Sunday, September 9, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Skalkaho Creek Trail (503)
I had a frightening experience last night. I was pushing my bike through another of the countless rocky sections, and I thought to myself, "This is kind of fun trail. It reminds me of Blodgett, or (wait for it) Sleeping Child. I wonder why we don't ride it more often." My next thought was, "Did I just think that?" With that, a terrifying realization washed over me. I'd gone native. I was hiking my bike not riding it, and as an example of a fun trail I was comparing to Sleeping Child. This was confirmed a few minutes later when I came to fallen log and wished I had my saw so I could clear the trail.
I need to get out of the valley, maybe to the Rattlesnake to remind myself that bikes are for riding, not pushing, and that trails can come without rocks. Otherwise I'll be hanging out with Shreky saying things like, "If that goddamn mother fucking spawn of the rancid vaginal secretions of a toothless syphilitic whore could only have shit for brains it would be an improvement." Shrek, I need some advice. Vaginal secretions sounds a little clinical. Would "putrid pussy juices" be more Darbarian?
On a happier note. I didn't need to do the ride alone. I have realized that when I ride I bring along somewhere around 100,000,000,000,000 little microbial buddies. While we do communicate, mostly by chemical messaging at the cellular level, I can't say they are very good conversationalists, so it is good thing that Eric came along.
For those who have never ridden the 503 trail, which is probably most everybody. Go up Rye Creek road from Skalkaho. Go past fucking Railroad Creek. Go past that dick breaking Weasel Creek. Stop at the next damn trailhead. Someone, bless his hairy crack, had cleared the whole thing. (Feel like shooting some wolves, and mountain lions, and baiting beers.) We saw mountain bike, horse, and dirt bike tracks, so I'm not sure who did the clearing. Just nice for once to have had someone else do the job, although I'm guessing it was people getting their hunting camps set up. More like a lap dance at Shotgun Willies. A little over 5 miles up, the trail meets up with 313, where a right turn will take you to Jerry Lake at the base of Fox Peak. Not that we made it that far. Diminishing light and a late start forced us to turn back a little short of 313. As far as the trail, the first mile sucks you in on what appears to be an old road grade. Then there is a creek crossing and things get nasty, though not as nasty as a logging camp hooker. On the way up there was always just a little too much dust (insert old prostitute simile here), one too many rocks like a siliconed up stripper, and a wee too much incline to stay on the bike kind of like trying to keep to love pistol on the bullseye while swinging on the trapeze. Going down is a different story, every obstacle on the way up became a toy. Reminded me of that AR-15 vs wolf pack, or was that a pack of gummit agenda 21 agents, fantasy.
While most of us hung around the valley huddled inside try to avoid the pall in the air, Chad and Gager went riding down in Park City. They look like they were having too much fun for having just climbed somewhere around 14,000 feet of vertical on single track. Great job representing us at the Park City Point to Point against all those skinny-armed leg-shaving manscaped cross-country racing San Francisco loving pretty boys. All of whom, can kick my ass
While most of us hung around the valley huddled inside try to avoid the pall in the air, Chad and Gager went riding down in Park City. They look like they were having too much fun for having just climbed somewhere around 14,000 feet of vertical on single track. Great job representing us at the Park City Point to Point against all those skinny-armed leg-shaving manscaped cross-country racing San Francisco loving pretty boys. All of whom, can kick my ass
That's it for now. I think it is time for 6 pack of Olympia. Shit, did I just write that, don't quite feel like myself. I meant some IPA, or a single hop, Oktoberfest, Ranier. Nooooooooooooooo.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Bear Creek Overlook - 2012
Cough, cough, hack, cough. Sorry, I'll get to the post here in a second. Hacked up a big smoke encrusted phlegm ball. That's better.
When I first announced the ride I managed to piss off half the population when I referred to the Wednesday night riders as "ladies." As I was promptly informed, several leal life authentic local ladies had just finished the Fitz-Barn ride, while their supposedly hard core spouses stayed home constantly hitting refresh on their computers to follow their ride: 5 days, 400 miles, self supported. Just a reminder that ladies are not the delicate fainting flowers that victorian men thought they were, and just because their gonads don't hang down in a saggy bag they are truly tough, strong badasses. Kudos again the Cassie and Tracy.
More coughing and hacking.
And smart, they are much smarter than the hairier sex. If they had seen a huge cloud of smoke hanging over the trail they were planning to ride, they would have done something intelligent like gone to the brewery for a beer. Driving to pick up Dean and seeing a plume of smoke so dark it looked it was coming directly out of Mordor, with the center of the blowing over Bear Creek Canyon, I wished I chosen a different ride, but I had an obligation. Unlike some other organizers of rides I felt an obligation to suffer along on a ride I had not only chosen, but pushed for a strong turnout. Indeed we had the biggest turnout we have had in a month. Five others were just as clueless enough to sacrifice their future health for a ride, and a chance to get our of the house for a breath of fresh air.
Among us were two new fathers. One new bambino on Sunday, and one two weeks earlier. Knowing the dads, that should mean plenty of future bikes and business for Chad. I'm still trying to figure out if they have the most understanding wives ever, or if they have already managed to annoy their wives so much during their paternity leave that the new moms just wanted them out of the house.
If there were any advantages to experiencing what it must be like to be the Marlboro Man, I guess the smoke kept the bugs away almost as well as zebra stripes do. Smoke was also an issue for last year's ride, no duh. It was August last year, too. Last year though, the winds were kind and blew the smoke away.
When I first announced the ride I managed to piss off half the population when I referred to the Wednesday night riders as "ladies." As I was promptly informed, several leal life authentic local ladies had just finished the Fitz-Barn ride, while their supposedly hard core spouses stayed home constantly hitting refresh on their computers to follow their ride: 5 days, 400 miles, self supported. Just a reminder that ladies are not the delicate fainting flowers that victorian men thought they were, and just because their gonads don't hang down in a saggy bag they are truly tough, strong badasses. Kudos again the Cassie and Tracy.
More coughing and hacking.
And smart, they are much smarter than the hairier sex. If they had seen a huge cloud of smoke hanging over the trail they were planning to ride, they would have done something intelligent like gone to the brewery for a beer. Driving to pick up Dean and seeing a plume of smoke so dark it looked it was coming directly out of Mordor, with the center of the blowing over Bear Creek Canyon, I wished I chosen a different ride, but I had an obligation. Unlike some other organizers of rides I felt an obligation to suffer along on a ride I had not only chosen, but pushed for a strong turnout. Indeed we had the biggest turnout we have had in a month. Five others were just as clueless enough to sacrifice their future health for a ride, and a chance to get our of the house for a breath of fresh air.
Among us were two new fathers. One new bambino on Sunday, and one two weeks earlier. Knowing the dads, that should mean plenty of future bikes and business for Chad. I'm still trying to figure out if they have the most understanding wives ever, or if they have already managed to annoy their wives so much during their paternity leave that the new moms just wanted them out of the house.
If there were any advantages to experiencing what it must be like to be the Marlboro Man, I guess the smoke kept the bugs away almost as well as zebra stripes do. Smoke was also an issue for last year's ride, no duh. It was August last year, too. Last year though, the winds were kind and blew the smoke away.
Last year.
We all agreed that we would maintain an easy pace to try and minimize our exposures. I was quickly reminded that an easy pace for Dean, Jeff, and Eric is not what most people would consider a casual pace, which must explain why I'm still recovering from the effects of the smoke inhalation. Everyone had the pleasure of scratchy eyes and burning throats.
One reason I choose to ride, and impair my health was the chance to hang and socialize. I had just spent a week vacation with my kids, and I needed some adult conversation and beverages. Wrong place for adult conversation. Right place for adult beverages. While riding, I had the chance to discuss online dating with someone who has had some success. He passed on a second hand account of a woman's experience.
When she started she sent out 10 emails to potential men. She had 10 replies and 10 dates, and at least one keeper. Now my experience. 15 emails, 5 responses, of which 4 were NO, and one date. This may not be a fair comparison since she is younger, a lot hotter, tall, blonde, scandinavian, and has an empty nest compared to the average schmuck that I am. Then again calling me average might be a little generous, especially compared to the people I hang out with. Most everyone else is taller with more hair, I tend to lag at the back on climbs, and end up somewhere in the middle on descents both on skis and bikes. I make a decent salary, but at least one member of gang so skews the curve that I still end up around the median. For awhile I thought I might have an edge in the education department, until I remember that a bunch of the other guys in the group have their own labs at RML. Even more depressing I found this:
"Females' sexual attraction towards males may be determined by the height of the man. Height in men is associated with status or wealth in many cultures which is beneficial to women romantically involved with them. One study conducted of women's personal ads support the existence of this preference; the study found that in ads requesting height in a mate, 80% requested a height of 6.00 feet (1.83 m) or taller. The online dating Website eHarmony only matches women with taller men, because of complaints from women matched with shorter men."
So I guess it makes sense. Hot woman = lots of dates. A little less than average Wednesday Night Beer Drinker = nada.
In an attempt to improve my odds, I think I need to add some photos to my profile. On problem is that nearly all of my photos have me in a helmet of some sort, and not enough in a social setting. I have also noticed that a lot of other men like to show off fish and dead animals. I have some ideas for some additional photos and I need some advice, and no I'm not adding Chicken Crit tighty-whitey photos. Plus I'm pretty sure all those photos are of the funhawg.
As far as the ride, nothing much to report other than the expected complications from smoke inhalation. The usual fast climbers were fast, and the usual fast descenders were fast. I understand why those Knollys go down so fast. Still have figure why they go up so fast, too. One unwitnessed wreck without complication. No lingering at top for the view. Found the best way to connect back to the road after doing the downhill shortcut. The new dads couldn't dawdle for beers.
Not sure about next week's ride, I guess we'll see where the smoke is worst. Cough, hack, cough, hack.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Super D
Wait wasn't this week's ride Shannon Ridge. Well yes it was, but well, so you see, I kinda, didn't quite make it there. I went renegade with Chad and Eric to Missoula to race the super D course at Marshall mountain. I didn't want to go (well maybe a little.) Chad made me go. ( Did I mention that the Super D is sponsored by the http://www.mtalphacycling.com/, a bunch of Missoula mountain bike hotties. Not that the presence of women in Lycra would have any influence on my decision.) He had my bike, and although he didn't say it explicitly, these kind of threats are never made explicitly, the gist was: plastic bike, cement shoes, Lake Como. I was surprise to learn that they made SPD compatible cement shoes, but regardless I 'm sure you could understand the predicament I was in. If I ever wanted to see my bike again, with it's new 36 middle ring and bash guard, I would have to turn my back on my loyal friends and instead drive to Missoula, replacing the grill with after ride tacos and Big Dipper Ice Cream.
I'm have no idea what pressure he applied to Eric to induce him to come along, but it must have been prodigious to get him to leave work early. Oh wait I invited Eric to come along. It must have been Stockholm Syndrome where you start to sympathize with your captors.
I know what you wishing. "Hey Monkey Doo, Gay Cabellero, dickhead (or whatever your personal term of endearment might be), would you please cut the rationalization crap and just get to the stuff we care about the photos and videos." The answer is no. So just relax and keep reading and then one day, when I win the Grammy, or the Emmy, or the Oscar, or whatever the award is for literature, you can say, "Hey, I used to read him back when was still really shitty."
For my other reader, I also know what you are thinking. "Hey, (insert personal term of endearment) you aren't following any of Vonnegut's suggestions for quality writing." You are correct, and as I said last week, I'm no Vonnegut.
The super D course uses the downhill portion of the xc course on Marshall Mountain with an option to ride the A Line. There is about 500' vertical and the fast riders do it in a little over 6 minutes, except for some dude named Dillon who has the only sub 6 minute lap. The trail on the day of the race was hard pan topped with a scattering of loose shale. For comparison Shannon Ridge is 600' vertical, Upper Jenny Ridge is 900' and lower Jenny Ridge is 400'. However, Marshall mountain is steeper with switchbacks and two uphill sections.
When we gathered at the top, it sure seemed like we brought RPGs to a knife fight, with our 6" full suspension Knolly, Turner, and Ibis toys. While everyone else was on 29er hardtails. Soon we were to discover that just like a bazooka in hand to hand combat, a knife is still sometimes the better weapon.
Hard to believe it, but the key to the super D were the climbs. Two anaerobic lung burners, one a section of tight switchbacks just before the Aline and a second longish ( for a 6 mile lap) road climb. Other than the optional jump on the A-Line there was only one other technical feature, a 2 foot drop at the start that I misplaced my family jewels on the first two laps, before locating them before the my last run, and discovered that the drop was nothing. My first two runs are best tossed into trunk, wrapped in chains, dropped into the Mariana trench and forgotten. By the final run I managed to cut my time by 3 minutes when I actually started to feel comfortable, relax and get slightly more aggressive.
Eric and Chad didn't have the same reservations. Eric managed to get a practice ride in and was the only person hitting the A- Line that day that I know of. Dillon suggested just rolling the jump, since it was no big deal. I'm not sure what world Dillon is from, but it must be one full of Tinkers and Schultzes. Chad, unfortunately didn't get a chance to scout the line, otherwise I'm sure he would have been showing off too. Chad and Eric finished just out of the money at 4th and 5th. No doubt with more experience on the trail they would have broken into the money.
We did have one winner, Caelen, already a sponsored athlete at age 11 showing that his sponsorship is due to more than just his dad owning a bike shop, won the junior division.
I was thinking, always a dangerous thing, that we need to do something similar in the Bitterroot, but with some changes to reflect our unique riding challenges. First, more rocks and roots. Yeah, the switchbacks up there were steep, tight, and technical, but we need something to make our trail bikes worthwhile. Everyone needs to carry a saw and somewhere along the way there will be mandatory log cutting. If you don't have a saw, one will be provided and it will something special. Third the course needs move from trail to trail, so no one can get too dialed in.
With that in mind I was thinking, twice in one day, very dangerous, that this September when interest in riding seems to wane, and we start to run out of fresh rides, that we should have a rogue, unsponsored, unofficial, unsanctioned Super-D down here in the Bitterroot. Start out easy with something like Jenny or Shannon Ridge, then perhaps Bear Creek Overlook and finally work up to Weasel Creek or Camas.
Hope the official Wednesday night beer and grill was equally fun and successful.
I'm have no idea what pressure he applied to Eric to induce him to come along, but it must have been prodigious to get him to leave work early. Oh wait I invited Eric to come along. It must have been Stockholm Syndrome where you start to sympathize with your captors.
I know what you wishing. "Hey Monkey Doo, Gay Cabellero, dickhead (or whatever your personal term of endearment might be), would you please cut the rationalization crap and just get to the stuff we care about the photos and videos." The answer is no. So just relax and keep reading and then one day, when I win the Grammy, or the Emmy, or the Oscar, or whatever the award is for literature, you can say, "Hey, I used to read him back when was still really shitty."
For my other reader, I also know what you are thinking. "Hey, (insert personal term of endearment) you aren't following any of Vonnegut's suggestions for quality writing." You are correct, and as I said last week, I'm no Vonnegut.
The super D course uses the downhill portion of the xc course on Marshall Mountain with an option to ride the A Line. There is about 500' vertical and the fast riders do it in a little over 6 minutes, except for some dude named Dillon who has the only sub 6 minute lap. The trail on the day of the race was hard pan topped with a scattering of loose shale. For comparison Shannon Ridge is 600' vertical, Upper Jenny Ridge is 900' and lower Jenny Ridge is 400'. However, Marshall mountain is steeper with switchbacks and two uphill sections.
When we gathered at the top, it sure seemed like we brought RPGs to a knife fight, with our 6" full suspension Knolly, Turner, and Ibis toys. While everyone else was on 29er hardtails. Soon we were to discover that just like a bazooka in hand to hand combat, a knife is still sometimes the better weapon.
Hard to believe it, but the key to the super D were the climbs. Two anaerobic lung burners, one a section of tight switchbacks just before the Aline and a second longish ( for a 6 mile lap) road climb. Other than the optional jump on the A-Line there was only one other technical feature, a 2 foot drop at the start that I misplaced my family jewels on the first two laps, before locating them before the my last run, and discovered that the drop was nothing. My first two runs are best tossed into trunk, wrapped in chains, dropped into the Mariana trench and forgotten. By the final run I managed to cut my time by 3 minutes when I actually started to feel comfortable, relax and get slightly more aggressive.
Eric and Chad didn't have the same reservations. Eric managed to get a practice ride in and was the only person hitting the A- Line that day that I know of. Dillon suggested just rolling the jump, since it was no big deal. I'm not sure what world Dillon is from, but it must be one full of Tinkers and Schultzes. Chad, unfortunately didn't get a chance to scout the line, otherwise I'm sure he would have been showing off too. Chad and Eric finished just out of the money at 4th and 5th. No doubt with more experience on the trail they would have broken into the money.
We did have one winner, Caelen, already a sponsored athlete at age 11 showing that his sponsorship is due to more than just his dad owning a bike shop, won the junior division.
I was thinking, always a dangerous thing, that we need to do something similar in the Bitterroot, but with some changes to reflect our unique riding challenges. First, more rocks and roots. Yeah, the switchbacks up there were steep, tight, and technical, but we need something to make our trail bikes worthwhile. Everyone needs to carry a saw and somewhere along the way there will be mandatory log cutting. If you don't have a saw, one will be provided and it will something special. Third the course needs move from trail to trail, so no one can get too dialed in.
With that in mind I was thinking, twice in one day, very dangerous, that this September when interest in riding seems to wane, and we start to run out of fresh rides, that we should have a rogue, unsponsored, unofficial, unsanctioned Super-D down here in the Bitterroot. Start out easy with something like Jenny or Shannon Ridge, then perhaps Bear Creek Overlook and finally work up to Weasel Creek or Camas.
Hope the official Wednesday night beer and grill was equally fun and successful.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Non-ride
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.
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 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.
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