I was recently getting some advice from Kurt Vonnegut about writing, and this is what he told me.
1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
Technically this is what I read that he said at some time in the distant past, and I found via the powers of Google. Although given that in his novels he wasn't all that interested in linearity or the sense of time flowing, I not sure he would complain about my misrepresentation.
Hopefully his advice will improve the blog vastly from here on out. With his advice in mind.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
For the first time in the recent memory the Wednesday night ride and drinking was aborted.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
With so many people tapering for the Como Tri or the Butte 50, and others recovering from Sun Valley and the rest afflicted by the doldrums of the dog days of summer, only two of us managed to get to the trailhead to ride. One more came 45 minutes late, but we had already bagged the idea of riding by then, and we were hauling our arises back to town.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
Me. It was my birthday.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
I wanted to get laid, but this isn't a fantasy.
Would a pleasant bike ride with friends to Two Good Cabin be too much to ask for?
6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
My rear tire was flat when we unloaded it from the bike rack at Warm Springs campground. I guess leaving your bike in the back of the truck after riding Blodgett is not the best plan. Fixed the flat without trouble. After getting the wheel back on, the rear brake was dead. Pumped it some without success. Gave up, tucked my tail between my legs and scampered back to the Barn. I had carpooled with Joel, so I dragged him back too. Chad pumped the brake for a minute and brought it back to life. I guess Chad is a much more experienced hand pumper than me. Maybe you should root for him instead.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
No action this week, so I guess we need to reveal some character. There is a saying on Wednesday nights that if you are going to be stupid, you better her strong. I have plenty of the first and not enough of the second.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
For that cute girl from Boise who winked at me on Match.com and had your profile pulled before I could send you my SSN, address, and bank routing number.
1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
My apologies. I'm afraid I'm no Vonnegut.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Camas Lake - 2012
There was some big news this week. Scientists at the LHC in Switzerland discovered evidence for the existence of the Higgs Boson. WTF does this have to do with mountain biking, quite a bit thank you. It has been awhile since college physics for me, but from what I have been able to pice together the Higgs Boson acts as a quantum mechanical version of the gumbo that develops on Calf Creek after a heavy rain. What does the gumbo do. It makes pedaling and moving harder. The Higgs Boson when acting as a field works the same way. It makes it harder for particles to move around, and we call that mass. While climbing from Coyote Coulee I was extremely aware of mass, especially as the rest of group dropped me like a lizard drops it's tail as a decoy for predators. Climbing the rocks on the Camas trail proper, that combination of mass and gravity we call weight eventually forced everybody, even the local supermen, off their bikes.
Trying to remember any fragments of my rudimentary understanding of quantum mechanics, and aided by my current reading of "The River Why," which like "Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintanence" is less about the supposed topic, in this case fishing, than it is about, you guessed it connections; I was reminded that more important than the particles is the interactions between them. In my last post I mentioned that I discovered that all the single women were in Moscow and how I might wander that direction in hopes of interacting with a feminine particle. Before I left on the quest, I discovered that in my excitement, I didn't read the article quite closely enough, the single women are in Moscow, Russia not Idaho. It wasn't a total waste; I ended up with a lifetime supply of NRS straps.
Sometimes when out riding I become cognizant of the myriad connections. Such as the email announcing the ride. We are going to meet at Coyote Coulee and riding to Camas Lake. The meeting point and the destination are to a degree irrelevant. What matters is the trail, and what is a trail other than a connection. Reaching the lake, baking from the photons from the sun, another connection with the water seemed crucial.
While riding up the trail, the residue of other interactions with my chainsaw litter the sides of the trail. Two weeks ago I heard rumors of atrocious unrideable conditions up Camas. With everyone out of town or otherwise occupied with pre 4th activities, or 40th birthday parties, I mounted a solo expedition up to the lake. Three tanks of gas and the untold number of trees that had turned the trail into an obstacle course were gone, with only little piles of sawdust left behind. I'm going to throw a plug in here for everyone to remind them to bring saws, especially handsaws when you have a group and you know there will be deadfall. Even clearing a few trees can be a huge help, and makes the trails more fun for everyone.
As we swatted the Mosquitos, I knew some would escape death and manage to get in for a suck, and next visit some of the new mosquitos harassing me might be carrying remnants of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen that might have once been my blood. Almost makes you wonder if killing them, is like killing your kin. Furthermore, if a you catch a fish that ate the spawn of the bugger who went vampire on you, are you a cannibal?
Other times when riding, I notice a spot and remember that I wrecked there last year. Now at that spot there is blooming beargrass. Or did take a piss there last year, either way plant food.
At other times, other connections, or their lack become apparent. Such as when a chain snaps. Something that happened twice yesterday. Sometime the rubber in a tube gets pinched and ceases to be connected to the rest of the tube. All that is left is a hiss of the air escaping.
Of course group rides add another dimension of interconnectedness. Chad's quick links end up on Bret and Eric's bikes. One of Bret's links end up on Jeff's bike. Inner tubes change hands.
Then there is the serendipity that hints at hidden relationships. If it weren't for falls and mechanicals I would never have had a chance to get far enough ahead to take photos.
Before I get too far into the armchair, or is bike seatbull shitting philosophizing, I better relate some more about the ride. Seven showed up. Chad brought along a friend, weary from road tripping from Nebraska. He barely had time to shut off the engine and show off his new baby before he had to put on his chamois and throw his bike into the back of the truck. I'm not sure if Chad is the best friend or the worst friend ever.
I have to agree with Jeff, with all the new younger sonabitches the rides are faster than they were in the past. Even some of the older dogs are getting faster with Butte 50 training. I even managed to clear the rock garden in these photos for the first time ever, on the third try.
With the time we saved with the after riding we were able to add some distance to the ride. It was only more switchback to the Lost Horse Overlook and a ATV trail down we were told. Somehow no one mentioned how many Warwicks long the switchback was. No maps, no GPS, no Strava segments for the new variant, just directions After riding Camas, go back to road and head up and around the switchback until the road splits. Go left, check out the view, and then follow the trail down.
The ATV trail down was a skidilicious loose dirt playground. Several us almost missed some tight turns obscured by the dust. Without masks some of the dust was inevitably inhaled, and even now may be undergoing a granulomatous reaction in our lungs incorporating a permanent connection with the trail into our bodies.
Don't forget Sunday's Tour of the Bitterroot for the Bitterroot Land Trust.
Special Edition of the Wednesday Night Ride next week. The Zootown Tea Baggers are coming down to interact with us along with riding Willow Creek and Palisades. In deference to their limited aerobic abilities, we plan to shuttle the road. Provided we can figure out a way to keep the bikes safely stowed on the road up.
Trying to remember any fragments of my rudimentary understanding of quantum mechanics, and aided by my current reading of "The River Why," which like "Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintanence" is less about the supposed topic, in this case fishing, than it is about, you guessed it connections; I was reminded that more important than the particles is the interactions between them. In my last post I mentioned that I discovered that all the single women were in Moscow and how I might wander that direction in hopes of interacting with a feminine particle. Before I left on the quest, I discovered that in my excitement, I didn't read the article quite closely enough, the single women are in Moscow, Russia not Idaho. It wasn't a total waste; I ended up with a lifetime supply of NRS straps.
Sometimes when out riding I become cognizant of the myriad connections. Such as the email announcing the ride. We are going to meet at Coyote Coulee and riding to Camas Lake. The meeting point and the destination are to a degree irrelevant. What matters is the trail, and what is a trail other than a connection. Reaching the lake, baking from the photons from the sun, another connection with the water seemed crucial.
While riding up the trail, the residue of other interactions with my chainsaw litter the sides of the trail. Two weeks ago I heard rumors of atrocious unrideable conditions up Camas. With everyone out of town or otherwise occupied with pre 4th activities, or 40th birthday parties, I mounted a solo expedition up to the lake. Three tanks of gas and the untold number of trees that had turned the trail into an obstacle course were gone, with only little piles of sawdust left behind. I'm going to throw a plug in here for everyone to remind them to bring saws, especially handsaws when you have a group and you know there will be deadfall. Even clearing a few trees can be a huge help, and makes the trails more fun for everyone.
As we swatted the Mosquitos, I knew some would escape death and manage to get in for a suck, and next visit some of the new mosquitos harassing me might be carrying remnants of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen that might have once been my blood. Almost makes you wonder if killing them, is like killing your kin. Furthermore, if a you catch a fish that ate the spawn of the bugger who went vampire on you, are you a cannibal?
Other times when riding, I notice a spot and remember that I wrecked there last year. Now at that spot there is blooming beargrass. Or did take a piss there last year, either way plant food.
At other times, other connections, or their lack become apparent. Such as when a chain snaps. Something that happened twice yesterday. Sometime the rubber in a tube gets pinched and ceases to be connected to the rest of the tube. All that is left is a hiss of the air escaping.
Of course group rides add another dimension of interconnectedness. Chad's quick links end up on Bret and Eric's bikes. One of Bret's links end up on Jeff's bike. Inner tubes change hands.
Then there is the serendipity that hints at hidden relationships. If it weren't for falls and mechanicals I would never have had a chance to get far enough ahead to take photos.
Before I get too far into the armchair, or is bike seat
I have to agree with Jeff, with all the new younger sonabitches the rides are faster than they were in the past. Even some of the older dogs are getting faster with Butte 50 training. I even managed to clear the rock garden in these photos for the first time ever, on the third try.
With the time we saved with the after riding we were able to add some distance to the ride. It was only more switchback to the Lost Horse Overlook and a ATV trail down we were told. Somehow no one mentioned how many Warwicks long the switchback was. No maps, no GPS, no Strava segments for the new variant, just directions After riding Camas, go back to road and head up and around the switchback until the road splits. Go left, check out the view, and then follow the trail down.
The ATV trail down was a skidilicious loose dirt playground. Several us almost missed some tight turns obscured by the dust. Without masks some of the dust was inevitably inhaled, and even now may be undergoing a granulomatous reaction in our lungs incorporating a permanent connection with the trail into our bodies.
Don't forget Sunday's Tour of the Bitterroot for the Bitterroot Land Trust.
Special Edition of the Wednesday Night Ride next week. The Zootown Tea Baggers are coming down to interact with us along with riding Willow Creek and Palisades. In deference to their limited aerobic abilities, we plan to shuttle the road. Provided we can figure out a way to keep the bikes safely stowed on the road up.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Ward Mountain 2012
Taking a break from my relentless schedule of trying to turn my every thought into a clever tweet and posting comments on my wall, I discovered a whole new way to combine narcissism and vacuousness. I just discovered Strava. For the fitness and Facebook obsessed this is a mainlining heroin fantasy. How this works is you can post your gps tracks and race other people without the hassles of having to agree to a day or time or even needing to watch their chamois.
I figured this would appeal mostly top roadies or triathletes. Then I was reading the FatCyclist blog, and he was boasting about his wife out there trying to claim her title as Queen of the Hill on several mountain bike trails around Salt Lake City and I realized that it must also appeal to that endurance fringe of mountain bikers who like things like the Butte 50 and the Park City Point to Point.
My first impression was like you know like whatever. Then while pedaling up Ward yesterday I had one of those lightbulb moments, when I realized why my reaction to this new social web app was so blasé. I was at the back of our intimate crew of 5 and I was reminded that I don't need an app to remind me how incredibly ordinary I am. I'm routinely dropped on the climbs and I gave up filming with my helmet cam since I couldn't keep up with anyone worth watching on youtube. Sam Shultz I'm not, and if I was the last thing I would need is an app to remind how good a mountain biker I was.
I'm not opposed to competition. Every Wednesday is full of the testosterone addled, and at some level we are always measuring ourselves against each other. Where should I be in the lineup? Who do I want to be in front of going down? I'm just not sure I want every ride to be a redlining competition. I love to get on my bike and I hate the idea of having interval days and recovery days and long and slow days. I just want to go out have fun. I do a few races every year like the Bitterroot Tri and the Butte 50 a few years ago and while I don't expect to win I still want to perform well. In that way Strava kind of reminds me cyber sex. You get a chance to get all sweaty while alone and it feels good, but it in the end it is still just masturbation.
While on that subject, I realize I haven't mentioned my social life in the last few posts, and no doubt everyone is salivating to know how the singles scene is. I can report that I have found where the single women are. Moscow has 3 million single women between 25 and 50. That's like three times the population of all of Montana. I'm not entirely sure how this helps me. I can't seem to find the time to go to Missoula. On the other hand, it would be great excuse the checkout the main NRS store. Never knew there were that many women in Idaho.
As far as yesterday's ride only five showed up to see how high we could get on Ward. The answer 8400 ft before the snow became annoying. Beau brought his friend Scott along to pop the cherry on his new Giant. The previous day's wind managed to knock down five more trees since it was cleared this weekend. The trail is once again cleared except for two big monsters well beyond the abilities of our handsaws and even our small chainsaws. It is becoming clear that we may to assign loper duties along with sawing. With fewer snags remaining upright to become future problems, our future in trail maintenance will need to shift to taking care of all dog hair lodgepole encroaching on the trail, especially if the FS wants an 8 foot wide corridor.
There was one moment cognitive dissonance after pushing my bike for half an hour when I saw Dean get back on his bike and he started pedaling up the hill and I stood there momentarily confused by what he was doing. Until it dawned on me that I had spent too much time at the Whistler Bike Park last week and was forgetting that bikes can be ridden up hills as well as ridden down. Above the burn, we played a continuous game of anaerobic leap frog as we took turns climbing, pushing and leaning against trees.
Those days in Whistler must not have been a total waste, the upper section of Ward seemed easier than I remembered, and even the drops in the burn seemed fun rather than intimidating. Once on the flowy lower section I can't remember every using my brakes so light and delicately, kind of like a shy teenage boy who for the first time has managed to talk a girl out of her bra. It was so titillating felt a need for a virtual spanking.
Normally I'm not concerned about now shows, but this week one of our missing brethren gets the years first WTF award. I was down at the Barn the day before the ride a certain Mr Riley assured he was riding and that he would bring his grill, so I wouldn't need to bring mine. Lo and behold the day came, no Riley and no grill. Most everyone else fled, except Rob and I who did out duty surviving on Single Hop and salsa.
Not sure where next week's ride will be. First off next Wednesday is the 4th of July, and secondly Camas still hasn't been cleared and Sleeping Child is already covered in downfall again, only a week after being cleared.
I figured this would appeal mostly top roadies or triathletes. Then I was reading the FatCyclist blog, and he was boasting about his wife out there trying to claim her title as Queen of the Hill on several mountain bike trails around Salt Lake City and I realized that it must also appeal to that endurance fringe of mountain bikers who like things like the Butte 50 and the Park City Point to Point.
My first impression was like you know like whatever. Then while pedaling up Ward yesterday I had one of those lightbulb moments, when I realized why my reaction to this new social web app was so blasé. I was at the back of our intimate crew of 5 and I was reminded that I don't need an app to remind me how incredibly ordinary I am. I'm routinely dropped on the climbs and I gave up filming with my helmet cam since I couldn't keep up with anyone worth watching on youtube. Sam Shultz I'm not, and if I was the last thing I would need is an app to remind how good a mountain biker I was.
I'm not opposed to competition. Every Wednesday is full of the testosterone addled, and at some level we are always measuring ourselves against each other. Where should I be in the lineup? Who do I want to be in front of going down? I'm just not sure I want every ride to be a redlining competition. I love to get on my bike and I hate the idea of having interval days and recovery days and long and slow days. I just want to go out have fun. I do a few races every year like the Bitterroot Tri and the Butte 50 a few years ago and while I don't expect to win I still want to perform well. In that way Strava kind of reminds me cyber sex. You get a chance to get all sweaty while alone and it feels good, but it in the end it is still just masturbation.
While on that subject, I realize I haven't mentioned my social life in the last few posts, and no doubt everyone is salivating to know how the singles scene is. I can report that I have found where the single women are. Moscow has 3 million single women between 25 and 50. That's like three times the population of all of Montana. I'm not entirely sure how this helps me. I can't seem to find the time to go to Missoula. On the other hand, it would be great excuse the checkout the main NRS store. Never knew there were that many women in Idaho.
As far as yesterday's ride only five showed up to see how high we could get on Ward. The answer 8400 ft before the snow became annoying. Beau brought his friend Scott along to pop the cherry on his new Giant. The previous day's wind managed to knock down five more trees since it was cleared this weekend. The trail is once again cleared except for two big monsters well beyond the abilities of our handsaws and even our small chainsaws. It is becoming clear that we may to assign loper duties along with sawing. With fewer snags remaining upright to become future problems, our future in trail maintenance will need to shift to taking care of all dog hair lodgepole encroaching on the trail, especially if the FS wants an 8 foot wide corridor.
There was one moment cognitive dissonance after pushing my bike for half an hour when I saw Dean get back on his bike and he started pedaling up the hill and I stood there momentarily confused by what he was doing. Until it dawned on me that I had spent too much time at the Whistler Bike Park last week and was forgetting that bikes can be ridden up hills as well as ridden down. Above the burn, we played a continuous game of anaerobic leap frog as we took turns climbing, pushing and leaning against trees.
Those days in Whistler must not have been a total waste, the upper section of Ward seemed easier than I remembered, and even the drops in the burn seemed fun rather than intimidating. Once on the flowy lower section I can't remember every using my brakes so light and delicately, kind of like a shy teenage boy who for the first time has managed to talk a girl out of her bra. It was so titillating felt a need for a virtual spanking.
Normally I'm not concerned about now shows, but this week one of our missing brethren gets the years first WTF award. I was down at the Barn the day before the ride a certain Mr Riley assured he was riding and that he would bring his grill, so I wouldn't need to bring mine. Lo and behold the day came, no Riley and no grill. Most everyone else fled, except Rob and I who did out duty surviving on Single Hop and salsa.
Not sure where next week's ride will be. First off next Wednesday is the 4th of July, and secondly Camas still hasn't been cleared and Sleeping Child is already covered in downfall again, only a week after being cleared.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Weasel Creek - 2012
Urgent alert: Cayla's bike was stolen yesterday. From Brett: "Stolen off bike rack at good food store at 2 pm tuesday. Bike was locked to rack and the asshole on tape cut lock than came back for bike a little while later. Bike was a small blur lt with a fox 36, blue handlebars and zip ties, xt crank diva seat with rock shox reverb seat post. If anyone sees it please call police and kick in nuts and teeth. Thanks Brett and Cayla." Thief was wearing a hoodie. So if anyone in Zootown sees a guy in a hoodie, we have the man who needs his gonads and orthodontia rearranged.
Before the ride, I was packing my Deuter and debating whether the bring my rain jacket. It had dumped the day before and the clouds lingering over the Bitterroots looked looked like they could turn into something. On the other hand I had put the long heavier downhill Lyrik back on the bike, so I was trying to keep things as light as possible. As everyone knows the only thing worse than bringing a rain jacket and not using it, is being captured by the secret police in some middle eastern country and thrown into a dungeon where they introduce you to Morning Thunder, and it's not the Celestial Seasonings mate' blend breakfast tea that I like to start my day with. Instead the Syrian or Iranian version of Morning Thunder starts with steeping your personal tea bags in a warm bath to let them get all dangly and loose before dropping in the live wires.
Move tree.
Repeat.
Looking good. Sometimes I wonder if someone wants to be a ski and bike model.
Along the way we managed to get glimpses of the ever enjoyable Weasel Ridge downhill.
As slow and painful as it was to climb, though not as painful as Sex in the City 2, with my bike set up for shuttling and downhills; it was pure joy on the way down. I finally managed to ride the steep drop to the creek and the creekside obstacle course out.
Not everyone was as lucky.
Before the ride, I was packing my Deuter and debating whether the bring my rain jacket. It had dumped the day before and the clouds lingering over the Bitterroots looked looked like they could turn into something. On the other hand I had put the long heavier downhill Lyrik back on the bike, so I was trying to keep things as light as possible. As everyone knows the only thing worse than bringing a rain jacket and not using it, is being captured by the secret police in some middle eastern country and thrown into a dungeon where they introduce you to Morning Thunder, and it's not the Celestial Seasonings mate' blend breakfast tea that I like to start my day with. Instead the Syrian or Iranian version of Morning Thunder starts with steeping your personal tea bags in a warm bath to let them get all dangly and loose before dropping in the live wires.
So I left the rain coat behind, hopefully risking something less than torture by the Mukhabarat. I also left behind the handsaw since plenty of other stronger and faster riders, such as Quick Draw McGraw had already joined the backcountry forestry brigade.
Whether it was Aaron's difficulty digesting lunch or the anticipation of a big turnout for the ride, someone brought in a bunch or Porta potties for our use. Wow they knew we would have nearly 20 people show up I don't know, maybe they knew the sunshine, cool weather, and brownie dirt after last night rain would inspire us all.
Ridlon returned for ride after a long absence loitering in Bali and Nepal and wherever else, to take the place of our other world traveller Joel, who was gone to BC, just after getting back from the Middle Fork. This is one ride where showing up late is a benefit with the luxury of parking at the upper trailhead like Knolly Jeff and the Kiwi, but this year they missed the chance to make the discovery that I did as I slowly drifted off the back of the pack, courtesy of the previously mentioned fork. Beau has a secret identity: Hammer Man.
Almost immediately after we entered the single track realm, downfall was the story. It looked a lot like this. Find tree.
And this. Get off bike.
Mill around.
Move tree.
Repeat.
With all the manpower we eventually managed to clear the main loop; leaving the remainder of the trail to 313 for another day.
Looking good. Sometimes I wonder if someone wants to be a ski and bike model.
Along the way we managed to get glimpses of the ever enjoyable Weasel Ridge downhill.
As slow and painful as it was to climb, though not as painful as Sex in the City 2, with my bike set up for shuttling and downhills; it was pure joy on the way down. I finally managed to ride the steep drop to the creek and the creekside obstacle course out.
Not everyone was as lucky.
With practice it gets better, especially with the power slide.
Many thanks to Chad and Jeff for clearing the bottom. If only the dip shit third wheel with them had managed to brush more than the last quarter mile. Compared to last year the creek was lower, and feet were drier.
In order to keep Red Barn busy (not enough damage this week, only one rear derailleur) and to stay consistent with last year's ride schedule plan on Blodgett to the Wilderness boundary next week. Sorry I'll miss it. I'll try and post from Whistler instead. Food for thought for July rides, Super D series in Missoula
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Warm Springs - 2012
If I was a betting man, and if I was in Macau, and if a member of a Chinese triad was threatening to slit my throat with a rusty razor if I didn't bet on where the idea for this post came from, I would bet on the Bratwurst. Two Hamilton Packaging were happily digesting away in my gut last night when I had my insight. The other bet would have been on hallucinations caused by Rickettsia rickettsii. As it happens, while those bratwurst were being broken down by proteases and bile, I discovered a Dermacentor andersoni had managed to embed itself below my belt. Normally having someone's head in that vicinity is rather pleasant, being tea bagged by a tick is a different story. It made me consider my opinion on the brazilian. Chances are the tick was left over from the weekend, probably the one Adriana has thrown into the truck, but it was still too early to be having febrile hallucinations.
So what was the great idea that the brats had given me. It was an understanding of the connection between Wednesday night rides and cooking a meal. First, both require the freshest finest ingredients, and the trails around here don't get finer than Warm Springs Ridge. For those of us who are omnivorous, the key ingredient is the meat, which in Bitterroot means wild game. They don't come more wild or gamier, than the 5 guys I rode with last night. They are the backstraps of the Wednesday night crew. The last thing you want are the gristle, fat pieces and pick slime that the naughty moose coats with BBQ sauce to give away apres ski. You know the mountain equivalent. The excuse machines who ride the trail on Sunday that you cleared on Saturday.
Once you have the ingredients, there is the prep work. This year thanks to the efforts of the Bitterroot Backcountry Cyclists, the trail prep was about as perfect as it gets. (Thanks again to everyone who showed up. Hopefully next year it will be bigger and better.) Although it looks like next year we'll need some lopers on Fire Creek. The regenerating lodgepole are coming back with a vengeance and the forest service standards call for a 8 foot wide swath clear around the trail, as it was the new trees kept trying to grab the handlebar and help me steer.
One key of cooking is getting the temperature right. Sometimes a low simmer, sometimes a hot grill. I can't think there are many times that I would say this, but low 50's and overcast is the perfect temperature. I have climbed Warm Springs on plenty of a hot, bright sunny days, and I'll take cool, cloudy, and even pellets of graupel every time.
If anyone has ever done any baking, especially something like brownies one of the keys is getting the moisture right. Too dry and you're eating a brick. Too wet and it's all sticky goo. Trails are the same; mud or sand on the extremes. Last night we had perfect brownie texture, soft and a little grabby.
Last night's Warm Spring's soufflé turned out perfectly browned, and we discovered the last commonality. A multitool is as good for flipping burgers as it is for bike repairs.
So what was the great idea that the brats had given me. It was an understanding of the connection between Wednesday night rides and cooking a meal. First, both require the freshest finest ingredients, and the trails around here don't get finer than Warm Springs Ridge. For those of us who are omnivorous, the key ingredient is the meat, which in Bitterroot means wild game. They don't come more wild or gamier, than the 5 guys I rode with last night. They are the backstraps of the Wednesday night crew. The last thing you want are the gristle, fat pieces and pick slime that the naughty moose coats with BBQ sauce to give away apres ski. You know the mountain equivalent. The excuse machines who ride the trail on Sunday that you cleared on Saturday.
Once you have the ingredients, there is the prep work. This year thanks to the efforts of the Bitterroot Backcountry Cyclists, the trail prep was about as perfect as it gets. (Thanks again to everyone who showed up. Hopefully next year it will be bigger and better.) Although it looks like next year we'll need some lopers on Fire Creek. The regenerating lodgepole are coming back with a vengeance and the forest service standards call for a 8 foot wide swath clear around the trail, as it was the new trees kept trying to grab the handlebar and help me steer.
Inevitably when cooking a time will come when some key ingredient has gone AWOL, all the tamarind paste is used up and all you have on hand are couple of limes. Last night two screws for my front shifter made a break for freedom, and my shifter took a dive into my spokes. Even going uphill, amazing things happen when forward momentum is converted instantly into angular momentum. With the successful escape of the screws, the usual substitutes of zip ties and electrical tape temporarily remedied the problem.
One key of cooking is getting the temperature right. Sometimes a low simmer, sometimes a hot grill. I can't think there are many times that I would say this, but low 50's and overcast is the perfect temperature. I have climbed Warm Springs on plenty of a hot, bright sunny days, and I'll take cool, cloudy, and even pellets of graupel every time.
If anyone has ever done any baking, especially something like brownies one of the keys is getting the moisture right. Too dry and you're eating a brick. Too wet and it's all sticky goo. Trails are the same; mud or sand on the extremes. Last night we had perfect brownie texture, soft and a little grabby.
Last night's Warm Spring's soufflé turned out perfectly browned, and we discovered the last commonality. A multitool is as good for flipping burgers as it is for bike repairs.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Lost Lick Loop
Awhile back I was talking to a Wednesday night virgin and I encouraged him to get experienced. His main concern was that the rides sounded too social, and that would impair his need to ride fast. Eventually he tried a ride, and the group rabbits quickly disabused him of the notion that our post ride beer somehow impairs our riding ability.
This got me thinking about our motto, "A beer drinking club with a biking problem," and how this is more apt than we are willing to admit. After a previous post that mentioned my current relationship woes, I received a few comments that confirmed that I wasn't the only one who finds these rides to be an antidote for the Facebook and Twitter masquerade. In the words of one rider whose presence is sure to be missed and who I hope doesn't mind me sharing his thoughts, since they mirror mine, "That collection of my favorite assholes has seen me through hating my job, not sure what direction my life should go and the bumps that appear traveling down the road of marriage."
After last week's arctic expedition, ideal riding weather returned. Overcast and just warm enough to let our shirts soak up some salty pack juice, but not enough to induce eye burning headband leak. Along the way a startled white tail almost took out Brett. If only Brett had been faster, the deer slower, and I had my helmet cam on. After climbing over the hill from Lost Horse and a few more warwicks up the road we regrouped at Como Overlook. Too bad that when looking over you can't see the lake. For some of us, we have always felt that this ride was lacking something. While it has a long climb road slog, it was missing that essential Bitterroot: the hike a bike. Having poured over old maps and Google Earth someone noticed signs of a old road climbing the ridge above the overlook.
While most of us get as excited at the prospect of finding some new trail as we do after a google search for "naked MILF recumbent ride," a small minority looked at us pushing our bikes up the hillside, tucked their tails and with shouts of "Fuck That Shit!" echoing through the forest they disappeared into the trees in pursuit of beers and kebobs. Kebobs made by someone's woman folk who so appreciates the power of the ride that she is willing to bribe us to let her husband join in.
Luckily we dissuaded Dean, who was still dreaming of the the grassy knoll free ride on Butterfly two weeks ago, from attempting a repeat straight-line down to the north shore. We, and especially Dean, were even more lucky that water in canal discouraged Dean from any more ill advised line choices.
Even with several gap jumps attempts, all of the favorite assholes returned in one piece. The only biomechanical issue was an episode of cramping cured with a few sport beans.
Next week: Warm Springs Ridge hopefully freshly cleared.
This got me thinking about our motto, "A beer drinking club with a biking problem," and how this is more apt than we are willing to admit. After a previous post that mentioned my current relationship woes, I received a few comments that confirmed that I wasn't the only one who finds these rides to be an antidote for the Facebook and Twitter masquerade. In the words of one rider whose presence is sure to be missed and who I hope doesn't mind me sharing his thoughts, since they mirror mine, "That collection of my favorite assholes has seen me through hating my job, not sure what direction my life should go and the bumps that appear traveling down the road of marriage."
After last week's arctic expedition, ideal riding weather returned. Overcast and just warm enough to let our shirts soak up some salty pack juice, but not enough to induce eye burning headband leak. Along the way a startled white tail almost took out Brett. If only Brett had been faster, the deer slower, and I had my helmet cam on. After climbing over the hill from Lost Horse and a few more warwicks up the road we regrouped at Como Overlook. Too bad that when looking over you can't see the lake. For some of us, we have always felt that this ride was lacking something. While it has a long climb road slog, it was missing that essential Bitterroot: the hike a bike. Having poured over old maps and Google Earth someone noticed signs of a old road climbing the ridge above the overlook.
While most of us get as excited at the prospect of finding some new trail as we do after a google search for "naked MILF recumbent ride," a small minority looked at us pushing our bikes up the hillside, tucked their tails and with shouts of "Fuck That Shit!" echoing through the forest they disappeared into the trees in pursuit of beers and kebobs. Kebobs made by someone's woman folk who so appreciates the power of the ride that she is willing to bribe us to let her husband join in.
The rest of us pushed and rode our bikes, except for Rob in a Dylan worthy display of climbing prowess pedaled it in it's entirety, another half mile up the old reclaimed road hoping without reason that the Subaru babes that had sped past us earlier had decided to hang out on ridge high above Como. Needless to say, no willing wanton women were found, although we did find a real overlook of the lake.
Luckily we dissuaded Dean, who was still dreaming of the the grassy knoll free ride on Butterfly two weeks ago, from attempting a repeat straight-line down to the north shore. We, and especially Dean, were even more lucky that water in canal discouraged Dean from any more ill advised line choices.
Even with several gap jumps attempts, all of the favorite assholes returned in one piece. The only biomechanical issue was an episode of cramping cured with a few sport beans.
Next week: Warm Springs Ridge hopefully freshly cleared.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Yellowstone Camp
Guest post from Deano.
The weather forecast for Yellowstone Camp wasn’t as nice as last week: Highs around 50, Lows near freezing, large chance of precip – unclear whether solid or liquid. The forecast was right on. Probably as a result of that, we had just over 50% of the headcount of last week. 10 riders for about 19 miles. Every warm layer we had (including body armor) was in place for the descent.
Several of us spotted 2 bighorn sheep just ¼ mile from the parking spot at the start. One of our group seemed seriously concerned that they were experiencing signs of pertussis (perhaps they had been hanging out in the Pinesdale or Corvallis schools) and that he should “do the right thing”, FWP-style and shoot them. An hour or so later I should have been more concerned about his enthusiasm, as, after chasing the 2 leaders up the 11 mile/2,700 ft (3 Warwick) climb, I was exhibiting some of those symptoms myself.
We never quite made YC. By the time we all reached the top, we realized that we were flirting with daylight issues and had only 3 headlights between us, so we took the first left. We had also passed through sunlight, drizzle, snow and back into sunlight. There was a bank or two of old snow in the shadows near 7,000 ft, a few patches of fresh remaining from the night before, but the snow that was falling wasn’t accumulating and the trail was clear. The descent was challenging, but sweet. Enough rocks of sufficient size that you had to pay attention. While the air was cool, the ground conditions were perfect: no mud, but moist enough to stick to your wheels and not to your lungs. Eight of us descended Rocky Gulch, one back-tracked the road, and one came down Sawdust. By now, everyone is accounted for. No mechanicals, no injuries. The 2 sheep managed to NOT be guests-of-honor at the post-ride barbeque on Aaron’s tailgate.
Discussion of Lost Horse to Como Overlook/Jenny Ridge next week, with some possible investigation of a purported trail system ABOVE the Overlook.
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