

I still trying how I'm going to have a talk about girls with my son, who appears destined to inherit my scrawny proclivities.  "Son, you just have to accept that now matter how smart you are, how funny, or athletic, how big your dick is, how much money you make, some women,  actually a lot more women than you would expect, won't go out with you simply because you aren't tall enough.

You've been here before.  Riding down a trail chasing the last rays of light.

You've been here before.  Downhills, smiles, wrecks.

You've been here before.  Beer and barbie at the the car.

You'll be there.  Next Wednesday. Blodgett Canyon followed by party at Beau's.

Palisades 2013

Every so often I get on the internet and check other blogs and ride reports and I have discovered that most are boring most of the time.  One blog went on for nine posts about some two day race he, his wife, and some of his friends did as team down in Utah. Maybe one picture per post, but you always knew how fast they were going, how steep the hills were, how many watts they were generating along with the elevation profiles of each section. Yeah I know I do that sometimes and writing a blog is inherently narcissistic, but to drag one ride out for nearly two weeks of posts. No thanks.  Of course he makes money blogging and you got to keep the advertisers happy, and it is hard enough to find something to write about once a week,  much less every day.

I know I'm having a hard time being creative, especially since I decided to stop writing about my lack of a love life.  But even revealing the nonexistent intimate details of my life how many times, in a variety of different ways does anyone want to hear about how I'm not getting laid.  Instead more of what everyone wants photos, and unedited videos.

Same thing with Palisades. By now everyone know it is a long, give me some DZ nuts painful climb. Usually hot,  even if clouds saved our eyes from a sweat bath.  Chad and Rob, the hard core duo weren't as lucky. They left early so they could tack on an extra twenty miles with a cruise out to Burnt Fork Lake before attempting the ridge.  That's some Butte 100 training for you.  So don't surprised if you a DNF by my name.  I just did the usual ass kicker Palisades loop.  For the reward, they had the sun on the climb, and some nice tasty overcooked dried out, half cold, leftover sausages that were about to be tossed in the bushes when we turned off the grill.

By now everyone knows I'm a slow as molasses climber.  I always figured that at least I was molasses that had been sitting out in the sun on one these recent toasty summer days.  But when Beau blew past me again and again and again I felt more like molasses on the North Pole on the winter solstice at midnight.  I know molasses at the south pole would be even slower, but I have some dignity and even I'm not that slow.

So how did Beau keep lapping me on a climb. Well he would race to the head of the pack, dust them, turn around ride back down, check on the straggler and repeat.  I'm glad I was lagging far enough behind to give him something to keep him motivated on the climb.

So was there anything unusual about this year's sojourn.  Well, Joel wasn't around to piss and moan about how long and hot the climb is, and then to piss more vinegar about all the rock on the way down.  The mosquitos seemed less pervasive, but them I pre coated myself with DEET at the bottom. (Reminder to self, don't wipe mouth with back of hand afterwards) No one bonked, a rarity for this ride. No face plant in the mud. (My speciality and  my introduction to the ride years ago)  Just fun, fun, fun this year. Plenty of time, somehow despite my laggard climbing we managed to do the loop faster than ever. Go figure.

Did I mention Beau was riding a carbon hard tail.  I understand the appeal for the climb.  I'm still flabbergasted that he and the bike are still in two pieces after the descent.

My apologies for the quality of the videos this week. With Chad galavanting on the optional out and back to Burnt Fork Lake, Travis was forced to putz along and film the decidedly slower options of either me or Warwick, yes our Dictator Emeritus made it for a ride this summer. I knew he couldn't miss this one, even if he couldn't finagle a shuttle out of one his family members.





For those who miss the elevation profiles and GPS mapping crap, there is some here from two years. I guess I missed last years joint ride with the Missoula crowd. Speaking of which, I think it is about time for some Blue Mountain tea bagging starting at Eric's house.



Finally for those who haven't heard, it's time to block out weekend of September 6-8 and join the Bitterroot Backcountry Cyclists for some shuttling and beer drinking on Warm Springs Ridge. Yes the Lost Trail Bike Fest & Shuttle Extravaganza is for real, unlike sharknados

Warm springs Ridge 2013

The ways of the gods are unknowable to man so I am ignorant as to whether those were tears of joy or sorrow that fell in response to the French Caboose's departure. Regardless of the motivation, they were a portent of what lay in store for us.

The gods were clearly in the mood for a celebration and in turn treated us to what may have been the penultimate Wednesday ride in a long series of excellent rides.  The angels tears and overcast skies  keep us cool on the grind up the ridge.

Along the climb the almost overwhelming scent of lupine filled the damp air.  Blossoms of bear grass on the side of trail blazed like LED headlamps when backlit by the occasional appearances of the sun.

I don't know the physics behind what moisture does to sandy soil whether it changes the angle of repose or changes some adhesion coefficient, but I know what it means for riding; skittish sand is converted into hold me, squeeze me, never let me go loam.

With the solstice having occurred only a few days earlier, the long days allowed us to extend to ride nearly two miles past Fire Creek and up to the ridge crest. We were rewarded not only with dramatic clearing skies, but with one more section of screaming downhill.  With only one tree having fallen since trail day.  The only thing left was the memorable Fire Creek downhill, or for some of us Warm Springs Ridge.

Speaking of the gods, I can shake my head in wonder in how fast I was dropped on the climb. 100 yards and two switchbacks and I had already fallen off the back of the herd of mountain goats flying up the trail. Along for the ride were several Wednesday virgins.  What a way to lose your cherry.

While I have occasional tried to keep up with these god/goat hybrids, does that make them satyrs, I have long ago tried to give up on trying to stay with them on the downhills. Watching the GoPro videos primarily of Chad and Travis I was amazed to watch them gaining speed and pedaling through sections that I had been riding my brakes.  I wish I knew how they did it, since brakes seem to the bane of my downhills. I only wreck when I use them.

Still a very satisfying downhill from me, cleaned the switchbacks and survived without injury.  Something that couldn't be said for Travis.

Apparently the encounter with the hidden tree was impressive in real time.  The video, while showing the brush with fate, doesn't appear to do it justice.

Even with the long day, we didn't return to the grill and beer until near sunset with festivities continuing  until 11:00.  It was only until I started the ride report did I realize two faux pas for this requiem to Jean. I suppose instead of the farewell hug we should exchanged the european style quasi two cheek kissy kiss, and I totally neglected to get a photo of him the entire ride.


Still I wouldn't be surprised to see him and his Audi skulking around these parts in the future. Until then I imagine I will need to resume my post as the caboose. It's been great riding with you Jean. Good luck in Moscow.

Camas Lake 2013

I guess there is no need to be gentle. I had a an off night yesterday. I sucked like a sorority girl at her first frat party.

I forgot to check the battery on the GoPro, so we missed out on a video of Chad putting his new Alpino through it's paces on the Camas rock gardens.  I forgot to check to make sure all the nuts and bolts were tight on the Mojo, so my rear axle backed itself out and my rear tire almost fell out on while catching a little air on the humps. Makes me wonder if my hair is going blonde rather than gray. I chose the wrong landing zone on another kelly hump on the ATV track from  the Lost Horse Overlook and had a closeup with a rotting log.  I even committed the ultimate faux pas of skipping out on beer, heterocyclic amines, and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons.

 Worst of all I had no endurance on the climbs and was repeated dropped from the pack as fast as a sorority girl who won't give head. Riding alone as a loose caboose I missed out on any juicy tidbits to share, and didn't get a chance to find out what mental disorder inspired them to ride hard tails (It's not that I have anything against hard tails, I just picked up one myself, it's just that Camas is Camas), just who the bunch of new faces were, and how the several infrequent flyers were doing.  

About the only good news is that I can once again suck through my camelback bite valve. I'm hoping it's temporary adrenal suppression after stopping the steroids on Sunday, and not some sudden loss in fitness.  Even my lunch rides have been slow. When I look at my strava logs I'm riding several minutes slower than I was the week before.  I feel like my clutch is worn out with me stuck in second gear.

Since I'm in a groove of suckiness this week, this ride report might as well suck as well.  The End.