Work and Meals

Cleveland

2011-05-07T08:35:00.003-04:00

There's something nice about the sun poking through the ever present thick grey clouds of a Cleveland morning, sipping coffee, going through the morning routine. Its all made better when people make the soundtrack for you. Cleveland = music, and when up here, I always end up digging around, or more so "remembering" that there's an endless amount of great stuff to find. Oh Asheville, you offer so much to the outdoorsy side of me, but your music scene is a barren plain of statement, populated only by extremely skilled musicians with little new to say.

Jai Paul - BTSTU (Edit) by Jai Paul

Up here for a few days, paying some favors to friends, landscaping the houses if it ever dries up enough or warms up enough, and spending the day/afternoon/night at the Cicli Polito fabrication shop touching up the front end of my bike. We were aiming for a short wheel base, and we may have over shot it, so its time for a slightly modified new fork to dial it in. Going boldly into new territory and loving the ride so far, and love that the building process is so flexible on this one. Finished product is eagerly awaited.

At 8:40 a lot of folks are up and over Black Mountain and well into their PMBAR day. For once I'm quite satisfied to be lumbering through the morning in the empty house of a friend, accompanied by strong coffee and a bowl of blueberries.

Working the Grades

2011-05-04T20:38:00.008-04:00

This past weekend was a prime opportunity to return to Linville for some more work. Two days, no distractions, mid 70s, and zero rain. First up, Paradise Alley, a 5.8+ "not for the aspiring 5.8 leader."

Linville Gorge was in prime Mountain Laurel blooming season. From the top of Dopey Duck, we could see over Tilted World wall, spotted with pink blooms. Quite a site on both fronts. That's a steep wall. Having not climbed up that side of the canyon before, we went in prepared. Thus far the route descriptions have been adventurous at best. Sometimes two opinions are better than none.The first pitch is the crux, and Todd wanted it. Just fine. The going was slow. For 5.8+ this route get a little wider than I'd like it, and it was wider than Todd liked it either. And the right side of this corner gets up in your face pretty quick. I had to hang even cleaning it. Just don't have the fitness to climb pumpy stuff yet. Its early in the season, no?
Job well done, Todd got a well deserved break at a decent belay station atop the first pitch, and sent me on my way (not pictured....as always). The going was easy, though I was never quite sure I was on route. The easy climbing in Linville is VERY easy. So easy that lichen gets to stick around. You are often climbing on lichen covered buckets, unsure of exactly where you are. Eventually I landed us a pretty nice ledge. Big enough to call and check in with Katy before her WORS race.Technical aside; been climbing with the Alpine Cock Ring as my new anchor choice. The A.C.R. for short.
Three piece system, self equalizes, quick to set up, redundant via clove to the strongest piece, extension limited by shorting the longest leg with an overhand or 8 on a bite. If one piece blows, it looks like this:I'm happy with that. Other benefits, completely unmistakeable hot point, room for 3 carabiners (leader, tag line, second), and the cordelette COULD still be used like a standard set up with pre-equalization, or just wrapped around a tree, cut to do something interesting, and you have a rap ring at your disposal. Not bad.

Todd drew p3, a 5.7 romp up an overhanging wall with huge holds.And the route has more great ledges to give up. Including a great diving board overlooking the gorge atop p3.
More bad pitches for Robb. I drew this crappy choss pile for p4. It was supposed to be 5.8. I think it had 4 feet of 5.8, followed by 5.nothing. It did have the cool opportunity to step across a chasm 200 feet up. The first 3 pitches are actually on a buttress detached from the proper wall. Finished it up with little or no trouble. Communication is a little non existent on wandering, windy 4th pitches, and Todd got a loop of rope stuck around some crap rock and had to take a fall. I was 100ft away with no idea what was happening. I set up a huge leash on the anchor and walked down to see what was going on; found Todd hanging above the chasm looking non plussed. Route in the bag, we enjoyed some cold beverages we had hauled in. Saturday Done.

Okay, Sunday. A shorter version, because we really don't have any pictures. This problem needs to get fixed. The third pitch of Contruction Job, 5.9 offers some pretty aesthetic climbing. And I did it with the camera in my pocket. Its up there in the sandy brown rock, and the roofs above it, ending on a small ledge beneath the diving boards at the top. This photo shows mostly the first pitch.
The technical crux was the arching dihedral moving through the lighter colored rock. A couple thin finger moves up the arching crack, some balancy footwork stepping across some blank rock to a crimper, and then continuing on above your gear to some good holds and solid gear. After that, its some hopefully quick moves up very steep roofs. The holds that mother nature has left up there are unbelievable. Cutting your feet off into the air, above your gear, and not really worrying about; priceless. Easy terrain with enough gear, but the overhang, and exposure makes it amazing. I want it again, just going to have to find someone else who wants to go back. Todd got to second all the fun.While he was up to that, I got to hang out and watch vultures ride thermals on yet another great A.C.R. anchor.Exhausted, both mentally and physically from the third pitch, I headed home for a little recovery. I say a little because monday at 7 a.m. was another CrossFit class, followed by an early shake down of the new Cicli Polito ride. More on that later. No rest for the wicked.(and Pisgah Works now has wool available. New wool hoodies; nights are still cool, plus, you know you'll want one when fall rolls around again.)

Full use of Avery Creek

2011-04-27T19:35:00.004-04:00

Wednesday was here. I was recovered from the weekend of road miles. I was at wits end negotiating my way out of underemployment with people who define shortly as: three months. I wanted to put in some more miles, get the Niner out in the woods, and do some fishing.

Cue Avery Creek.

A few weeks back I had finished off a larger loop in Pisgah with a descent down Avery, and passed a fisherman within the last two miles. We talked tackle, and this very novice fisherman put it in his head to have a go at it next time the opportunity arose.
With a lite load of fishing gear, and some extra clothes, I headed down to the White Pines area, intending to go up Maxwell, and push over the top of Black. A downpour commensed at the Horse Stables and changed my mind. I was here more for the fishing, and if the forecasted storms had already started to reach us, I wanted to get on with it. So up Clawhammer in the rain became the plan.
The rain stopped along the upper section of Black. Spring is ready to explode up here, with crocus, wild flowers, ferns, and some lillies all in various stages of their cycle. The trail was in great shape, the rain having offered great traction on the steeper sections.
I stopped at the Black/Avery intersection to sure up the gear. The last thing I wanted was for my rod to go shooting off my back, or to catch a low branch and take me with it. The section of Black leading into this point, and the very beginning of Avery define Pisgah riding for me. Sections of steep, loose, rocky trail; water bars dropping off into V shaped gulleys; black organic mud turned to primordial ooze by a nearby spring; improbable downed logs made just passable by the impromptu engineering of a fellow trail rider. I don't ride it fast, but selecting a clean line down the whole trail has taken some time. Now that I wasn't just on a riding day, I took the time to hike down to the falls that you can hear down in the ravine after making most of the descent. Pretty impressive, and still flowing strong. I saw some tiny tiny Brooks swimming in the pool at the base. At least I knew there were fish up here. I wasn't alone in the wet forest. The area surrounding the base of the falls was littered with snails, probably enjoying its forever wet environment. They seemed to like Rhodo leaves, and there was no shortage of them down here.

On to the fishing. I ditched the bike a couple times and walked into the headwaters. I fished a few very technical little pools, doing little more than dropping a fly in for a few feet of drift. There wasn't much room to cast, and I was often almost sitting in the sprung branches of a Rhodo or Mt. Laurel to do so. Surprisingly I got a couple rises, and a bite, but was spooking fish two easily in the tight corridors.

Onto a larger pool, where I had some clearance to roll cast a bit, keeping my distance from the target. On my third cast I got a bite that stuck, and popped a small Brook a few feet above the water, and swung him back to me. I had him in my hand, and in an effort to get a photo, lost him. I threw a few more casts, and got nothing, and moved on.

Hit a few more pools down stream, going back to get my bike from time to time in case the storms hit. In a last ditch effort to actually land a fish, I returned to the pool where I had the bite. It had been over an hour, and everyone was feeling safe and hungry again. I got 3 or 4 instances where the fly was gulped from the surface of the water, but I was two slow, or had too much line out, to set the hook. And then finally; got one.So its definitely no trophy catch, but it is my first wild caught trout. Avery isn't hatchery supported, so these are genuine North Carolina trout, and its early in the year. They tend to spook easy, but bite on a less picky diet.

Feeling like I had had a full day, I switched back into my riding shoes, packed everything up, and finished off the rest of Avery, looking off to my left at all the stream left to explore.

The Cleveland Brutal Riding Tour

2011-04-26T10:04:00.005-04:00

Maybe its because we watched "Until the Light Takes Us." Or maybe its because a few of the guys ride for Scum City Racing, a Black Metal infused alleycat/road/cyclocross team they've put together from the underbelly of Cleveland. Or maybe its just because it was over 80 degrees. Whatever the reason, this weekend was spent turning up the brutality day after day for a nice block of riding to kick off the season for the Cleveland crew.

Jay, Guy and George made it down after a late start (happy birthday Guy) on Thursday. We suited up quickly and headed out to stretch their car trip legs. We spun the river road out to Montford in a misting rain. As it started to get dark, we made our way up Sunset, to Old Toll, portaged around the road closure near the turn to Bent Tree. The views over Asheville lit up for the evening made it seem bigger than it was. We made Town Mountain just at dark, and made an interesting descent, with me nearly meeting my maker as a car came 6 feet left of center, and kept coming as we passed eachother.

Friday morning saw a wheel change for George after somehow breaking a spoke on Friday's ride. The kitchen was also whirlwind of activity. The guys know how to destroy a kitchen, make breakfast, and have it clean again in a matter of minutes. Fueled up, and bikes ready, we layered up for a chilly Friday ride in the upper 40s. Back out the River Rd., and through UNCA up to Kimberly. As we were bundled up eager to ride, we passed similarly bundled up folks eager to golf at the Grove Park course. Not a great golf day for sure.

Flat rolling terrain is the norm for these guys, so when given the chance, they just push it in pacelines on the stuff. So, having been out for about 30-40 minutes thus far, they thought they were well into their ride. I'm used to easing out along the river, and turning it on at the base of the climbs. Our two styles collided as we hit the base of Elk, and I told them the business was just starting. Elk was a nice introduction to climbing, and a tasted of what was to come. Weather was pretty stable on the way up, but after the summit, a fog, easily 10 degrees cooler, had rolled into the saddle above Bull Gap. We made the final descent down Elk to the BRP in a fog that barely allowed 15 yards visibility. My wool was covered in tiny droplets of water, and a few of the more unlucky guys were just wet and cold. We continued to drop down the Parkway, with barely enough visibility to feel comfortable on the descent, let alone see any of the views down into the Riceville valley. We made it back after a nice little 2+ hour ride. The guys had learned their lesson about pushing it out to the climbs. Cleaned up, and rested up, we rolled out to Pro Bikes for some supplies, Harvest Records for a little music, and to Ritrovo for some Pizza. The Pizza never stood a chance.

Saturday morning, early start, big plans. The first BIG ride of the trip. Killing two birds with one stone, Saturday's ride would start at 12 Bones South. It eliminates some boring, trafficked miles at the beginning/end of the ride, and allows us to end the ride with pork products. The Route: Sweeten Creek -> Mills Gap -> Concord Rd. -> Cane Creek Rd. -> Lower Brush Creek -> Upper Brush Creek -> Charlotte Hwy -> Hollywood Rd -> Garren Creek -> Morgan Hill -> Hwy 9 -> Chestnut Hill Rd -> becomes Old Fort Rd -> Charlotte Hwy -> Rose Hill -> Pinners Cove -> Mills Gap -> Sweeten Creek -> Ribs.

The first part of the route was a nice way to stretch yesterday's climb out of the legs. Rolling terrain, some short steep ups, long flat sections; perfect to ease everyone into the day. The Garren Creek climb starts out barely noticeable, easing its way out of the farmland. When the real business started, we regrouped at the last switchback for a snack, and finished it off without much difficulty. We spread out a bit on the descent, taking in the scenery, nice farms, a field filled with Shetland ponies, the creek running along the road. The Morgan Hill descent was as fun as ever. Wide open and fast at the top, some tight turns, and perfect road surface. I think someone sweeps the corners. The creek at the bottom was running high and clear, and made for a nice backdrop as we gathered together again after the descent. Hwy 9 gave Jay and I a chance to open it up a bit and we chased eachother up and over the first climb, regrouping on the long flat section, before taking off again on the second climb and regrouping again near the Straight-Away Cafe.

The climbs were starting to break the group up a bit, and we did our best to stick together over the multiple steep punches that Chestnut Hill throws. The long rolling tail of the road got us back to Charlotte Hwy feeling a little recovered. We took a break behind the nursery on Old Charlotte Hwy and ate a bunch of food. I gave out the last of my hydration to George, who was having trouble in the heat today. Making the left onto Rose Hill, I let the guys know what they were in for, and let the group spread out. Jay took off up the hill, with Guy sticking pretty close. I stayed in the middle, trying to keep an eye on George. Gotta protect your sprinters in the hills.

Some cramping, a little walking, lots of heat, and we all made the top, thankful to be there. The descent down Pinner's Cove starts extremely tight, and then opens up and dumps you into the valley, with a few rollers before getting back to Concord. Thankfully that intersection is at the top of Concord, and all we had to do was roll down, make a left, and order lunch. Lots of Ribs, grits, potato salad, some barbecue chicken, and a few beers washed the day way on the back porch of 12 Bones. The rest of the day was napped off at the house, while I ran out to Hickory Nut Gap for some more meat products for the evening's grill.

Sunday, Brutal Sunday. I think Jay asked for it, but I'm not sure he really wanted it. When this trip was planned a few months back, he wanted to do some things they'd never get to do in Ohio. How about a 10 mile climb with 6 miles of loose gravel? How about we do some steep climbing before that. And we'll introduce the whole day with some more gravel? Adding to the fun, I actually got up and did some mountain biking at Bent Creek in the morning. Katy and I met in the parking lot a year ago, to the day. I rescued a cute little out of towner from riding aimlessly around the forest. And the rest, is (little known semi-secretive) history.

The road ride then started around 11:30 from the house. Route: River Road -> Broadway -> Through UNCA -> Up through Luella's BBQ to Kimberly -> Beaverdam Road -> Webb Cove -> BRP -> Ox Creek -> Reems Creek -> Maney Branch -> Paint Fork -> Barnardsville Hwy -> Dillingham Road -> Stoney Fork -> BRP -> Tunnel Road -> Home.

We kept it nice and easy for everything that wasn't a climb today. Rolled out nice and slow to Webb Cove, and stayed pretty much together. The first gravel climb was well received, no one was too put out by the extra effort needed, and all the seated climbing. Jay and I pushed it up the Ox Creek switchbacks, and we all descended into the Reems Creek Valley together, and eased along the flat section leading to the day's first steep climb. Jay had asked for a few sections to go off on hard efforts. I offered up the Maney Branch climb and he took it. After the rest of us snaked our way to the highpoint, Jay quickly admitted, "that hurt." Good. He's getting the full value day.

Another long descent down into Barnardsville, and regrouping in the valley below. Everyone was a bit low on water, and the thought that Easter Sunday may close my favorite Dillingham gas station entered my head. We pulled over under a bridge to cool off in the river. It was well over 80 degrees, and the last climb had been wide open, windless, and hot. The river gave everyone a chance to soak their legs, cool off, splash some water over themselves.

Thank goodness for the good 'ole boy gas station on Dillingham Road, and their willingness to be open on Easter Sunday. I think it saved the day, and offered some local color for our ride. There's always a few mechanic types in dirty overalls hanging on the porch, perfectly willing to talk bikes and mountains and gravel, as long as you can understand the dialect. I've been doing it a while, and still miss 80% of what comes out of their mouth. They always know how many people have been up Stoney Fork lately, and what condition it is in, and usually what the weather is like up top. They just site there like some kind of Oracles, but I'm ever thankful they do.

Ahh Stoney Fork. You Suck. I forget every time I go out there that its actually pretty unrelentingly steep, and now looser than ever. I stuck with Jay for a bit, but let him go to pull off and splash in two of the waterfalls on the way up. Eventually, I actually caught him, standing, dejected in the middle of the road. We remounted together, and then he needed another break. This break involved laying down in the road. I left from this point and finished it off, struggling to keep my bike upright, and tracking, in the loosest and steepest sections just before the final right hand turn. Happy to be on top, I turned back and watched for Jay. He emerged, broken, around the corner, one foot in front of the other, and bike next to him. Best quote of the day. "I don't know why you'd ever do this more than once." Jay had done Stoney Fork, and would never do it again. George was next, looking surprisingly good after yesterday's cramping and walking. I was imagining him coming up to me and punching me, but he was in good spirits. The top does a great job of erasing the last hour. Guy rounded the corner last, after having to walk a few stretches due to a pulled groin aggravated over the past few days.

It was a great climax to the weekend. I nice progression starting Thursday, and more or less ending Sunday at the top of Stoney Fork. The 40 minute descent back down to the 70 exit from the BRP came easy, stopping a few times for photos. The day was once again erased over a big meal, burgers and beers at UJ in West Asheville.

More than one of those guys will see Stoney Fork, or Rose Hill, or maybe the views from the Parkway in their dreams this week.

Multisport weekends over and over again.

2011-04-20T09:05:00.009-04:00

Two plus years ago when I moved here, part of the motivation was that I'd be able to sneak climbing back into my life. Over the past decade I had gone from a dedicated/full time climber, living in my car at NRG or RRG, making lots of trips to Seneca, The Gunks, ADK, Red Rocks, Zion etc etc to a guy who owned a lot of climbing gear that mostly stayed in a rubbermaid bin.

Biking became easier. I was a messenger, then I was a sport racer, then I was training, using intervals and a trainer, and then I was racing pro/expert all over the country. Riding was just more accessible when I lived up north, and it squeezed climbing out; completely.

So with the move I've put myself 45 minutes from Looking Glass, Cedar Rock, Rumbling Bald, and an hour (or two) to Linville depending on which side of the gorge I'm heading to. Gotta say; Life is good again. I like the balance of riding and climbing I've found. And I've been consistent enough with the latter so that I'm no longer just frolicking up 5.8s anymore.

Case in point. Last weekend...going way back now...Todd and I climbed Flappin in the Breeze, 5.10a at the Flakeview Area of Rumbling Bald. The next day I rode with a team in from Atlanta, and did 6 hours of Pisgah riding. We stopped a bunch early on, extending the ride time, but I eventually just left the group and added on a section at the end. Black Mountain - Turkey Pen - Mullinax - Squirrel - SMR - Buckhorn - Black - Avery. Both days were things I felt really good about.
Flappin in the Breeze is at Flakeview area at Rumbling Bald, soaking in the sun. Three pitches go at 5.9+, 5.9+ and 5.10a. Both the 5.9+ pitches were harder than the 10a pitch, but that always seems to be how it goes. The gear was awkward, and sparse, and the gray area of 5.9+ is about my limit right now on gear. Climbing that many pitches at my limit is good for me. And, after a fall and early spring of throwing ourselves at 5.7s and 5.8s, it finally felt like Todd and I were climbing again.

Looking down on some sparse gear on p2

After leading the second pitch, in a great headspace, I got to do the other enjoyable thing about climbing. Set up a belay on a comfy ledge, and sit back while Todd went and figured out the third pitch.
Fast forward to this past weekend. Saturday I did the Heartbreak+penalty miles ride with a couple folks (Sunday's post), and Sunday I made my way up to Linville to finally start exploring the southern end of the gorge, Shortoff Cliff. Linville style climbing is more up my alley than the climbing that western NC is known for. I just haven't found my rhythm on those slabby, friction domes of the Nose Area of the Glass, or even made the trip down to Green Mountain or Laurel Knob. I like to hold on to stuff. And I like vertical to overhanging rock.

Maginot's Line. A nice little 5.7+ to get acquainted with the area, and its supposed to be the best 5.7 in the state. Can't over look it. Linville promises Todd and I a nice progression through the grades, with classic 5.8s, 5.9s and 5.10s littered all over the cliff. Summer is going to be good. First we had to get there.After all the rain we'd had, the approach was a little wetter than usual. Todd ended up with a lap full of water on this move, and had to suffer through the first shaded pitch still soaked through. The approach is definitely a little rough, but it keeps the crowds down.
Found our route pretty easily. Todd's up there, about halfway up the first pitch. The second pitch climbs up to the last chockstone below the giant diving board roof. Pitch 3 climbs out and around on to the face, for some great views. Pitch 4 is just a necessary evil to top out, 5.5 climbing and scrambling.Sidenote: we took my new half ropes out on their maiden voyage. At 8.4mm they tie some tiny knots, but no rope has ever handled as nicely as these for me. No longer having to trail a second line for raps is nice, plus the added redundancy you get from climbing on two ropes. I think its going to be a system that gets used quite a bit for everything more than simple cragging.
Todd checking our scaled down guide book to see where pitch 3 went. You can see the burned out side of Linville Gorge below. The fire never jumped the river, so the other side of the gorge stands in stark contrast.
More great ledges to hang out on and contemplate life. By the time Todd had finished up p3, I was finally in some much needed sun. For photo sake, I actually have to slip time here for a minute. I returned to the same climb on Tuesday, taking one of Katy's friends out for his first multipitch. Figured Maginot's would make a good introduction. There's great ledges at all the belays, it gives you full value adventure with the approach and the exposure, I had JUST climbed it two days earlier, and I wanted to do all the pitches, having gotten the short end of the stick on the weekend. SO....Here's a sharp end self portrait of me enjoying some pretty easy moves on beautiful rock in the sun on Pitch 3. Peter coming up behind me; enjoying the air beneath his feet and the friction of Linville's metamorphic sandstone. He's used to the super slick quartzite up at Devil's Lake, WI; this was an eye opening experience for him. More great ledges, this at the top of P3, looking north into the gorge. The upper gorge is definitely a little more scenic, but the logistics down here make for an easy day. We started kinda late, leaving the house at 9:30 or so, and were back at the house, with a beer stop, at 4:00. Nice lazy way to get 4 pitches of climbing in, see no one the whole day, and live in your hands and head for a day. Certainly no complaints from Peter.

Springtime in Pisgah

2011-04-18T09:45:00.009-04:00

Spring has brought forth its typical spread of wet weather. As it always seems to go in this land of the lush, the rain places itself nicely between the weekends, allowing us all to get outside and see how Friday's torrent has changed our landscape.

The on and off deluge that started Friday afternoon, extended into Saturday and threatened our riding plans. Wanting to DO something, I got up early and went to CrossFit. I believe this is this blogs introduction to CrossFit, something I've been doing since last September. It started as a Steve House inspired way to train for the climbing in Ecuador. Its continued beyond that as a way to train anaerobically, put on some lean muscle, work on flexibility, and stay in touch with my coaches on nutrition and stress management. CrossFit Asheville is one of the more complete CrossFit programs around from what I can see, and its more than just a bunch of people grunting out lifts.

Anyway, Saturday, 8:00 am was a "longer" CF workout, 15 minutes of work across 5 different stations. I bumped everything up; weights, jump heights, target heights for the workout so I was doing the prescribed workout, rather than scaling it. I was planning on burying myself and then crawling back home to enjoy a rainy Saturday. I finished the circuits and was shaking so bad my hand writing was illegible. Making breakfast seemed like an attainable goal.

Kicking back was the plan; until the email chain started going out for a late morning ride of Heartbreak. So 11:00am at the Dripolater in Black Mountain. That's a good 60 minutes of recovery. Perfect. Second new introduction; the Niner build. After four good years. and one tragic UPS accident that they denied over and over again, the Dieringer cracked, quite anticlimactically, on Sidehill Connector a few weeks back.

Plus

Equals
Thanks UPS. Everyone should be wary of paying for "insurance" when shipping; its a scam. So anyway....

Called in a favor over at Niner, and got myself a shiny, not quite new, Sir9.
The crew gathered, and took off on the rather flat road towards Montreat, and the Rainbow Road approach to Old Toll. Having complained about starting on the singlespeed from Ridgecrest, which throws you cold at Rattlesnake's steepest pitches within a mile, I wanted to try this more gradual approach. Just to get it out of the way; I'd rather do Rattlesnake. This is too long, too flat, and especially annoying after cresting the climb to Ridgecrest and then having to spinspinspin back to Black Mountain on 70.
Theme for the blog, now many paragraphs in: water. Old toll was a running torrent in most places. "Lines" where they do exist in the rockier sections were all loose, baby head rocks having been deposited in a new home overnight on Friday. When it wasn't running, it offered the more juvenile among us the opportunity to play puddle splashing games. This resulted in about thirty sprints as folks jockeyed for position to launch themselves into a puddle on the right or left track, splashing anyone behind them or caught off guard next to them.
"Hey Ed, where's that point on the ridge that I'm going to, in a stupor that can only be achieved by hours of anaerobic work sans breakfast, make a wrong turn and add the penalty lap?""Right about there"

After two of our party flipped their ride, enjoying a very wet descent down Old Toll, Ed and I continued up. The early part of the Heartbreak descent was as fucked up as ever, and now wet as well. The ridge proper was in great shape. Tight tunnels of rhodo and mountain laurel occasionally giving way to gaps of blue sky. The Niner seems to descend well, and I'm loving my Manitou Minute on the front. It swallowed all the quick little roots of Heartbreak, and at 80mm, feels more stable on steep stuff than my old 10mm fork. On the way down, Ed had earned a little gap on me as a looked across the valley in a site seeing effort. In that same effort, I came up to Star Gap and dropped left. Something felt a little off, but this trail, new to me as a ORAMM virgin (I've saved enough to buy a new bike), felt a similar enough to the end of our normal Heartbreak loop that I didn't question it. Dry, woodsy, switchbacks, full shade, descending. Yep, this must be it. Dump out onto some grassy fire road: Nope, this ain't it. Back up all the switchbacks, found Ed at Stargap assuming I had suffered a skull fracturing crash, he had also climbed back up from the "true" end of the ride. Ahhh penalty miles. Wet, and getting colder, we dodged aggressive traffic up Mill Creek, and pedaled 32x20 and 32x22 (i'll claim the softer of those gears) along 70 back to Black Mountain. Clouds looming, a 40 mph wind reminded us never to use this modified route again on the single speeds. A decision that hardly effects my geared bike-less quiver. Goodbye Rainbow Road, it was nice to meet you.

Sunday I finally headed up to Shortoff to climb, something I've been wanting to do for the past 6 months. More on that later. This is too long as it is.

Visuals

2011-03-01T20:58:00.003-05:00

Two things visual today, and I know, I know, I know; I have two more climbs to write up. I'm finally back in front of the computer tomorrow being paid by someone else, so that'll be motivation enough to write up my Illiniza Sur (Plan B surprise) and Cotopaxi climbs.

First things first because I've committed so many words to the memory of my adventures, I'll grace these pages with some photos for viewing.

With that out of the way, how about some amazing typography. And you thought fonts weren't cool. I have to credit KS for getting me to watch this movie with her. You click on the stream now button on Netflix, the screen darkens, and the films races headlong into the opening credits. The rest of the film was an impressive visual statement for a first time filmmaker. If you like that sort of thing, and can handle some disturbing imagery mixed in with the filmmaker's visually ambient representation of the synthetic psychedelic experience, I highly recommend "Enter the Void."

And because I'm still listening to Kanye's record daily, I stumbled on to his "All of the Lights" video (I did so because my little bro worked on a remix of Monster. He plays in a band with Ben Bronfman from time to time, Ben's got access to the Kanye masters because of his production credit on a couple tracks. I liken it to the two Ratatat remix albums in that they left the vocal tracks pretty much untouched and put an instrumental layer to it. I like it.) Kanye no doubt had access to Enter the Void, and the team that did it, though in my little bit of looking I can't find the outfit. The downside of it is, with 9 million views, the Kanye video seems to be driving a lot of people to the Enter the Void clip, with its mere 179,000 views. People are going to get the wrong idea. This one comment is saving the day.

I'm a let you finish but "Enter the Void" was the best psychedelic-transcendental-French-film-in-English-set -in-Japan-about-post-traumatic-stress- Freudian-psychology-and-the-Tibetan-Book-of-the Dead of all time! :)

Kanye West, you thought we wouldn't notice.

Cayambe

2011-02-05T18:24:00.002-05:00

Its now 6:30 pm in Quito and I´ve been awake since midnight. That´s how you climb when your route crosses the equator.

After a day of messing around on the lower glacier, lots of ipod time, food and naps at the hut at 15k, I settled into bed at 6pm. For 3 hours I tossed and turned with growing frustration; having to sleep is near impossible. Add in some harsh equatorial daylight and wind pouring through the leaky panes of the refugio, mixed with the anxiety of 19,000 feet, and rest doesn´t come easy.

Bryce woke me up at 12:00, planning on leaving in 30 minutes. We made some french toast, ate a few apples, and had some tea to warm us up. Bags were packed from the night before, and to save time we had harnesses and helmets on out of the hut.

The guide book calls this a 7 hour climb to the summit. Bryce says 7-9 or so for most of the times he´s been up. Its important to get off, or atleast well below the crevassed section up higher, before the very strong sun hits the route at 9am. The snow bridges become a gamble and crossing the larger crevasses below the summit becomes a non option. Thus the midnight start on all of these bigger climbs down here.

The first hour was a lot of hiking and scrambling. Relying on headlamps makes route finding a little tricky, as does the darkness of the new moon. We hit the glacier around 1:45, and cramponed up for the rest of the day.

This is my first actual glacier experience, having done a lot of vertical ice climbing in the past, but never walking on consolidated snow and ice at lower angles. It looks white and fluffy, but the 12 sharp points of your crampons barely make a dent. Your foot floats above the perfectly tractioned styrofoam surface. For 2 solid hours we made our way up the 35 degree slope neve and occasional hard ice. The lower glacier is pretty featureless, so there´s no crevasses, or noticable route denoters. Its just generally up. I´m sure Bryce was aiming at something, but in the dark, with 25 feet of visibility on acres of glacier, it just felt like one foot in front of the other, following the rope tied between us.

At 3:30 we ran into our first tricky route finding. A series of huge crevasses stood in our way. The plan from the start was to leave later than most of his clients because of the speed at which we´ve tackled the first two climbs. Rather than leave at 11:30 or 12, we slept in. The goal was to not reach this part of the climb until there was some predawn light. No luck. It was 3:30 in the morning and we were looking at a much changed crevasse feild since Bryce´s last summit a few weeks ago. This is rare for such a short time period, but glacial retreat via global warming is in full effect on the equator. Making it worse, recent snow had covered over everything, giving the illusion of solid ground, but actually thin snow bridges covering the large cracks in the ice.

With the help of my headlight, we spotted around looking for possible routes through the maze. We went left, up over a small ridge bordering a deep chasm of hard blue ice and found ourselves at a 3 foot wide, but very thin (according to Bryce) snow bridge across a 9 foot gap. The crevasse below was maybe 20 feet deep, and full of hard blue chandeliered icycle teeth. This is the only time in any of our climbs that Bryce has asked me to put him on belay. He stepped to the edge, with the rope kept tight, and darted across yelling back to me¨"think lite thoughts."

Minor challenge bested, we reached a point that he usually gets to via a different route, one that couldn´t be found in the dark and new snow conditions. A pitch and a half of vertical snow. The route description says 35 degree, but apparently the route has changed with the recent crevasse activity. This was 60 meters of 75-80 degree snow. Near vertical snow. Amazing to climb. The years of bullet hard Adirondak or Vermont ice with dulling crampons made this feel like climbing a ladder. Light kick with the foot, keeping the heel dropped to engage the secondary points, and you just kind of ran right up. Bryce and I simulclimbed this section tied short on our 30 meteres of rope, stopping to rest at the top under a nicely frozen overhanging wall of broken glacier.

We set a quick anchor, climbed one more pitch, moving seperatly, and had reached the end of the difficulty. We checked our watches, it was 4:45. We joked about, and then did, walk very slowly towards the summit. The goal being to have the sun rise while we were up there. Not much point summiting in the dark. Again, no luck. We got up there at 5:10 in the morning, fifty minutes before first light.

We piled on all of our clothes, sat on our packs, and moved in close, hoping to stay warm enough to wait it out. Sitting there in everything I had with me, slowly getting cold and falling asleep I called of our vigil. I knew it was for my benefit, but from a climbing perspective, it didn´t make sense. We were at 18,993 feet above sea level, probably 6k higher than I´ve been before this trip. No reason to sit around and see how my body reacted. Down we went, still guided by the LED beams of our headlamps.

More problems with the dark. We can´t find our descent point, which was at the top of that last pitch we did. Bryce had left two large snow pickets set for our use, but the 3 foot shafts of T-shaped aluminum were not making their whereabouts known. I led down off the summit, with Bryce´s direction, but we ended up well right of our point. Everything looks kind of the same up there. The only landmark a long crevasse that runs along the break from the summit dome. Its only 12-18 inches long, but it was 300 feet long. We remembered crossing over it, so we walked along it, occasionally looking down, and downclimbing looking for aluminum below. No luck.

I was getting pretty tired wandering around. Fitness always fails when a) your kind of lost and making no progress and b) you were convinced it was all downhill from here. We finally sat down again and waited for our accursed sun to rise so we´d have some light. Right around 6, in the ambient light coming around the horizon, we tried going far left, and 100 yards away saw two shiny pickets waiting for us at the top of a steep wall.

The down climb was uneventful, quick, and warm. We simul´d down the steep stuff. The daylight and overhead view allowed Bryce a better look at the crevasse feild, and we picked a much safer, and faster way through. We stripped off layers, and finally stopped for a snack in the warming sun, the thought having never occured to us before in the cold. Now everything around was lit up, and it was a rare clear day along the avenue of the volcanos. In the distance we could see Antisanna, Chimborazo (Tuesday´s climb), Cotopaxi (Friday´s Climb), the Ilinza´s (which i climbed last week) and a series of the other¨"big 10" down here. Lots of pictures and vistas on the way down made up for walking 6 hours in the dark. We finished scrambling down the last few hundred feet in view of the hut while hiding from the sun.

Route Details: Cayambe Standard Route: Grade II/PD 35 degree 1200m/3900 feet, summit height 5,789 meters, 18,993 feet.

Iliniza Norte

2011-02-02T13:24:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was my condensed Iliza Norte climb. Initially we had intended to do this as a two day climb, approaching the hut in the afternoon, spending the night, and leaving in the morning for the summit. Bryce, my guide down here, is battling some kind of cold. Even the relatively "low" climb of Rucu had him feeling lackluster in the energy department, so it was decided he´d rest up for an extra day. No one wants a sick guide.

Tuesday´s one day blitz of Iliniza required we leave Quito at 4:45 in the morning. Luckily no one else was in my hostel room for my 9:30 bedtime and digging around in gear at 4:15 in the morning. Our driver got us to the base of the Ilinizas in about an hour and a half, making excellent use of some Honda truck they don´t make in the states. Lots of switching into 4WD low, and crawling up sandy washed out slopes and crossing rain swelled streams.

We started the gradual approach to the hut at around 6:15 in the morning. Sun was already well up behind us and the twin peaks of Ilinza Norte and Sur (North and South) were lit up against a splitter blue sky. Luckily I snapped a few photos from the lower ridge, it was the last time we´d see clear weather. On the upper ridge that approaches the hut, the trail steepens and turns to loose sand. We made conversation in very short, breathless sentences and switchbacked up a 5 foot wide path for a solid 30 minute push and reaached the hut at about 8:15.

The hut was manned and sold us a gatorade that we split as we talked to a swiss couple in Ecuador traveling and trekking, wishing they had brought ropes and crampons. Eager to get moving, we bid them farewell and they planned to follow us until thing got difficult.

The first part of the climb proper was a mix of steep trail, and some fouth class climbing as we maneuvered around some short walls and made our way higher on the ridge. The ridge line of Iliniza norte curves slightly to the left as you make your way up, and a few detours around pillars had me losing my sense of direction...looking off to the right as Bryce called me back to task behind me to the left. We down climbed a steep section of low 5th class to a snow field and then harnessed and roped up for a mix of snow and rock traverse to a saddle. I hadn´t walked on steep snow for a while, and the exposure to the left of us, along with Bryce´s reminder of "good footwork through here" had me accutely aware of my surroundings a few thousand feet above the base.

Solid snow travel set in, and we once again took a break to crampon up for the Paseo de los Muertes, which means path of the dead, I think. Rucu had a similarly named route, but this was the original. This section was a combination of steep snow, and some mixed ground as we rounded some small rock buttresses. Crossing these fingers or rock was the hardest part as the snow was less deep, and much softer near the warmer rock, and crampon placements felt a little shallow, and the rock didn´t offer much purchase for an axe. Passing them was a balancing act of trusting feet and hugging the narrow rock wall that was pushing you vertical.

One final steep snow section that followed a buttress straigt up led us to a saddle. When we were on the approach, Bryce commented on a wisp of moisture blowing over the summit, like you often see in mountain photos. I didn´t realize the significance of it in otherwise bluebird skies. I learned what it meant when we reached the summit. We had been engulfed in thick, actually soaking fog for the last 45 minutes, but reaching the saddle exposed the source of it all, a solid 40-50 mph wind blowing from the backside of the mountain. Bryce led up a steep rock section, and I followed, enjoying the suprisingly secure feel of crampon points on vertical rock. About 20 feet shy of Bryce, he yelled down through the already strong wind, "Don´t get blown off up here." Simple enough advice to follow.

I popped up to the summit to join Bryce, kind of unaware we were there already. The thick fog, and steepness of the pillars we had been climbing didn´t allow me to see the profile ahead. Suddenly I was up, 16,818 feet above sea level, and saw a cross with various ornaments hanging from it, all covered in about two inches of wind blown rime ice. I through a leg over the summit, Bryce snapped a few photos and yelled to me 3 feet away, ¨Let´s get the hell out of here"

The descent has us downclimb the last few steep pitches, and then continue straight down from one of the dicey buttress crossings. At first, descending involved front pointing and daggering in the axe, moving in loosely belayed pitches with the rope run over a horn. The slope relented its steepness, and eventually we were just stepping sideways foot over foot, axe up hill, and moving unbelayed but roped together. As we descended further and further the snow got softer, and felt deeper as we sunk in, slid a little and performed a controlled stumble for what seemed like forever. It was still pretty steep, and the snow feild dropped off into the fog. Both of our glasses were fogged up from all the moisture, but the sun was still too bright, even through the fog, to remove them. We continued in this half blind kind of walk for at least 45 minutes before the rock and dirt started to appear.

Stripped of gear, now wearing it all on our backs again, we made the hike back to the main trail that we had ascended to the hut, and continued our descent to the trailhead.

Our ascent had gone quickly, summitting just before 10 am, and now down just before noon. We had told the driver 3pm originally, and he thankfully said he´d be early just incase, arriving at 2. I took my boots off, layed down in the sun, bundled up from the wind and ate the lunch Bryce had made. Last time we ate on the summit, but this summit was just not going to allow us to do it, nor did the steep descent. Starving, Bryce´s homemade french toast and cheddar sandwhich was about the best thing I could imagine. We both sprawled out for a nap. I had the ipod out, listening to some Iron and Wine and lookng at the surrounding peaks that had become visible since our morning drop off.

Spot points

Rico Pinchacha

2011-01-28T07:35:00.004-05:00

Heading up for the first climb of the trip today under cloudy skies down here low in Quito. Rucu is 15,656 and involves some 4th and low 5th class stuff. Been in Quito at 9300 for two days feeling good, we'll see how 15.5 feels today. Hope weather clears up.

Well the weather did not clear up so we got to hike and climb in a spitting rain for the way up, though it stopped for most of the rock sections and the rock dried rather quickly. Dull headache set in at about 15, but loosening the helmet did the trick. I was giving myself AMS symptoms. Summit was shrouded in fog, but very calm. Dined on nutella and pb sandwiches and grande queso Doritos with a successful acclimatization climb under me, close to 2500 ft higher than I've been previously. Sun came out for our quick descent down the more standard hiking route. Pictures to come but not till I get home unfortunately.

The great January Thaw

2011-01-17T08:57:00.004-05:00

All of our fun snow has melted in town, and what's left up high is consolidating during the sunny 40 degree days. Good news is that it refreezes over night, and the more traveled trails are a nice mix of ice and consolidated snow. Perfect to get the pointy things out and walk around.
Greybeard mountain is short 15 minutes drive from my house and has been the easiest way to put some elevation change into my legs while carrying a pack. I've hiked Pisgah a bunch too, but the loops are longer, as are the drives. The past two weekend out at Greybeard I've ran into the same guy training for Denali. I'm not alone in my use of this little convenient stomping ground.
We dropped the car at Sawahee Rd, and made our way up the pavement to Greybeard trail, and opted for the steeper direct route rather than the old rail tressel line. Tressel takes forever, and you don't get to see Greybeard Falls. Plus, its a training hike, bring on the steep.
Reached the ridge line that leads to the Greybeard summit proper, and found lots of deep snow. A few different parties had made various levels of progress along it, but eventually we were postholing in a lone set of footprints.
Ed calling for a pizza up on the ridge. Greybeard offers a clear shot to Mt. Mitchell and apparently an At&t tower.
Mt. Mitchell, highest peak east of the Missippi, and probably the least dramatic, especially because its covered in cell towers. Mmmm...pizza.
Self portrait up at the Greybeard Summit. That big vein on my forehead looks uncannily like the shadowed ridgelines in the background. Must be working too hard in the deep wet snow.
Maybe the namesake of Greybeard? Lots of this long foliose lichen (yeah I have a masters in Ecology) hanging everywhere on the weather stunted trees of the ridge.
Change of footwear for the descent. We took the West Ridge trail down, and apparently no one else had. So rather than posthole through the deep snow, I took the until then useless 8 lbs off my back and strapped on the worlds largest snowshoes.
In lieu of any discernible trail, we stuck to the mantra of "stay on the ridge" and occasionally caught a blaze or two. Ed hadn't really snowshoed before, and after a fun hour or so of sliding down in giant feet he concluded that snowshoeing was a blast. Remembering my 5 hour slog over 2 miles on the eventually aborted approach to Crestone last winter, I assured him it isn't usually this fun.

That's it for training hikes. I've run out of time. Right now the second bedroom is a OCD stack of various layering options all getting pared down to fit into a duffel bag and keep me comfortable climbing alpine rock at 14-15k, as well as full on midnight start mountaineering at 20k. Trying not to bring down the entire closet and haul it around Ecuador, so some tough decisions are being made. Adding to the mix is a week at the beach after my climbing.

What does one pack for 0 ft above sea level and 20,565 feet above sea level?

Cell casting your favorite concert just got better

2011-01-08T16:03:00.002-05:00

Deliberating between the pros and cons of either buying an iPad or an iPod touch. Always need another gadget in the house, and it'd be nice to have a small and light way to stay mildly connected to friends and family on rest days in Ecuador. I also look to be back on the road for 2011, the 7 months of working out of the house now almost behind me. Airport life demands the diversion of a 9 inch screen or at least a 4 inch screen.

I think cameras on cell phones are a waste of time. Someone is always flashing grainy pictures at a bar, or standing there with their iPhone blocking the view of a band in a dimly lit club. Your friends get to see some blurry photo you'll never print, share, or do anything with. If they are even luckier they get to "hear" the distorted bass line and cymbals of the band on stage. Kudos to Apple for not only introducing this cancerous phenomenon to society at large, but now also redesigning the fourth generation iPod Touch to enhance it, thus ensuring its immortality. From the apple website:

"The back camera. See and share.

So your roommate had to work late and couldn’t make it to the concert. You can share the encore with a FaceTime call. As the band takes the stage and starts playing one of her all-time favorite songs, just tap a button. And before the lead singer can belt out his first note, iPod touch switches to the back camera and to the sure-to-be-legendary performance. Another tap switches to the front camera and to you. Simple, fast, and fun."

Maybe your roommate should have gotten a better job that doesn't require her to work at midnight on a Tuesday. And maybe she has this shitty job because she's always on her phone listening to the inaudible noise picked up by your 3mm iPod microphone. Maybe this is her second job. She needs it just to afford the data plan that allows all this magic to happen.

Battle Royale

2011-01-07T21:53:00.002-05:00

vs.

best use of 7-18 sexy ladies?

welcome back. 30 lbs lighter, training for 5 summits in Ecuador, tired of excuses, work fading out, workouts fading in. Born Free and full of Power. Snow's falling in Pisgah and I've managed to stay busy.

Getting vertically lost and found

2010-08-02T10:47:00.007-04:00

A few weeks ago I went looking for a climb in the Linville Gorge called the Mummy. Its nothing to brag about at 5.5, but its in a remote, beautiful location and offers great positioning and exposure. We were relatively successful in our recon trip. The trails were easy to follow, if only a little grown in. The fire 10 years ago has yielded a bunch of 9 year old pine trees that like to scratch and threaten to push you off the cliff. We found our access trail off the MTS, followed the trail that skirts (just barely) the rim of the amphitheater, and then slid down the first loose decent gully to the Reggae wall.

After some scrambling around, getting cliffed out and retracing our steps we found the entrance to the decent gully behind the Mummy Buttress. Wanting to leave nothing to chance, I rapped in to take a look at the wall. I scrambled around in the talus, went way too far climber left, and continued to get lost and scramble around through burned debris and scrubby undergrowth. I finally found myself back at the cliff, saw a few anchor bolts above, and figured I was in the vicinity. Satisfied we'd be able to pinpoint the climb on our actual attempt, I made a groveling rope ascent out of the gully in a near downpour.

This past Saturday offered what looked to be a short break from the daily rain we've had over the past week. Friday was 10% chance, so the rock would have time to dry, and the humidity broke Thursday night as well, making everything, granite included, feel less clammy. There wasn't new precip called for until Saturday PM.
We got a little later start than I wanted to on Saturday morning, but with just 3 pitches of easy climbing, didn't feel any pressure. We repeated our approach from a few weeks ago under thin grey clouds covering the whole region. From the rim trail we were able to scout the upper half of the route.Jay and I rapped down the decent gully, and I welcomed him to the wonderful world of the Mummy Buttress. We stayed close to the wall this time and looked for a well tread area that would signal the start of a popular climb. We were also looking for a short slab to a crack that would start the first pitch.SPOILER ALERT: Not knowing how to write this up, whether from a "how we perceived our day" angle or the "in review of our day" angle, I'll point out this interesting facet of the human mind. When you read climbing topos and route descriptions (or maybe just when I read them) you get fixated on the description. We walked along the cliff until we found something 5.5 ish that looked like a slab that led to a crack, and found such a thing and roped up. This comes into play later.

The first two pitches we pretty easy. 5.5 climbing tends to involve a lot of broken cracks and ledges, and that's what we were getting. Climbed about 140 feet and found a nice ledge to set up on. The route description said that the crack would end and there'd be a stance. Well, my crack had ended, and I had a stance. A luxurious stance, but I thought the guide book used stance and luxurious ledge for 6 people as synonyms. As the route was kind of ledgy and right trending, I wanted to stay close enough to keep in touch with Jay, whom I had had to review a figure eight knot with.

Pitch 2 was supposed to be about 70 feet up to a ledge. And that's about what I did. 70 feet up to a tree that was just shy of a larger ledge, but the tree itself was a ledge, and it made for better rope management, and communication with my second. Jay came up and joined me, noting that that pitch hadn't felt like 5.3. I can't really tell the difference between 5.3 and 5.5 as long as the pro is there. We did a quick simu pitch up to the larger ledge above just to make it easier to belay from a convenient spot for the next true pitch.This is where things started to feel a little off. The topo we were looking at for The Mummy said that we'd go straight up off our belay. I walked around, looking upward for a weakness, a 5.3 weakness mind you, and couldn't find anything. The ledge we were on cliffed out to climber right, and at climber left there was a big pile of blocks. The blocks looked like the entrance to something, but we were supposed to go straight up according to our topo, so straight up I went.

I anchored Jay to a small tree, and about 6 feet right of it found a bulgy/roof with some horizontals that would take gear. I don't mind the unknown, but I like there to be pro there. As soon as I got around the bulge, and continued another 10 feet to a good stance I realized we were not on route. There was 100 feet of lichen ahead of me on near vertical and bulging wall. My last piece of gear was below the apex of the roof, and a misstep on the downclimb would mean a groundfall. So up it was. Slowly, and trusting some lichen covered feet on relatively easy 5.6ish climbing I made my way up. The wall was a series of small shallow horizontals, and a few of them took marginal tricams and aliens, but these were far and few between. At one point I had left my last piece of gear far below and moved up easy ground, but ground that wouldn't take gear. Every few feet I thought I'd find something, but there really wasn't anything worth putting in. Above there was a diagonal hand crack, that trended up at 45 degrees and would surely take gear. Getting too it was a little thin, and the lichen wasn't helping the confidence issue. Few people if anyone had been up here recently. Another 10 feet of delicate moves gained the hand crack and a textbook 2" piece. Relieved, I continued up the hand swallowing scar in the rock, moved around a very scary flake with loose rocks tucked behind it, and made an anchor in the first spot that made sense and had a good stance to bring Jay into. I looked down on 140 feet of rope with 5 pieces of gear in.
Jay came up, on his first multipitch climb, and got to experience his first semi hanging gear belay. I was worried about him repeating the roof moves 140 feet below, but he had moved through well enough and followed my lost lead in no time and joined me on the sloping stance. It took some negotiation to get him to let go with both hands and start helping me re stack the rope and exchange some gear.

I set off, moved through a bulgy crack with two lumps of vegetation and gained some very easy broken rock on an arete. i moved left to peak around the arete and found a beautifully clean, crack and corner system that looked oddly familiar. It had started to drizzle, and the thought of being on wet lichen didn't sound good for the leader, and not much better for the second, so I hastily made my way up, mantled over the summit ledge, avoiding a lot of loose rock, and built an anchor to bring Jay up on.

It rained for most of the way out, making the over grown trail feel like a sadistic car wash. We sat in the rain for a few minutes at camp and enjoyed some beer and humidity soaked chips. A quick tear down and stroll to the car, and we were saying good bye to the gorge again. Somewhere on 221 Jay had had enough time looking through the books to realize that we had just climbed at least the first 2-3 pitches of The Daddy, not The Mummy, and still didn't know what we had done after that.

Over a slice of beefalo pizza and a few beers in town we figured out we had climbed something right of the last few pitches of the Mummy. Nothing was mentioned in the Kelly or Lambert/Shull guide, which explained the lichen. Some web research finally turned up a 5.8 variation to the 3rd pitch, but i can't tell if they linked it to the dihedral crack pitch, or took it to the top.
Whatever, we got lost at a remote, "adventure crag" and made the summit. Sure its been done with less success there plenty of times. With all the book reading and internet photo looking, it still felt pioneering to walk along the base, find a weakness, and go up.

Kudos to Delta (aka don't mess with SSUSA racers)

2010-07-26T20:11:00.003-04:00

I've been more active than my blog. I promise. Still out there finding days in Pisgah. Beating the heat by exploring the trails that cross rivers between 12 and 15 times in a short distance. Gauging rainfall and heading to the swimming holes built for one that appear with enough precipitation. Spending time back and forth between Durham balancing time between the selfish nature to disappear and time spent with the girl gracious enough to allow my other transgressions. A weekend of climbing follows a weekend of wine tasting, Before that it was two 6 hour rides that followed a mini vacation to Charleston. I consider myself pretty lucky to have the time to keep both sides of the coin nice and shiny.

And just when things couldn't get any better; this shows up.
Back in January, on the way to Tucson for SSUSA, Delta misplaced my baggage. At the time I was flying 8 itineraries a month, most of which connected. That's a minimum of 16 flights a month. Been doing it for almost 3 years less my gratuitous down time. Lost my bags twice. Delta was guilty in both cases.

This isn't a blog about insurance paperwork so i'll spare you the details, but after arguing "like" items, spending limits which Delta reps only stated at "reasonable," (reasonable spending limits are as likely to be agreed upon by two people as is the phenotypic makeup of the offspring of a leprechaun and a unicorn) and "lost" paperwork when I checked in eight weeks into the process, I gave up.

Its been....uhhh...January 26th to July 26th...wow...EXACTLY 6 months, far longer than the 10 week window promised. Imagine my surprise when last week I received a letter stating that, under separate cover, I'd be receiving a check for $500.00. The corporate treatment of average Joe kept me skeptical even as I opened the envelope today.

Off to the bank. Thanks Delta, you aren't so bad. As soon as this clears I'll buy my US Air ticket for X-mas.

2010 Dirty Kanza 200

2010-06-08T18:13:00.007-04:00

I came upon the Dirty Kanza in much the same the way all good adventures come; dumb luck. I was bound to my computer one day in January, and I got an email from The Reverend suggesting I sign up for this race before it fills up. It was $50. This aligned nicely with my recent manifesto against race-promotion-as-vehicle-to-new-Volvo style events. I figured if I couldn't make it all the way to Kansas, I had only wasted the financial equivalent to a night of heavy drinking.

The race snuck up on me as I transitioned from unemployed to inexcusably busy. I also had planned on racing on a new bike, but Cicli Polito doesn't seem capable of coming through on that. Work plans fell through. Disorder led to order, and I found myself flying to Dallas to meet the Reverend with a Ritchey Break Away grotesquely fitted with a 1.9 Kenda Karma up front, and a slew of shifty bits that had never been further than the bar near my house.

We drove fireman pace all the way through the great state of Texas, Oklahoma and the southern Flint Hills of Kansas. Our crew was made up of Shannan aka Mr Clean, Matt "Hot Rod not Diesel" Kocian, The Reverend Ben Thornton, The King of Support Dave Foster, and myself. We made the scene at the Best Western, determined that it was not our hotel, found our hotel, returned to the Best Western, registered, waited way too long for way too little, and then back to our hotel for a good nights rest.

4:45 wake up call. Scramble to eat, drink lots of fluids, pound a few double shots, strap things to bikes and get out the door. The race start was at 6 am. The much discussed plan for all of us was to go for a long ride together. Two hundred miles is a long way to go, far further than I had gone on a bike in one day, and the record highs called for by the weather channel weren't favoring a race day. As usual I took a little longer finalizing stuff at the car and rolled to the start area to find Ben lined up in the second row with both iPod buds in. This was not looking good.
The first mile or so was controlled by the Emporia police, but they soon deposited us on our first gravel road. A rider ahead of me asked his neighbor, "what flavor gravel is this." I knew I better pay attention to gravel in these parts, if its so important that it has different flavors. Like snow to the Eskimos. Pack riding always feels comfortable. We had a slight wind from our left, and the group represented safety. It also represented our plan of keeping together for an enjoyable ride. Ben was a few spots back, Matt was a few spots up, so I'd just hang.
Within a few miles I realized that I was really trying to hang. Not because I wanted to go fast. Far from it. Staying in the group meant shelter from wind and stray cows. Stay to the inside of the pack and the bovine kamikazees lining the roads couldn't get to you. It also meant that I was still with Ben and Matt. The leaders were already trying to shake the likes of me off. Every turn was an acceleration. Every wind gust was an acceleration. Every roller was an acceleration. There was a creek crossing and a climb with a few rocks that caused the not so nimble to crash and split the pack. Ben landed right on me. We got things sorted out, and I went for a chase. Again, not to go fast, but I wanted in that pack.

The wind was picking up. After a 20 minute TT effort I started looking over my shoulder rather than up the road. If a few people would catch up, we could gather ourselves and work together. I caught a guy from Lincoln, and then we caught a guy from Salida, and the three of us proceeded to chase down some other folks, and then basically sit up in our little safe group. Ben caught up with another group, and somewhere we gained Matt. Ben flatted, so we all stopped, found another group, and ended the first leg somewhat together. It had been a lot of rolling terrain, plateau top roads exposed to the wind, pretty loose gravel, and frankly unnecessary race tactics. It was a hard 60 miles and the town of Cottonwood Falls was a welcome spot to top off the bottles and fill the feedbags.
Leg two was a relatively easy 40 miles. Looking back I probably had my nutrition and hydration dialed, and it hadn't heated up for the day yet. We had the wind at our backs for most of the leg, and there was the bonus of actual pavement in sections. Our threesome rode much of the leg together, along with two members of the Nashville crew, and a few other riders we absorbed from the front or back. I felt light on the bike, wasn't concerned with drafting, and was even off the front at times talking to other riders before returning to the group.
On one of these returns I noticed Matt was no longer with us. He had been feeling fine, probably one of the strongest during the early sections, and then he simply stopped talking and disappeared off the back. I didn't yet know what that was going to feel like, drifting away into exposed solitude. Tiny dots climbing away towards one of many gravel horizons surrounded by green. Your mind, both physically and psychologically melting in the heat. Ben and I rolled into the 100 mile mark, Council Grove, in just about 7 hours. That's a hundred miles on essentially rolling mountain bike terrain, and plenty for most of us. I had never really gone further in a day.
I rested during the slightly extended pit stop. Ben tubed up a slow leak that had been plaguing us, while I stared creepily at a high school girls car wash across the street. My only lust being that for a good hosing off. I actually checked my wallet for denominations smaller than a $20. No dice. It was already above 90. The water in our bottles was hot, the water in our coolers was warm. Off we went for another 40 miles.
Somewhere in this section, and it doesn't surprise me that I can't remember, I faded from the rear wheel of Ben. I remember wanting to stop to open a package of dates I had on board. I looked up and was alone, and the sun had the vertical extensions of an old western film. It was extremely hot. I rode by myself, sometimes looking down and noticing I was doing 10 miles an hour. I made it unscathed through the much talked up Little Egypt. Maybe the 1.9 tire up front made it a little tamer. I did have to walk out of both ravines involved in LE, and the slow progress started to chip away at morale.

The course was lined with bikes with no riders; their owners presumably off seeking shade. I passed Jason Sheldon's ride, and then seconds later saw him laying down under a railway bridge. I was hanging in there, but starting to feel the effects of the heat and the extended effort. Shortly after the railway bridge we popped out on some pavement, and a quick check of the map suggested it'd be a pavement run-in for the last 6 miles to Alma.

With hopes up, and a survival style approach to simply making Alma, the course took a sharp left back onto gravel. I was broken. My head felt like it was swelling in my helmet. My vision was a little tunneled. I was obsessed with the heat, or more accurately, avoiding it. I was swerving from side to side to sweep through grass thrown shade that only reached my calves. Similar to Matt's disappearing act, I went from coping to in trouble in just a few miles.

I started looking at shady spots on the side of the road and judging their softness. How comfortable would that be? Could I just lay down and sleep a bit there? Eventually, while pushing my bike slowly up a hill, I just sat down. I imagined myself lobster red, with a swollen balloon shaped head, eyes popping out behind my glasses. Shaking my head wasn't clearing up the vision. My shoulders, thighs and gloves were marked by the advances of the salt army. I was drinking liquid but sweating seasoning. It was a low point. I was maybe 3 miles from the town of Alma and relative safety. Getting up was an easy decision, but it still took a few minutes for the body to follow through. I limped into the gas station in Alma, coasting down a gentle grade, hands up, stretching the back and enjoying the gentle breeze brought by salvation.

The convenience store looked like a blend of Trailer Park Boys and a civil war camp. There were drunk shirtless hillbillies and dust covered souls in line, all sharing a desire for Fritos and Rockstar energy drink together in strange brotherhood. Outside the scene was grim for the racers. Ben was lying under a truck, resting in the shade. I grabbed a wet towel, and proceeded to strip off all that was legal to remove and lay under the same strangers truck. I pronounced my love of not going anywhere and shut out the rest of the world.

Dave and Matt (who was looking much more alive in civilian clothes) helped me get some food and water in. They encouraged me to do what no one wants to do after 140 miles; drink electrolyte spiked water and energy food. Ben made his way out of Alma, determined to carry on. I sat a while and thought. After some bike food, a coke, and some real food (salt and pepper kettle chips) I started to come to. Riders were milling about sharing tales of their trek to Alma. My thoughts cleared up, I seemed more aware, and it was time to go.
It was a hard decision to make. The next 60 miles were an unknown, there'd be no turning around or easy way to get back to Alma or Emporia. Survival is always an option, but crawling along at 10 mph meant another 6 hours on the bike. That seems an insurmountable goal when you've been out for 10 hours. I almost broke twice. Once when the salty handed application of chamois butter nearly brought me to tears. The second time when Matt pulled open the map. I felt like a bludgeoned prize fighter taking advice from his coach in the corner. The combination of heat stroke and stinging balls left me half aware to his advice. I just stared blankly out to the road while he pep talked me over the last 60 miles. Simply hearing him rattle off info about mile 15 and mile 30 and mile 45 etc, reminded me that even though this was the closing stretch, 60 miles was a long way to go. I think I said, "I'm not going back out there," as I put my helmet back on and climbed aboard the bike.

Blissful ignorance got me through the next 25 miles. When explaining the map to me, I heard (vs. Matt actually said) that the first 25 were easy rolling miles and the last section had a few big climbs in it. So I went through the first 25 miles thinking I was doing the easy stuff. I took it easy on most of the hills, and walked some of the dirt and rock double track climbs that just seemed too hard. All the while I could clearly see the goal; the horizon.

"This is the easy section, so just get off your bike and make it to the top of this climb, and then you get to go down. We'll make it to Eskridge, and then the hard stuff will begin."

I passed a few riders in this section, moving through it in about 2 hours. The whole time I just kept hearing Matt's words about the tough climbs to come, and the dread kept my focus off the terrain I was actually covering. I arrived in Eskridge and found Ben sitting on a stoop with a bag of ice over his neck. A lot of riders were calling for support or were pulling the plug. I had just come through the crux without knowing it. Ben said he was out. I went in for a gatorade and some skittles, and pretty much got back on the bike and headed out. Ben was back in. I think he just needed a little push.
I got all my legs back when the sun went down. Leaving Eskridge was 15 degrees cooler than it had been all day, and that's all my body was looking for. Hydration snapped in, mental distress subsided, and I took off. There were a lot of miles of dirt and rock double track early on, but the profile was gentle. The clouds were turning purple and the lights of Emporia were visible from our high plateau vantage point 25 miles away. The wind that battered our southerly progress early in the race had now turned. A storm to the south east was sucking in strength from across the plains, and a mighty tailwind had come up to support our finish. I lost Ben a few times, and chased down some other groups of riders. As the sun's light disappeared I partnered up with eventual single speed winner Scott McConnell for a couple pulls. We both would have answered the same, but I asked first, "How you feeling?"

"Honestly, like I'm making a comeback." was Scott's response. We both knew the end was near. I left him out geared on a barely perceived decent. My hands were at the very ends of the drops, and I was stomping on the pedals, the first time I had done so all day. There was no reason to leave anything in reserve. I passed a few groups of riders I had been yo-yo-ing with over the last 15 miles, and started the pavement section through town and into the campus. After all that had transpired that day, I wanted to hold off the riders chasing me down. I pushed hard through town, and barely caught the flashing beacons directing us into campus. A slow navigating turn and some cross traffic held me up long enough that one rider caught my wheel and followed my blinking red light while I searched ahead hesitantly in the darkness. He took me at the line. That's hilarious. 205 miles into the race and we sprinted for the line. I never saw him again. Would have been a good handshake and congratulations. I was greeted by the Support Texans, waited just a few minutes for Ben, and we went to the car, triumphant, and prouder of ourselves than we had ever been on a bike.

I finished in 16 hours; 21 minutes. Good enough for 13th place in the open men's category, a fact that I neither cared about, or knew about for days. It felt exceptionally well to simply have finished against those odds. Of the 163 counted riders that started the day, 98 had pulled the plug somewhere out there. I had completed the ride that I set out to do. It was as hard a day mentally as I've ever had, especially mulling over my options at Alma. I'm glad I finished. As the days roll on my attitude about ever doing something like that again is slowly shifting, a little like the Kansas wind.

Gavel Prep

2010-06-04T07:41:00.003-04:00

Not that one can prepare for a 200 mile race in 96 degree heat through the grassy (read exposed) plains of Kansas; but we are as close to it as possible.

7 hours of driving ahead today. That will be followed by my favorite pre race ritural; the typical low rent hotel room preparation of two many guys vs. not enough square feet vs. a whole lot of gear and nutrition scattered about. Do I need this? How much water are you going to bring? What tire pressure should I run. You're bringing HOW much water?

I don't think any of us are racing. I'm certainly not. The prospect of breaking from a group or being dropped by a group and being left alone on 100+ more miles of rollers in near 100 degree heat and unforgiving flyover state wind doesn't sound good. I'm sticking with my group of Texans and possible Nashvillians and just getting it done. Good legs at mile 60 doens't mean much as you venture into the unknown. I can't think of a time I've done 200 miles on a bike in a day.

Spot link if you want to watch the suffering: Click Here for Dot racing

12 hours of Racing, 36 in Mexico

2010-05-19T22:18:00.004-04:00

Sorry. Its already in the past. I raced the 2010 running of Dirt Sweat and Gears a few days ago, but since then have been in another country, and customs stole my will to live, but luckily not my Tequilla.

As always a great event, a few less friends hanging about, but plenty of new ones joining the crowd. There's a startling if not predictable trend among "pros" this year; get a job, decide not competitive enough anymore, don't travel to races. Hey guys, and I love you, but what about the rest of us that have been working the whole time? We drove 10 hours to drink and ride bikes in competitive style. You will be missed, but in your absence, I made a podium, so cheers!

Quick (I don't have pictures and you don't have an attention span) synopsis of the race.

It was run backwards this year, which changed things up a bit.

It only rained in lap two this year, which changed things up a bit.

It got a little bit muddy on part of the course, so they changed things up a bit.

The modified course no longer went by my pit, so that pissed me off a bit.

The previous point got in my head a bit, so I went back to my pit, in 4th, and almost quit.

Pulled out the little tool box and, changed things up a bit.

Returned to the course in a spinnier gear, and turned things on a bit.

Obtained 3rd place somewhere in lap 6, and held on bit.

Crossed the finish line in 3rd, and gained the podium, by just a bit.

Nine minutes to be exact. Felt pretty good about digging deep, and returning to the course after a muddy and depressing 3rd lap. I got my head back into a good space, forcing down two bottles per lap, and two Accel gels. Have you ever tried to drink two Heed/Sustained bottles, and squeeze down two Accel gels in 53 minutes? Its not easy, and its even harder 9 hours into a race.

So podium. Yeah! Really, there were only like 5 or 6 people in the class, and I got third, but the 3rd to 4th race was tight. I spent the first 2/3 of the race in 4th place, and after they shortened the course, I had to go WAY off course to go visit my pit, a mental and mileage fuck. So even though I only bettered a few people on this day, I feel better about it than the statistics show. Which is the opposite of finishing 6th in the NUE series two years ago.

Then, after awaking at 6 am on Sunday, barely able to walk and my ass sticking to the inside of my shorts, I got to board a plane and go to Mexico City, where a kindly old woman next to me, speaking to me in the kind of broken english you only hear in movies said, "See those clouds, they're not for raining." Smog. But in the city it wasn't so bad. And it made me smile on the inside to spend $1349.00 on one of the top 5 meals I've had in my life. That's Pesos folks, so don't come asking me for a loan. If you go to Mexico City, you must check out Izote. Book early, or get lucky like me, there are only 14 tables.

I trusted Dejay to my house while I was in Mexico, and I got back to my little bungalow looking a whole lot like Mexico. Let the riding begin.

PMBAR 2010

2010-05-02T18:00:00.006-04:00

The all to common hyphen followed by greater than sign version of PMBAR 2010.

Black Mountain -> Maxwell -> Clawhammer -> Buckhorn Gap -> South Mills River -> 476 -> 1206 ->Pilot Mountain -> Pilot Mountain Connector -> Checkpoint -> Laurel Mountain -> 1206 -> 5000 -> Checkpoint at Spencer Gap -> 5000 -> 1206 -> 5015 -> Bradley Creek -> Checkpoint at Bradley Fields -> Bradley Creek -> Squirrel Gap -> Checkpoint at Cantrell Creek -> Squirrel Gap -> Horse Cove -> Give up on 5 -> 476 -> South Mills River -> Buckhorn Gap -> Clawhammer ->Maxwell -> Black Mountain -> Finish with a flat.

Had a tough day on the bike. Timed something wrong, maybe work on the road had the legs feeling dead, who knows. Maybe there's no way to predict a good day, no system of rest and effort before hand that reliably creates good legs. I've done plenty of 5 and 6 hour rides this spring, all of which I felt strong on throughout. XC race strong, and then could have settled in to the effort was body has gotten used to. I was fighting at hour 3 this time around.

I'm somewhere between mildly and grossly disappointed, and sitting at the airport to head off to work again. Actually this post has been written in two airports. This could be the post race depression my friends have spoke of, but at this point, unless I can get to a bike regularly (i.e. change jobs) the racing life may be set aside for a bit in favor of riding for fun, mixing in some climbing, and even exploring all those black trails on the Pisgah map.

The springs been fun hiking with Kara and Bella, meeting riders and showing them around Pisgah, and reintroducing myself to the ropes on Looking Glass. Compared to the satisfaction of those three, the death march back up 1206 to Yellow Gap doesn't quite fall in place.

Or I'll feel better next time, and love racing again. Two weeks will tell.

Getting Medieval on Squirrel Gap

2010-04-07T18:21:00.003-04:00

Greg got all fussied up for the prom....a day on Squirrel Gap. The good thing about Greg is that he exists. There's been some setbacks on the new bike, so I'm not working with anymore deadlines, it'll get here when it gets here. Meanwhile Greg had his front end all SEX'd up. They basically turned my Magic into a Fluid, no more finicky dampening platform, just buttah'. Now he needed a shake down.

Hoping to start early, and hide from the heat in the already leafed out Rhodo. Katy was in tow again, looking to work on her tech skillz, a word she insists ends in Z.Katy eventually learned the fine art of trending uphill on Squirrel's off camber root sections, and progress was good. We were somewhere near the final descent to South Mills River when the blowdown picked up. We were happy with an out and back, and stopped to clear some trail. All I had was a 6 inch saw, but we had cleared a few small spots along the way, but this,
was our major objective, including those low hangers off in the distance. So now it looks like this,
But there are still a lot of little sticks lying about. I made the mistake of saying, and saying just loud enough for mother Pisgah to hear, "Glad I don't have a derailleur."

What's that Katy, there's something wrong with your shifty bits?

Oh my yes there is.

A little Pisgah magic engineering and we were on our way. Medieval Chain guide Version 1.0 (as if medieval folks used a decimal based model system)
Version 1.0 worked better than you'd ever expect, but I know you, and I know how you judge. You're right. It lasted for about 15 happy minutes, but did admirably for our first effort. Fortuitously, where it did decide to fail its final time, I found the perfect sized stick for version 2.0.
We were able to ride from well west of Horse Cove, all the way back to Turkey Pen parking lot with only 4 or 5 chain dumps, and most of those were on short steep climbs, or rocky downhills. Not to shabby. I'm gonna find some time to go out and help with the efforts on the Mills River Side, and also start looking at Turkey Pen west of Wagon Road Gap, but the trails under all the crap are in good shape. Just gotta get there.

Too Hot for April

2010-04-05T21:34:00.008-04:00

Or at least too hot for a planned week of activity. A long list of things have fallen through for the week (new bike, and Cicli Polito training camp) but the dog days of April have filled themselves right up.

Saturday I got the typical last minute call from Doug. Doug's an old climbing bum turned engineer, who is currently trapped in Peoria, IL. When Doug gets a whim, he jumps in his 350,000 mile young Ford Ranger and heads down here, calls me from the Tennessee border, and asks if I wanna go climbing. Last time we did this we got stormed off The Nose, on Looking Glass. Our third pitch turned into a Zen fountain, and we made a somewhat safe, but really just more laughable rappel, 25 degrees colder than we started, and miserably got back to the car.

Establish Rule #1. Don't break all my climbing rules (weather, start time, season, grade...) just to climb with Doug.

Erin, the highest she's ever been off the ground, halfway through Pitch 1

April 3rd. Break Rule #1. Start 4 pitch climb at 3pm, and add an enthusiastic single pitch sport climber to the mix.

Doug helping through the top of Pitch 1

I wanna say we moved as efficiently as possible, with both seconds climbing together, one never more than 5 or 6 feet away from our girl. It was safe. It just wasn't all that fast. The sun set behind Farlow to our west as Erin and I hung on a 3 piece anchor, with Doug scampering around the vertical world above us. Pitch 4 was supposed to reach anchors. Doug couldn't find any. After 20 minutes, I checked my tone and asked him to politely build a goddamn anchor so we could do a short 5th pitch of 5.1 climbing and get off the cliff. He concurred.
Erin got up, I got up. In kind of a huff, I grabbed the trail rope, and ran it out to the top, stopping to sling a tree and get to the summit. Dark. Bring the guys up, and because we were worried about Erin rappelling in the dark, opted for the safer, longer, and oft overlooked "walk-off & hitch hike" approach. Saturday over.

Sunday was a Bent Creek ride. While waiting in the parking lot, a lost but fast looking girl from Milwaukee was pleading for directions. The afterwork crowd was detailing every turn of the stupid Ledford maze, and my heart went out to her. I'm not local in a lot of cities I show up to. If I spent 10 minutes memorizing turns to later find out I had just been given the rosetta stone to a 4 mile loop, I'd be pissed.

"If you wait 5 minutes you can come ride with my friend and I"

Ed was late, but it worked out well enough. Did our normal loop, and then Katy and I took the long slow way back up to 5 points to take another whack at Ingles Field.

Bent Creek Loop GPS

Just a quick reminder. If you are newer to biking (an inaccurate statement in this instance, SLOW being a better one), you are definitely allowed to ride at Bent Creek. But if a party of three has been behind you for 10 minutes, and you know they are there, and if you are nearly stopping at every turn, or climb, and they say "when you have a chance there's three of us that would like to get by," the response is not;

"Well you're gonna god damn wait this time"
Jesus would be so disappointed Mr. Carolina Fatz Jersey guy. It's Easter afterall.

Monday Funday. The Wisconsoners, now Katy and and Team Pegasus team mate Chris (Chris needs a Bio), were looking for a road ride. Something 3.5 to 4 hours. I chose the 151 Loop. They may hate me.

Yeah, we're at the top.

And we're only half way, 26 more miles to go!

The now famous 151 Loop

But they did it. We crawled into the Biltmore McDonalds for a round of milkshakes to celebrate what Chris called "the hardest thing he's done on a bike."

Katy could've sworn it was that tandem reach-around.

Riding on days you don't want to ride

2010-03-17T15:40:00.006-04:00

I've been sick. Or am just getting sick. I still can't tell because it gets worse everyday. A byproduct of a successful surprise birthday party for Kara in Durham. Good news is that Durham days means rest days (unless you count the 6 mile MTB ride I did at Harris "completely forgettable" Lake).

Sniffle. Cold. Today's forecast in the low 40s most of the day. No sun to be seen.

Let's go ride 151 and see what kind of shape it, and we, are in.
Approaching via Black Oak Cove, you can see the ominous, and snow covered, North Face of Mount Pisgah. Just a few BRP miles shy of that is our destination. It looked cold and snowy up there.
But the beginning of 151 wasn't too bad. I figured the top gate was closed, so there'd be no traffic for the entire climb.
I came up with the idea of doing the whole thing seated, and in the big ring. Not the most impossible thing ever, just wanted to work on the muscles and power a bit for doing the whole SS MTB thing. I was a much "faster" rider back when I rode a 49 x 16 around town all day, so I want to start forcing that system to get stronger and build on the past few years of steady-as-she-goes-cuz-she's-gotta-go-a-long-way fitness.
151 started to deteriorate quickly. A few head down efforts almost had me smack dab in the business end of some deadfall.
And then there was snow. AHHH yes that most highly revered form precipitation can take, and it still won't leave us alone.
The BRP was a ghost town, and looked like it was missing it's Viggo Mortenson, but it was car free. Not exactly a mindless decent though. At best you had one lane to work with, and there was a lot of snow, and running water that made you think twice about pedaling through a corner.
And beware the tunnels. I swear I almost hit Marjory Trash Heap in one of them,
but my flash revealed a deep blue tunnel glacier. That thing might be there a while.
Not in any rush, and wasn't going that fast anyway because of all the debris, so I stopped to take some photos at Mills River Overlook.
Looks peaceful out there today. Rumor has it there may be some mountain biking down there. By May.

This is just a side note. Last time Ed and I were up here, the BRP was open for business except for a half mile section where a landslide had occurred. Then, maybe 5 months ago, we wondered what all the hub bub was about, the "slide" had barely encroached on the medium, and it seemed a little over cautious to close the parkway down.
This is why I don't work as a civil engineer. That damn thing is busting through walls, kicking ass and taking names. We probably have a craggy style closure on our hands.

All in all, 46 miles, 4700 feet of up-edness, and just under 3 hours, which is by far the fastest I've done this loop, but the new starting point may have something to do with that.

Garmin Connect - Activity Details for 151 Loop

Pisgah is shit

2010-03-10T10:48:00.003-05:00

Its gotten so bad that we know carry entire rolls of toilet paper when we ride.

In the meantime, South Carolina has been the place to be for riding dirt. Since spring has decided to show up, on the asphalt at least, the road bike has been the place to be for North Carolina miles. My continued state of work up-in-the-air-ed-ness has allowed me to do quite a bit of riding. It has also put into such a financial bind that distant races are quickly dropping off my calender.

The biggest casualty thus far is the Arizona Trail 300. This was one I was really looking forward to. All this riding had me feeling pretty good on the bike. More importantly, 300 miles is completely manageable for me. Elevation wouldn't be an issue, and the profile is friendly less the Mt. Lemmon climb, but its pavement. All in all, almost a sure thing. And I needed a sure thing after last years CTR hospital induced debacle.

With AZT300 off the schedule, it makes getting to Syllamo's a little different. It was literally on my way home from Arizona and at a good time frame to allow some recovery from those 300 miles, and feel fresh for the race pace 50. Now I'll have to make a blitzkrieg drive into the night if I'm going to make that race. With only $50 invested, it hardly seems worth it unless I can scrounge up some other South Easterners who are interested.

The rescheduled P36AR was an option, until my Mom decided to turn 60 that weekend and my brother and I decided to get the family together for a celebration. Family time is going to last through Saturday, thus eliminating a Friday midnight start from my realm of possibilities. In other Pisgah Productions news, if don't go to Syllamo's revenge, I can do PMBAR, but it may be sold out, and I haven't even thought about a partner.

So now what. I was going to race early this season, and then take the second half of summer and fall off to do some bikepacking trips semi local, and dust off the rack and start climbing the myriad of 600 foot cliffs within a 90 minute drive from my house. Its all a little up in the air. And with the rest of life a little up in the air as well, its tragic to see "biking life" fall into that category as well.

NAHBS 2010

2010-03-04T08:51:00.003-05:00

When you can't ride bikes anymore, you go look at them. Snow was falling in and around Asheville again. Richmond is close enough to drive to, even closer when your girlfriend lives in Durham. And there was a strong possibility I'd be coming home with a shiny bike of my own. So off to Richmond.

This was my first bike related expo center style gathering. Thank goodness I did this one first, because I now know I never need to go to interbike. I'd like to see the cross race, but that'd be about it. Even at this scale, its overwhelming, and I had plenty of time to see stuff. I got into Richmond Thursday afternoon and waited for my friend/builder Dan and fellow Cicli Polito teammate/old messenger friend J.Karp to finish their snowy van fueled trip down from Cleveland. Waiting involved the men's curling semifinals and my first solo hotel bar dinner in quite some time. I need to get back to work. Its so exciting.

Their eventual arrival was a little chaotic. I met them with the van already unloaded, and then heard the story of my bike's non existence. I few little hang ups before going off to paint, and Dan didn't want to rush it for the show. I appreciated him wanting to tell it to me face to face, swallowed the news, and hopped in the van for a last minute run to Lowes. We had to build display boxes filled with; dirt for Jay's CX bike and gravel for the other customers path fixie. 400 lbs of landscaping material and a few screws later and we had a nice simple display, with bikes in their natural environment.
The rest of the show was a blur. With the private exhibitor's hours on Friday and Saturday, I had pretty much seen everything I wanted to see by Saturday at 10 am. The rest of it felt like long days of work at a very fun job, but still work. We hooked up with a bunch of Dan's bike building friends throughout the weekend, and hung out with our booth neighbors, Noah and Suzanne from Velo Colour, and the two guys who became "The Danes," Rasmus and David from Cykelmageren for some Ethiopian food and bad college accoustic music at Comfort.

Here are some other shots, slideshow style, from NAHBS. Point and Shoot camera's don't do NAHBS justice, nor do my photography skills.

Back in asheville now and figuring out how to stay active. The new bike is probably a month out at this point. It'll be done prior to that, but team Cicli Polito is gathering in Asheville at the end of the month, and why risk a FedEx or UPS incident?

I did walk away with new Ti Luv Handles from Groovy Cycleworks, so I can sit in my chair and pretend.

Jesus got me sunny days for my birfday

2010-02-23T09:22:00.006-05:00

Finally right. The downside is that I'm no longer 30, which means all those goals and ambitions of things to be done by 30 are now overdue. Just like flying cars and eating pills for dinner. The upside is you get sweet gifts. The girl knows my appreciation of all things so found me set of vintage whiskey tumblers and hi ball glasses (Matching...from two different places). My birthday card was a little bound book of classic cocktail recipes she collected from the Mad Men website. Good girl.
I also got a sunny ride in with Chris Bennett. Sunny, but very sloppy. We road up Webb Cove again on cross bikes knowing that everything else high was still snowy. Webb had cleared from my previous outing, but was now the consistency of grout, or if unfamiliar with grout, think peanut butter and sand-sandwich. What was supposed to be a "open the legs for mountain biking tomorrow ride" turned into a chase game, that I, admittedly, started. Short and sweet and lots of power. Riding from the new house allows me a really nice flat roll out, and obviously, flat spin out at the end of the ride. No more rolling hills of Leicester all the way to the front door.

Sunday came the much anticipated mountain bike ride. No one had been in the woods with any great success in months. We were a group of 8 with no agenda other than to ride for 4 hours and explore some trails in SC that I had never been on.
Our ride "leader" was Zach, though he'd later leave us in the woods in favor of attending the Nina Simone statue dedication in Tryon. Priorities. Here we have a sign pointing out a trail named High and Dry, the latter being succinct description of the trail conditions. The former being a succinct description of our ride leaders. The first part of the day was rooty, twisty, state parky kind of trails. Stuff we aren't used to up here in the more northerly of the two Carolinas. It does serve a purpose though, more power. Our allegedly leisurely group took off at XC pace, and other than a few wait for lagger stops, maintained it most of the day. We covered the south side of the park, and got stuck with just a little pavement that went by quickly. At this point Zach, Dave and Cissy had to bail, and we were left in the hands of Jay, who had been here once or twice. Time to take a picture of the map. Time to take a picture of the map with Jay's hand blocking all the vital trail intersections. Another two hours of riding got us back to the car. My legs were shot. Four hours in the woods is a lot more than we've had recently. It was good to get out, and as I type, I'm getting later and later to pick up friends to head back today.

Arizona Round Up

2010-02-15T14:31:00.006-05:00

It's taken me a couple days to decompress, and the girl was here for the Valentine's Day thing, so i'm just getting around to some Arizona pics. My memory is foggy at best, but then again, it was foggy at best from time I landed. So here goes.

I left friday afternoon, flew through ATL, ran in to Thom Parsons in the airport (one of those...is your name Thom? Is your name Robb? moments) and we both hopped the same flight to Tucson. We arrived, Thom got his bags, I did not. There was some yelling and screaming at innocent people, and we hopped in Thom's arranged vehicle. Thom, as it stands, has a friend who lives in a Honda Element, who happened be traveling, so said Element was parked at the airport for our use. Great. Except it was very full of stuff, and about to get fuller. We crammed in and made the party the Surly Wench around 11.

There was some very loosely structured race sign-ups and registration, and a contest to bring Dejay the biggest bar tab. One schlitz at a time, but we made it with the help of some late tequilla shots and a pack of smokes, though no one smoked. It was a group effort consisting of just about everyone I know from last year's SSAZ; Jake, Andrew, Nick, Chewey, Kramer, Tim, and the heavy drinking Dax. The Ohio boys Rich and David made the scene late, I got charged with getting the Big Dummy home, dinked a co-ed with only a few disastrous wrecks, and then was escorted home by a less drunk and better navigating Ohioan. Bed time 3:30 or so.

Race Day
Wakey Wakey. Dejay was up at 7 like he went to bed at 10. Too much energy. The rest of us picked ourselves up and headed to the start. I was borrowing everything because Delta still didn't have my bag. The roll out was the same as last year, 7 miles of flat road and Dales Pale's Ale. Big thanks to the Dale's crew for bringing their RV and never ending supply of Oskar Blues beer, though at this time in the morning, it was going down a little rough. Dejay had us start with our bikes 100 yards up the hill, and us holding our front wheels on the start line. Chaos ensued with a nonchalant "go," and the quick find-bike-attach-wheel-game began.

From the start, its 1300 feet over 9 miles to get to the first turn, and a nicely stocked aid station. More beer, Red Vine licorice, and some pretzels. There's a short reprieve from climbing, and some fun dessert singletrack to negotiate; a few tight turns but pretty wide open. Next up, the often photographed barbed wire fence climb, the wash riding (think loose babies...not baby heads...rocks the size of whole babies), and then more climbing. I rode a lot of this stuff with Mike Stanley, and we pushed each other over some steep stuff, and walked just as much of it together. I'd get away in the flats, we'd see saw the wide downhills, inadvertently cutting each other off. Saw a lot of sun, some dust, some cows, and thankfully much less jeep traffic than last year.

Back out to Reddington road, and on up to the aid station again. More food, more hanging out with a few folks. I had left Mike at this point, and quite a few others. A nice flat front tire saw to it that everyone caught up. Everything was going fine, I inflated it partially, bumped it around, and then hit it with more air. Something went wrong. I quickly aborted, got air out of it before it blew up, and tried again. Off we go. I wasn't really racing, but now I was stuck behind some people on the fast rolling stuff leading to the Millagrosa climb. Oh well. I got to look around, take some pictures of other racers, and enjoy the first sunny ride I've had in a while.

Millagrossa felt great. Pushed up the first climb, but then with some resting on each mini summit, was able to ride all the rolling stuff. The desert is beautiful along this steep ridge, so I stopped to hang out on top of everything. The descent off Millagrossa went better than last year. All this time off the bike didn't have me feeling as one with it, so I walked the really nasty stuff, but did manage to slide and squeeze myself down and through most of it. Millagrossa is a fun section of trail, especially leading up to the decsent, a must ride if you are in Tucson. I got back to our start finish area around 3:20....6:18 total ride time after leaving at 9:05. That includes the roll out and goofing around at the start, but its all I was looking for. Why go hard when its your first day in the sun since October.

GPS for SSUSA 2010

Krista and Dax win the race-and the SSAZ paintings this year

Just when you forget how trendy SS riding is; footdown gets going

Bailey getting chased by Flagstaff's team Hobo, who didn't even ride the race

Bailey raises his new belt, which will raise his old pants

Fire riding. It made sense at the time

This years fastest man

The party was the party. If you weren't there, come next year. A ninja skilled game of foot down determined the SSUSA champs, John Bailey and Mandy Wisell. Krista Park and Dax actually won the race part. Rumor has it Krista was mad she wasn't champ (ha!) and Dax got drunk enough to sleep under an RV. Hats off to Dax for winning the pre-party tab award, the rockstar award, and the damn race, and then the post race rockstar award. christ. The most unfair game of Tug-O-War was used to determine next years host, culminating in my perhaps bad idea of doing the final in the middle of the street. Jake Kirkpatrick is taking us to Boulder next year. I think New Belgium will be involved, don't you?
The Aftermath
The rest of the week we celebrated the superbowl in style, enjoyed sport legs, played a lot of shuffleboard, drank till we wrestled, licked our wounds, laid low, and did a little riding. We did two days worth of riding at Starr Pass/TMP, and then went for a long cold wet hike from Prison Camp, and through Sabino Canyon.

Sunny skies at Tucson Mountain Park

Andrew, Heart Rate Charles, and Dejay at TMP

Dr. Dejay pulls Andrew's Cholla out while I wait somewhat patiently

Arizona Trail trailhead above Sycamore damn

When riders walk they still look like riders. Kate, Bike29 George, Andrew and Dejay

Admiring the views in Sabino CanyonRaining and cold. Not the desert I was thinking ofDesert - Fog - Snow parfait

Starr Pass loop from Dejay's

Tucson Mountain Park

Prison Camp to Sabino Canyon Hike

Still riding indoors

2010-02-04T13:13:00.002-05:00

If you don't live in the Southeast, you wouldn't know this. But we don't have a riding season so far. I'm just as willing as anyone I know to go out in bad conditions (namely I don't adhere to the unwritten rule among friends that you just don't road ride below 40 degrees.) What's it all mean? It means my thus far front loaded race schedule is going to hurt, be unsuccessful, or hurt and be unsuccessful.

I am however caught up on the entire Coen Brother's catalogue, including the Hudsucker Proxy which I always forget about, a handful of Wes Anderson movies, two Sam Rockwell movies, some climbing porn, the best and worst of Paul Thomas Anderson and both seasons of The Boondoks. (Not both Boondok Saints movies...still refuse to see the second). Bella isn't even afraid of the hum of the trainer anymore. She, unlike myself, has reached her peace with the fluid resistance machine in front of the television.

So with another bout of Wintry Mix heading our way, and just as lousy a forecast for the majority of next week; I'm heading to Tucson. I'm the worst co-promoter ever, having done very little this year compared to last year, but its SSUSA time again. I won it the first year, sunk money into it the second year, and this year I'm just hiding and going out for some riding. Lots of it. Got 50+miles on Saturday for the race, some rest and polo Sunday, and then hopefully 3 big rides M-W with Dejay and the crew or Scott "bikepacking.net" Morris. Gonna check out as much AZT as possible and get as much info from Scott as I can to help find success in April. If I make it.

Winter is a stubborn old man

2010-01-27T17:11:00.004-05:00

Usually if its cold and sunny, its a great day to head for the woods. You can stay sheltered from the wind, and warmed ever so slightly by decomposing remains of this winter's ice storms. Or maybe its sweet trail that warms you. Or bourbon. Either way, the woods is the place to be.
Unless your mountain bike is boxed up and heading to warmer pastures. Pastures in Tucson, AZ. So we do what we do and we make do. The first attempt at this involved the cross bike. Its the next logical step in the progression; the chimpanzee to our mastery of nature. And master nature the Cross Bike does not. Took it out and up Webb Cove to that ever convenient patch of trail that circumvents the top of Town Mountain. Webb Cove was in great condition (think the opposite of Bent Creek Rd) but just a little icy at the top. The kind of ice where it got warm the day before, melted, and then froze even more slippery in the morning. The ever so fickle gravity gods saw me through that section, and onto the trail. No one had been up here since this last snow, and all the wet sections were glassed over; thin enough to hold you for a breathtaking second, and then safely, and coldly, plop you down in 4 inches of water. Just enough to freeze the brakes, and candle wax layers of ice on my rims. And don't even think about getting off and walking around the deadfall, because you won't be clipping in again anytime soon.
Add in the fact that I left with barely enough time to get this ride in before i had to get back for work, and you get a very cold, and very frantic brakeless death dive down Town Mountain, and an all out sprint through town. Continued employment makes for a good motivator when friends aren't around to ride with.

Next day the sun was supposed to be out. In Asheville anyway. Problem is we rode to Marshall, where the sun was not making its presence known. The rollers all the way through Bear Creek, and Rector Corner where fine. Enough sun and effort to stay warm. Even had the opportunity to snap this:Regardless of your views on religion, this is pretty symbolic. Its either Jesus' sheep coming home to their shepard, or indicative of the thoughtless flock mentality that leads people to organized religion in the first place. Either way, someone is missing their sheep (or goats). And it ties nicely into my mention of warmer pastures.
We stopped at the ever tempting and leg tightening Zooma cafe where I grabbed a cookie and an Americano. Socks and carbon shoes were not the recipe for the day, and I was envious of everyone's booties. But now I had a cookie, which is pretty distracting; so my feet felt better.
Then on to the very cold river road return to Asheville. The French Broad is running huge right now, and probably very cold. The valley of the permanent head wind was at its worst. There was ice everywhere, that not being the best photo representation. We also spied a crew cutting deadfall from the side of the highway.
So tomorrow I get a nice rest day for the legs, and a nice core workout splitting a Subaru full of wood.

Heartbreak 2: Me 0 (Hey welcome back asshole)

2010-01-23T21:26:00.005-05:00

I'm gonna come back at this as if I never left. Which is absurd. I've done quite a bit since that last post. A climbing trip to Colorado, tons of riding, a week in Belize. But here goes...a little riding post to ease me back into it...

Not much of a ride, but a telling story about how the "riding" season is progressing here in the southeast. It isn't, really. We tried to ride Rattlesnake, Old Toll and Heartbreak today and were blessed with fog, downed trees, deep snow drifts, and finally; the front line of the trail maintenance effort. At least someone is fixing the problem. A very short way up Old Toll we ran into 6 or 7 chainsaw toting youth doing the good deed. Bless your hearts lads. Keep it up. Maybe by April the remnant of this year's snow and ice storms will have receeded and we can get back to what we do best in Asheville; riding the trails that we endlessly brag about to outsiders even though they don't care.

Its 2-0 because last time I went to ride Heartbreak with Ed and Marvin, I flatted my rear with the Rohloff on, and lacking a 15mm wrench, walked the entire length of Heartbreak after the steep loose drop in from the hunting tin can establishment. I'll have revenge when trail conditions improve.

On bike notes; I moved my Brooks saddle off of my long retired messenger rig onto the mountain bike. With the introduction of the new rig coming in February, the Dieringer is being purpose built for long haul. Its keeping the goofy Jones' H bars, getting the Brooks Special edition B-17, probably a steel or Ti seatpost rather than the carbon FSA, nice soft shoe supporting Candy pedals and will eventually be permanently mated with the Rohloff. And I think I need a new Endless Cog, this one's shot.

Cold and Foggy at the Start
Lots of trees down on Rattlesnake
Some big ones down too, and evidence of trail angels
Then the snow/ice concoction started to get deep
And then there's the sink holes that have appeared

Then we found this big teeter totter that took 2 people to get to turnover; but we had three people in our group.

Belize trip...more for my own memory than anything else.

2010-01-23T10:48:00.006-05:00

Belize - Jan 1 - Jan 9th 2010.

So much happened and we met so many people, and heard about so many other things to do that I want to keep some sort of record of what happened so that when I, or anyone else, goes back I can have some starting points. So here goes.

Day 1. Belize City and Dangriga

Landed in Belize City after sleeping in the uncomfortably bright and Xmas music blasting lobby of IAH. Landed at 11:30, took a $50 BZE cab to the Mopan Hotel to meet up with Jackie, who had flown in the day before. Walked to the swing bridge and ate at the cafe there, our first helping of rice and beans and introduction to Belikin beer. Walked from here to the Novelo bus station. Belize City is a little rough in spots, but the people we passed seemed friendly enough. Most tourists land and take a cab right to the bus station or water taxi. There weren't a lot of outsiders walking the back street route we took to the bus. Got to the bus station, passed on the opportunity to pay $.50 BZE to use the bathroom, and boarded a $4 non express bus to Belmopan, the capital city. Had another beer at the little bar near the bus stop, mostly filled with guy playing pool. Bought my first and certainly not last bag of "street" plantain chips. Then we caught another bus ($6) south to Dangriga. The Hummingbird highway was a much more scenic bus section than the Western Highway out of Belize City. In Dangriga we stayed at Pal's Guest House, which was $50 US, but I think we paid extra for a beach front, second floor room. Walked around Dangriga and found it much friendlier than Belize City. Ate dinner at the Riverside Cafe, bought some coconut water and Rum at one of the Chinese stores and returned to the hotel to sip cocktails on the porch and watch a huge storm role in.

Day 2. Dangriga to Glover's Atoll

Island Expeditions was 200 feet from our hotel, so we checked in with them, and then went looking for breakfast. Found Glenda's across from the bus station. Not much to look at, but the place was great. A mother and her 5 kids were watching headline news, and the owner and another local were discussing the problem in Belize City; youth not being held accountable and getting in trouble. It was great listening to them talk about the village mentality of disciplining their kids...Dangriga is small enough that if you are doing something your parents wouldn't approve of, your neighbor is going to see it and bust you...thus...you behave. Its all the same, world round. Met a guy there named Austin Gabriel who lives in Phoenix but was from Belize, and happens to be selling some land....

Met up with our captain and other folks making the crossing to the cayes that morning. Our boat was an ex Columbian drug boat the coast guard had seized and our captain purchased. We headed to Tobacco Caye and dropped most of the people off, and picked up another large group, The ultimate adventure trip, that would be spending 3 days on Glover's with us. Along with them was Manny, their guide, Karm, their Belizean guide, and Demascoe, a local fisherman turned guide. We got to the island, about 2 acres of sand 35 miles off the coast, and explored our basecamp. Karm took us out in the kayaks and we did a wet exit exercise to make sure no one would drown. Jackie and I did pretty well and we paddled back for some rest. Manny gave a lecture on corals and the various theories on how Atoll's form. There were a lot of these lectures because the near constant 40mph wind kept us out of the kayaks most of the weekend. That night we found, and closed, the tiny bar on the island. After everyone left we stayed with our guide Manny, a scuba guide from the other resort, Chad, and boat Captain named "King David" and his wife, and Caitlin our bartender. Spend $150 BZE on who knows what...drinks must be expensive in the middle of the ocean.

Day 3 Glover's Atoll

Wind calmed down a little bit, so in the morning we paddled out to the point, and snorkeled off the beach. This is when my camera broke. Currents were pretty strong so we stayed close to shore, but saw lots of smaller fish amongst all fan and other soft corals. Went back to the island and actually had some sun to enjoy and calm weather. Lots of eating and hammocking ensued. That afternoon, just in time for it to get cold and windy again, we took a small boat out, around the Atoll and outside the reef where it starts to drop off and "drift snorkeled." This entails doing the often seen backflip out of the boat and just floating around. The ocean floor was about 50 -100 feet deep along the section we were in and we saw many more large fish, canyon's in the reef, rays, barracuda's (which we had caught and eaten for dinner that evening), large snapper and a whole lot of other stuff I didn't recognize and can't remember. Well worth the cold trip out. That evening we laid low after Karm's Garufina drumming demonstration, sipped some rum in our tent house, and packed for the next day's departure, and hoped for good weather.

Day 4: Glover's Atoll, Dangriga, San Ignacio, Bullet Tree Falls.

We woke up to the worst weather of the 3 day trip, felt pretty cold and damp, and no one wanted to do much of anything in or near the water, so Karm got to give another talk. This time was about all the different peoples living in Belize, its political and cultural history, and a lot of talk about food. Very interesting, Karm's a genuinely great human being, and happy to share his culture with absurd question asking tourists with no regret. We loaded the boat, a much smaller and primitive boat than our Columbian cruiser on the way out, and got beat to hell for 2 hours on the way back to the mainland. This little dingy sat 2.5 to 3 feet out of the water, and we went soaring through 12 foot waves, getting airborne and slamming back down, unrestrained onto our foam padded bench. It was fun losing our stomachs for like 10 minutes, but it got a little rough after a while. Back problems galore over the next two days, and a few seconds of genuine fear as our boat would start to roll in the air and sometime hit broadside into another 10 feet of water. Highly recommended. Walked around our favorite little Dangriga after bidding the other folks goodbye. They were really surprised we didn't want to take a crowded van back into town. Picked up some snacks at the chinese superstore and got to the bus station. Deciphered the bus schedule, and got on a very crowded and non express bus to Belmopan. It took every bit of 2 hours and was 3 adults per school bus seat. I lucked out and had 2 kids, 5 and 9, and Jackie had their 3 and 13 year old sisters. The 4 and 6 year olds were behind us with mom. We shared some cookies with them, and Jackie gave the oldest her number. Mom's gonna be surprised when she starts making 3.49/min phone calls to some girl in Phoenix. In Belmopan we immediately switched over to an express bus heading west towards San Ignacio. In San Ignacio we had a great dinner at Erva's which was highly recommended, but off the main drag, so it was nice and empty and local feeling until some college students from Vermont showed up and asked the poor waiter for 7 different kinds of frozen drinks like it Cozumel. After diner took a $20 BZE taxi out to Parrot's Nest in Bullet Tree Falls. Apparently its cheaper to just go to BTF, but more to Parrot's Nest because the road was bad. In an old Toyota Tercel with no shocks, it was a touch road to negotiate for our old, and politically correct driver. It was late when we got to Parrot's Nest, we found our cabin, #3, and went to bed.

Day 5 Bullet Tree Falls and El Pilar

I woke up kind of early, mainly because it was freezing and the mexican blankets weren't cutting it. Found my first shower of the trip, and helped myself to coffee in the communal dining area while Jackie slept. Over coffee I met Klaas and Peter, a presumed couple from the dutch side of St. Maarten. They had rented a truck and were heading to El Pilar that day as well, so I negotiated a ride, and rushed Jackie a bit so we could go with them and save a lot of money in either paying a cab driver to wait, or renting a car. El Pilar is 7 adventurous miles from Bullet Tree Falls, and the diesel Mazda 4x4 got its workout for the day. El Pilar is an unexcavated mayan temple site, and doesn't see many visitors. The ranger person was pretty surprised to see us. We walked around the sight, which, as an unexcavated site, was a lot of large flat plaza's created by the mayans, and oddly pyramid shaped hills, obviously towers and temples the jungle had reclaimed over the past 2000 years. People must walk around the jungle and say...hmm...that hill oddly pyramid shaped, and then discover these sites. It was good to see a site in this condition before we went to an excavated one later in the week. We mostly just walked around in the jungle, saw some howler monkeys, a huge colony of leaf cutter ants, and took pictures of all the different tree species we saw. That afternoon we had Peter and Klaas drop us off in Bullet Tree Falls, we walked around the village taking pictures, started walking toward San Ignacio and got picked up by two presumably government workers who offered us a ride the rest of the way into San Ignacio. We did some shopping in town, bellied up to Han Nah's, had huge burrito's and quesadillas, and then tried to walk back to BTF. This time Kim and Dan, who were staying with us, picked us up and took us back to the Parrot's Nest. We ate dinner at Parrot's Nest that night, and retired to our treehouse porch (we moved rooms between nights) and talked with Kim and Dan for a while before going to bed.

Day 6 Actun Tunichil Muknal and San Ignacio

We had to get up early, the bane of Jackie's existence, to catch a shuttle into San Ignacio. Once again we rushed her a bit, and I hurriedly "checked out" of Parrot's Nest..which was around $60 BZE per night for the two of us, plus dinner and some beers. The tour was being done by Pacz tours, one of only two companies allowed in the cave...it was $80 US per person. Its an all day affair, bussing out along the western highway, stopping at a little street stand to get some meatpies, hiking in for about 45mins, crossing 3 rivers, eating lunch, and then entering the cave. The first section of the cave is wet caving, involving some swimming and chest deep wading around various caverns. Our guide Orlando was great, and he really wanted my Black Diamond headlamp because the ones available to them weren't great. My head was often used as the spot light for the tour. I'm sending Orlando a BD Icon so he can be the envy of all the cave guides. After all the wet caving, you climb up a few boulder and enter the "dry" part of the cave. Time for shoes off, and walking around in your socks. We saw a LOT of mayan ceramic work, some complete, some broken by the Mayan's as they abandoned the cave in 900 AD. There were large pots up in chambers in the walls, and some on the ground. We also saw the skeletal remains of 5 individuals, including the 'Crystal Maiden' in the very highest chamber in the cave. It's the only woman in the cave and it isn't really known why she's in there, or how she died. All the other skull had holes in the side, and sharp rocks nearby. Priests would sacrifice people by punching a whole in the side of their skull. The crystal maiden is laid out perfectly, and doesn't have a hole in her temple. The cave itself, all the artifacts withstanding, was amazing. Lots of calcium carbonate formations, stalactites and stalagmites, and we were crawling all among all of it, something you certainly can't do in the US. There was only some orange flagging tape on the ground where you "weren't supposed to step." One of the highlights of the trip for sure, and even though it was a guided tour, it didn't attract cruise boat types, and was very educational having a local guide. Orlando was Mestizo, a people formed by the mixing of Mayan and Mexican people, and he had been guiding for a long time. After the tour we ate dinner at Han Nah's again, and waited for Orlando to give us a ride home. He lived just outside of Benque del Carmen, and our new home in San Jose Succotz was on his way home. Very nice of him to do this for us, and typical of the kindness of the people we met in the Cayo District. Arriving in the dark was our M.O. for the trip, and we got to The Trek Stop in similiar fashion, tracked down Tino, who thought he had a room for us, and eventually led us to cabin 8. Time for a few drinks out in the communal kitchen area with the L.A. students from UMASS, and the canadian motorcycle touring guy, some darts, and then we slept.

Day 7: Xunatunich and San Jose Succotz

We actually slept in, finally, like a vacation should be. We had no agenda for the day other than visiting the temples at Xunantunich, which was just a few miles away. While Jackie slept i checked out the butterfly garden, all the labled plants and flowers on the site, did some interneting (a nice included perk to this place), and checked out Tino's nature museum. I ordered a Belizean breakfast from the little restaurant, and joined the canadian in looking at maps of his trip from Toronto to Vancouver, and then down the western US, Baja, the ferry to mainland Mexico, and all the way through the Yucatan and Belize. He was heading to Guatemala today and was worried about the "typical" crap he had to deal with at the border; exit fees, vehicle permits, bike debugging, bribes, passport fees, and more bribes. Sounds like fun. Jackie woke up and joined me for a walk into San Jose Succotz, lunch at Benny's, which is the only, but a very good, restaurant in San Jose Succotz. Then we took the hand cranked ferry across the river and walked uphill forever to get to the Xunantunich site. We spent a good few hours hanging out, almost completely alone, at this amazing site. Again, no constraints other than a few ropes blocking off certain stairs. We got to run around like kids on giant mayan temples from thousands of years ago. Words can't do justice to that feeling. From the highest structure you could see over the canopy for miles, into Guatemala, to Benque, back to San Ignacio. There were howler and spider monkeys in the trees, and it was dead silent. We spent a lot of time just sitting up on different temples and looking around. On the way out we over patronized the local mayan craft sellers, buying hammocks, slate carvings, jewelery, wooden bowls, boxes and cutting boards etc etc. This little roadside area was probably the best place to get whatever kind of local craft you where in search of. Later in the afternoon, Jackie got attacked by army ants, and her foot swelled up like Oprah's. That night, or last, back at The Trek Stop was spent talking to Tino, and his down to earth business practices, and his apartment in San Jose for 500 BZE a month, fully furnished. Hmm.... That's 250 US a month for a base of operations...full kitchen bed, couches, tv, microwave..whatever you'd need. Good info to have. One more night of rum and brandy mixed with lime squash and off to bed for our early departure.

Day 8 San Jose Succotz to Belize City

Early early start to our day...i think 5:30 or so. We needed to catch an early express bus headed to Belize City in order to catch our 1:30 flights. As we ran down the stairs, Jackie nearly breaking her army ant swollen ankle, and we missed what I think was the express. So we waited 15 minutes and got on what must have been a local. Got to Belmopan, smartly switched busses even though ours was continuing on, and grabbed an express to Belize City. Slept most of the way, the Belmopan to Belize City stretch is pretty boring to look at. It was raining in Belize City and we never really found anything to do. Most craft sellers were closed because of the rain, and because i don't think a cruise was in that day. Jackie got taken off into someones house, which was a little scary for a minute, but she met an old man who hand tied, very slowly, one hammock a month, and since that was what she was looking for, it all worked out. I mostly just ate plantain chips and waited for her in the rain. We found a very loud colorful little bar that was the equivalent of the scariest ghetto bar you could be in in the states, but we felt welcomed and protected by the owner, and it was great food. We killed time there, and then caught a cab to the airport. Jackie had to leave behind her Marie Sharp's hot sauce because she forgot to adhere to the 3:1:1 rule. Flew to charlotte, ate at the Tacquerillaria and was very disappointed.

Introduction to Colorado 14ers

2009-12-12T08:02:00.003-05:00

Me and all my puffy clothing and spiky parts are headed out to Colorado for a little winter climb of the Crestone Needle. I head first to Dallas to meet The Rev, and then we're making the drive up to Westcliffe, CO. The temps have been everywhere from -20 to +40 in the last 5 days. Weather is actually looking pretty good for our arrival; 9-36 on Monday's approach day, 16-38 for Tuesday's climb, 17-42 for Wednesday's possible Broken Hand Peak climb, and then similar to get out of there on Thursday. Of course, this weather is probably way down low on the mountain, predicted for Westcliffe or something. Ben and I have been staring at numbers from a weather outpost at South Colony lake over the last 2 weeks....trying to predict what kind of snow consolidation we are looking at. The truth is we really won't know until we get out there. CO snow should tend to be fluffy worthless powder (after all we aren't skiing, we need it to hold us to a slope, not be fun to carve turns in) but the warm up over the past 2 weeks may have helped to consolidate a bit. We have to do our climb early, or if not HAVE to, are electing to do so, hoping snow conditions will be better when its cold, and there will be less avalanche danger.

We'll both have Spot's on us...my page is here. I don't know what's Ben's page is...I'll add it if I can later, between both devices you should have a pretty good idea where we are. I'm hoping the 10 minutes standing on top make the rest of the cold cold suffering worth it. This is my first Colorado 14er. Pretty stupid eh? Always in just that much over my head.

Pisgah 99

2009-11-22T09:46:00.008-05:00

In the middle of yet another map driven, trail exploration ride in a lesser used corner of the Pisgah National forest, Clay Faine asked me what I thought about a Pisgah 100. We were lamenting the loss of Pisgah Production’s Double Dare event that typically takes place in the fall, and hungry for something big and cheap in our own backyard. Our adventurous group all thought it was a good idea, and Clay set to work.

The next we heard of it was via a very ominous sounding email. All Caps and Bold letters spelling out that we were ON OUR OWN, with NO ONE TO COME GET YOU, and NO SUPPORT. The date was set, urged to be kept quiet, and that was it; We’d have our day.

Map Stolen from Clay's Blog

That was two months ago, and in the mean time, I’d spent next to no time on the bike. The occasional weekend warrior ride was all I could muster within my busy work-on-the-road schedule. These rides, while fun and reminiscent of what having a personal life was like, were probably doing more harm than good. Over exerting myself on 4 hour hard road rides, or 4 hour tough mountain rides wasn’t really adding to my deteriorating fitness. Mother nature blessed mid November with 70 degree days, clear skies, and dry trails. The pull to a day of adventure out weighed my endurance concerns and I showed up to the Friday night party with the usual crew.

Its very cold at 4 am in November, regardless of what the projected high is for the day. Under the glow of headlights, 12 riders made last minute preparations. I opted to use my Epic Designs Frame pack to keep a wind shirt, space blanket, extra socks, long sleeve UL merino top, frame pump, headlamp, tools, a bunch of food, and knee warmers. All that went on my back was a small camelback with water, my Light n Motion battery, and a banana. There were a lot of lighter riders out there, most of whom simply underestimated how long 100 miles would take in Pisgah. Needless to say, they didn’t make it very far. Some riders were leaving food drops, opting for a different level of self support.

5:10. Start. Under total darkness, Brad Kee, Dave Cook, Emily Brock, Matt Fusco and myself took off up 477 and made the turn on to Clawhammer. Being the only SS, I slowly pulled away. I wasn’t going fast, but only had one option, and soon found myself well off the front, and all alone. Clawhammer went well enough, and I passed Clay fixing his bike. We exchanged wide eyed glances, and I moved on trying to keep my heart rate low. With the leaves down, you could see the lights of towns I never knew existed in the distance. Probably Brevard, or some trailer park; the only two things within 20 miles.
I walked most of Black Mountain. There are short sections that are rideable, but all the effort and dismounting wouldn’t be worth it on a long day. Some ambient light started to enter horizontally through the woods, but most of Black was still done under headlamp. Somewhere in here I came across Eric Wever, who had started pretty early, rumors put it at 4 am. Between catching people that started an hour before me, and holding off Kee and Cook, I was mildly worried that I was going to fast even though I was walking a lot and generally taking it easy.

The early fog and thin veil of morning clouds created an amazing sunrise, which started early on the downside of Black, and peaked during the fun first half of Turkey Pen. Daylight, as it often does, brought with it a sense of new found energy. The hikes up Turkey, and the leafy steep descents repeated themselves throughout its length, and I eventually hit the Turkey Pen trailhead lot, where I had promised myself some food. It was still early, and only a few hunters were parked. I descended and climbed Mullinax without event. Not to fast, not painfully slow, it was taking a lot of mental focus to pay attention to my body this much. Even during a more traditional 100 race, I can allow myself to push it a bit, turn the mind off and let the legs work, but this was different. The task at hand was so daunting, so beyond me, that I had to constantly work to conserve energy; missing rocks, looking for easy lines, watching pedal form, even when hike a biking I had to pick easy lines to push the bike through. All of this made Squirrel gap a lot less fun than it is on a 3 hour ride. Times where I could power a downhill section to try to momentum through an uphill tech section, I simply rode the bike, efficiently dismounted and walked through some of the power sapping technical stuff. All in all, still a great time. It was warming up in the sun, skies were clear, and it was November, when it could have been raining sideways.

Warming up at Cantrell Creek

Squirrel behind me, I crossed the bridge and climbed out of South Mills river. Halfway up Rich Dillon caught me, trying to “stay away from success” as he called it. He got a late start and had caught Dave, Matt and Brad, but didn’t like the idea of riding with guys who were stubborn enough to finish. I held his wheel for a bit, chatted with him, and was generally happy to have someone to ride with, even Rich, through the monotony of the South Mills river trail. That was short lived though, and I sent Rich on his way, opting to take it easy again. I stopped at the horse camp at the end of the gauging station rd to clean and lube my drive train in the river. The sand/horse shit mixture that collected from South Mills was making a lot of noise, which, if nothing else, made me THINK it was sapping energy. Cleaned, lubed, and silent, I watched Kee and Cook head into Pink Beds just ahead of me. “There,” I thought, “that’s better.” The fit and fast guys were now where they should be; ahead of me. Feeling better about the alignment of the world, I made my way through the wrong trails of Pink Beds. I think I opted to stay straight where others had turned left, so off I went on the tour de bridges that is the south side of Pink Beds.

When I got to the picnic shelter, Brad was just leaving. I asked him where the sign in was, and wished him luck. I’m kind of a big Brad Kee fan. He’s a quiet guy who gets things done. Both respectable qualities. I found the hidden potato chip can that was acting as our sign in. This was to offer some level of safety. If someone disappeared, Clay could figure out where they were by checking sign ins. It was the only “formal” sign of event structure, and that’s if you call a potato chip can and a pencil formal.

That shiny spot is where we start the climb...

276 to the BRP. Ugh. A healthy eight miles of suck. Road riding on a mountain biking is one of my biggest mental hurdles during an event. It just feels so slow and out of place that it tends to break me. Halfway up 276 I saw a skinny figure descending on fat tires. Rich was offering me a peanut butter sandwich and pulling the plug. His watch and acute skills in math were his undoing. We had traveled roughly 30 miles in 6 hours, and he didn’t like the extrapolation of such humbling numbers. I didn’t either: it put the finish time at roughly 20 hours, and that sounded painful. I decided there that I’d see how I felt back at Pink Beds in another 35 miles.

Mt. Pisgah on a clear day

Up on the parkway I tried numerous times to find some water. No luck. Nothing at the Inn. Nothing at the snack shack. I did find a Dave Cook, who was fixing a flat in the parking lot above Big Creek. I checked in on him, and waved goodbye as I coasted down to the trailhead. Knowing that I wasn’t the fastest descender, and because I was stopping to give my brakes a rest, and my mouth some food, I really expected to see Dave somewhere along Big Creek.
All the creek crossings were high, fast and cold. Ida had hung around western NC during the week, and her rains were still making their way out of the forest. After a few attempts at crossing by jumping on rocks and debris, I gave up and quickly plunged through a handful of knee or higher crossings. Dave finally caught me at the start of Fletcher’s creek. I never know which one of the many reservoir trails is which, so I followed Dave up the more easterly trail along the creek, which turned out to be right. We gained the road to nowhere, and continued up and up, and then carried our bikes along the upper half. Dave stopped again to get some food, and I continued on to Trace Ridge.

The mostly wide open and straight Trace Ridge is in bad shape with all the rain of late, but with all the leaves down, you’d never know. Dangerous. I just kept to the edges, knowing that somewhere in the middle was a deep rut that can steer you at will, and clip pedals. I ran into a couple weekend guys from Buffalo along the reservoir. In exchange for some water, I discussed some ride options in the area for them.

After chatting with Mike Brown, and the weekend warriors from the north, Dave caught up to me, and we rode the rest of 5000 together, struck out for water at the campground, and once again with the campground host. November is a tough time for a race as all of the forest shuts down. Just the way an adventurous day in the woods should be. We both filled water at the fisherman’s bridge and chatted with Eric Wever and Mike Brown. They were pulling out and had a car already. Even if I pulled out, I was miles from camp. They kindly offered us anything we needed, but the reality of it was that no amount of food or battery was going to help, and I wanted to stay self supported, so I just took off up 1206 after Dave.

The climb to Yellow gap has served many many times as a gentle warm up before tackling Laurel and Pilot on shorter weekend rides. But this time around (just like the PMBAR ride) it hurt. I was crawling up, or at least felt like it. Passing Dave helped a bit, but that mental boost quickly faded. I still made the top in 30 minutes, which isn’t bad, but then I lay down in the middle of the road, bike and pack strewn about. I didn’t even take my helmet off, just let the two long ridges dig into the gravel and support the weight of my head. It felt good. Which was a sign that I was done.

Options:

1) bail down 5015 to Bradley; nope, too much hard trail riding, and why ride hard trail if you are quitting, right?

2) Bail all the way across 1206? On a single speed, fuck no, I’d rather just do Laurel to get up and over.
And there you have it, the only thoughts I could muster were strategy. My mind was so tired that even my inner monolgue had quieted it self. What a strange phenomenon. Total silence, both exterior in the woods, and inside my head. Laurel was a battle. I passed Dave, and got a laugh when I said the “only reason I came up here was to avoid fucking 1206.” It took forever. When I’m riding well, all the gaps come and go and I’m at the hike before I know it. This time, I kept walking my bike THINKING I was on the hike a bike section, only to realize that I was on a section I normally ride. I was lost on the trail. Different than being lost in the woods, but still a bad sign.
There were multiple times I simply sat on the trail, and tried to put food in my mouth. The sun was hanging low enough in the sky that I knew I wasn’t going to make it back to my lights stashed at the Pink Beds picnic area. It was getting surprisingly cold as the sun set, and all signs started to point to failure. One foot in front of the other, I reached the connector, and then Pilot Mountain, already in complete darkness less the small spot from my BD headlamp. This was a small achievement. I figured all I had left was to go down. Dangerous, but down. Pilot by headlamp cannot be recommended. It was slow going. I found out my fork wasn’t working, which explained my wrist pain. I walked a little bit of the real rocky stuff, and some switchbacks I just couldn’t see. They were painful steps, stumbling and kicking rocks with tired feet. My knees were shot from all the unplanned half dismounts. I rode a surprising amount of trail, but the descent still took much longer than usual, and I got spit out onto 1206 a chewed up shell of a man.

The rest of 1206 was easy and boring, and I actually didn’t feel that bad. The ability to ride, spin the legs, not hurt my wrists, and not need a fork, was providing a little energy. Just enough energy to reach 276, make the left, and descend to the picnic area and finally pick up some real lumens. Descending the rest of 276 at 30mph with some more light was reassuring.

As I blew past the turn to 475B, I ended my Pisgah 99 race. Although the idea of descending Cove Creek sounded good, the climb back up to Gloucester, and then Farlow didn’t. Nor did single speeding all the way from Cove Creek to White Pines if I pulled out after from Cove. With such unattractive options, I chose to simply head back. It was a very cold descent down 276, and I was immediately happy with my decision. Wandering around, pushing my bike up to Farlow 2 hours from now with my body unable to produce heat would be a disaster. As it was, I was shivering violently along 276, not really doing enough work to stay warm.

I arrived back to the campsite to a series of cheers, whoops and cowbells. Most of the riders were already sitting around a big fire. The WNDC had provided a much needed spread of food and drink.

These kind of events, by which I mean the underground Pisgah lunatic fringe events, are becoming my favorite. No other race atmosphere compares. I was talking with Eric Wever around the fire, and he asked me “What did you think about what you saw when you showed up for The Most Horrible Thing Ever.” I had driven 10 hours from Cleveland, was pretty much a standard race guy, used to big productions and hooplah at races, AND I had never been to Pisgah. That night I walked into a small hardened group of riders, sitting around a fire, drinking beers and sorting gear. There was a gypsy camp of tents, shelters, a small PA and an Ipod, Christmas lights, and a light up skull. There was just enough organization that you knew something was going on, but so little that you knew for the next 36 hours, it was up to you. I’ve dived head first into that lifestyle now, as far as my riding and racing goes, and I have to think that it all started back then.

The Pisgah 99 was definitely the hardest one day thing I’ve tried. Much of that is helped by my current lack of fitness. This got physically hard immediately, and then it was a battle of will. It was much harder than any single day out in Colorado, harder than 24 solo racing, and harder than TMHTE. Thanks to Clay for picking up a little of Eric’s sadistic nature and “organizing” this thing for all of us, and authoring a damn fine route, that will probably haunt my dreams until I go out and try it again.

Colorado Trail Race 2009

2009-08-13T10:19:00.002-04:00

I've just about assimilated back to civilian life here in Asheville after my brief but intense stint along the Colorado trail. I still wake up in the middle of the night with anxious thoughts about mileage covered, or a just-out-of-reach feeling of urgency and focus. I spent the better part of 4 days in that state, and its having a hard time leaving my body, with nothing else to replace it.

The start of the 2009 CTR looked a lot like any other small race gathering. There were about 40 racers who chose to start at the suggested start date and time of 6:00 am on Sunday August 2nd. With all the family and support help, drop off chauffeurs, and the like, the parking lot was full just as the sun was rising. I had stayed in a hotel 6 miles north with Max, Lee and Scott, and the four of us had ridden by headlamp to the start. The forty people represented a doubling of racers from the previous year, the big names were still there, but also a good number of newcomers, like myself, and a healthy batch of folks that were back to avenge shortened trips the year prior.

The group rolled from the start line at 6:07am, and stayed together for the initial 5 or 6 miles of gravel trail towards the dam. It gave us all the time to introduce ourselves to whomever occupied the wind sheltered spot next to you in the bunch, and for the veterans, time to catch up and talk about their rides this year. The real race started with a switchbacked climb on wooded singletrack. I hung with a group of 8 riders until the short hike a bike sections started to spread everyone out. The initial climb lasted about 6 miles, we gained a ridge and then descended to the Platte River, passing a few day hikers along the way.

The next segment climbed out of the Platte River canyon, and had already taken on a different feel. The soil was rockier and drier, and as the climb finished up, we popped out into a very dry, desert like trail system for the next 24 miles. There wasn't much major elevation change, just some rolling terrain with short steep ups and downs, loose corners, loose hike a bike climbs, and a general lack of water. I passed an off route detour to a campground for water, thinking I had enough to make it out, but slow, exposed climbing out of segment 3 took it out of me. I reached the end of the segment a little dry mouthed, and was finally able to get water at the trailhead.

I assumed, with absolutely no grounding, that the trail would be relatively high, so all the detours through cities would be quick descents. I even let this misinformation influence how much water I grabbed at the FS560 trailhead. Wrong move. After a little gravel road descending, I found myself slowly grinding up a long, exposed gravel road climb, breathing in the dust of all the passing traffic. This was a little bit of a mental blow, but I kept turning the cranks. I spent the next miles clearing my head of any and all expectations I had for the rest of the race, knowing that miscalculations and missed expectations only served to defeat the psyche a bit more.

Bailey was a welcome site. Between staying in the tight bunch at the start of the race, and chasing down some riders through the burn area, I hadn't been eating as regularly as I needed to for an event like this. I pulled into a little restaurant, had a big cheeseburger and two cokes, ordered a cheddar baked potato to go, and hit the road again. We had 11 miles of road, along 285, to get to Kenosha Pass. A mixture of spinning, walking to give my ass a break, and dodging traffic got me to Kenosha pass at around 4 pm, 10 hours into my day. I started the singletrack of Segment 6 and immediately wasn't feeling great. The cheeseburger was a ton of calories, but was probably taking a long time to digest, and I still, in retrospect, hadn't been taking in a lot of simple sugar to keep me going. I made it 6 miles in, to Jefferson Creek, saw water and a flat spot, and decided that that would be my camp for the night. The other option meant going up and over Georgia Pass, probably in the dark, and I was NOT moving fast already, and knew that the climb would take me hours of frustrating walking. Twelve hour day behind me, and about 73 miles in, and I wasn't feeling great about my chances. This is where I met Kurt, in a similar situation, a little sick from too much food and calling it a day.

Monday saw a 5 am start as I broke down my little camp and started the climb to Georgia Pass by headlamp. I passed couple of other riders that must have come through at night and set up camp just beyond mine. Kurt had made better time out of camp and was already out of site on the climb. I made it a point to eat more during the day, and through the wooded climb to Georgia Pass, felt generally better than the day before. Georgia Pass, at 11,860, was a beautiful alpine meadow, the first of the race, laced with smooth singletrack. The backdrop and the pace I could maintain recharged me a bit and I descended swiftly off the pass, through wide open bermed trail, and some rocky technical sections all the way to the Swan River, where I watered up and found Kurt. We started the next climb together, but again, he pulled away and out of site. I stuck to the plan; keep eating, conserve energy etc, and crested the second short climb of the day, and started the descent to the powerlines, through the subdivision and on to Hwy 9 near Breckenridge.

Here the CT follows the Blue River along the rec paths that I had been acclimating on all week. A welcome site, as was Kurt, again filling up water, and he had caught another racer, Chris Neumann. The three of us left the rec path and started towards the Goldhill trailhead. I stopped to use someone's cell phone, and let them climb ahead. I hadn't checked in with the family and girlfriend for a while, and figured doing so before crossing Wheeler was a good idea. This meant I did a lot of the section alone. Pushing my bike up impossibly steep and rocky sections of trail. Up and over, a nice little descent through the trees, and then more climbing. The real climbing. I stopped to eat quite a bit along this section, and filled up my water often, opting not to carry a lot of weight. I eventually caught Chris and Kurt in the stream meadow just before the steepest section of hike a bike. The three of us grunted and leaned on our useless bikes all the way to the saddle, where I had promised myself a rest. No such rest did I get. Grey clouds were turning black, and we'd be above 12 for a while until we made Wheeler pass. I had done this section, and new how much walking we had ahead of us. Fearing exposed walking, we just continued to push the pace, racing the storm and ignoring the desire to sit a spell and eat something, knowing that 10 or 15 minutes could cost us safe pass over the exposed narrow Ten Mile range.

About 45 mins of mostly walking got us to the continental divide at Wheeler pass. We paused for just a few minutes to don some extra layers, and take a 360 view of clouds in various stages of storm state. Up ahead actually looked as though it was thinning and we started the western ridge traverse with a little more confidence. Not 15 minutes into it, it all started to go to hell. The door behind us shut quick. Clouds turned black, and we warned a couple west-east hikers that they should probably turn around and head back down. Our bikes that had been so useless on the ascent, were proving vital now, as we covered a lot of ground quickly, and descended from the alpine area before the rain started. Beneath the relative safety of treeline, we continued the fast descent to Copper, and pulled into the Quizno's just as the rain really opened up.

Warm food was a bonus, and we just waited out the rain, joined by a few other riders, and all of the I-70 traffic that had been diverted due to a chemical spill. The Quizno's was a chaotic place to be, but we made the most of our rest. Kurt, feeling he wasn't prepared for weather with his gear selection, pulled the plug before ever starting again. That's a tough thing to be around. Both Chris and I were hurting after our efforts over Wheeler, and saying goodbye to a comrade doesn't make it easy to continue. I think we were both secretly envious of his soon to be comfortable situation, but a few pedal strokes later I was glad to be back on the bike.

Chris and I leapfrogged back and forth up toward Searle Pass in the late afternoon. I was feeling really strong for the first time in the race, and the more gradual climb to Searle was a welcome change for the legs. I caught up to Chris at Searle just as the sun was dipping beneath the horizon to the west. We continued on the generally flat alpine singletrack along the ridge, and made the final push to Kokomo pass under a mix of moonlight and ambient orange glow. I was again inspired by the beauty of that time and place, and it gave the legs a little extra kick as I descended ahead of Chris. The moonlight barely lit the downhill trail, and I opted to leave the headlamp in the pack. I was loving life, loving riding my bike, and the feel-as-you-go moonlight descent was a reward for all the hardwork we had put in today. That second day we had crossed Georgia Pass at 11,800, Wheeler Pass at 12,440, Searle at 12,040 and Kokomo at 12020, with lots of ups and downs in between. The addition of the Goldhill to Copper segment this year changed the race for a lot of people, but ultimately it was behind me now, and the elevation was dropping off rapidly as the light disappeared. We reached the abandoned Camp Hale Bunkers under clear skies, and I threw down my sleeping pad, crawled in my bivy and ate some cold ravioli before falling asleep. It had been a 16 hour day, and we covered roughly 60 miles. Even with the extended stop at Copper, it was slow going tough day, and sleep came fast.

Tuesday, Day 3 started early as my sleeping bag was soaked, presumably from the inside, and a layer of frost covered the ground. A 45 degree bag would have been barely sufficient, but a wet 45 bag was surely not doing anything. I got up and jumped around a bit, trying to warm up before putting on a frost covered chamois, jersey, socks, armwarmers, and shoes. Lesson learned. Even though its a clear Colorado night, when you are camped by a river, expect some moisture, put a tarp up, and sleep with your clothes. It was a hard lesson to learn slipping frozen bike shorts on. The immediate climb helped, but the wooded trail dripped with moisture, and the frost covered fields near Hwy 24 reminded me of how cold it was.

Both Chris and I were still together. It was a twosome that was working well. Motivation, conversation, new found friend, whatever it was, it was more important for me to share this experience with like minded people than to race ahead, or drop back, and do it alone. The Doc Holiday bar and grill was breakfast in Leadville; steak and eggs, OJ and lots of good dark coffee. The opposite side of the street was bathed in warm morning sun, and we spread out everything we owned. The intense sunshine at 10,200 ft, even at 9 am, had everything; bag, bivy, layers of clothes, socks, and shoes, dry by the time breakfast was done, and we left Leadville, and headed into the woods.

Shortly after the Halfmoon Creek Trailhead, my GPS line was a little off, and after climbing almost all the way up to the Mt. Elbert side trail, we descended back to our start. I was sure that we missed a turn. Nope. Got back to our start and saw nothing. On the second climb up towards Mt. Elbert I noticed a distinct lack of blazing, and a lot of freshly cut trees. It seems we were on a newly rerouted section of trail that hadn't made my GPS route. The CT foundation is apparently pretty active, and this was the first of two re routes that we'd second guess ourselves on this day. Oh well. I tried to keep positive as we pushed the second time up, passed the Mt. Elbert trail and started a nice descent towards Twin Lakes.

The Twin Lakes area is again, very dry, desert like riding. We literally popped out of an overgrown Aspen grove, lined with tall thin grass, into a blinding, white rock and sand, desert scrub lined traverse of the Lakes. If I never have to do this section again I'd be happy. The miles came easy, it was dead flat, but our conscientious equestrian trail partners had been hard at work ruining the trail. What should have been a fast, roller coaster ribbon of singletrack had been horsed in the last time it rained (a long time ago) and was a baked in mess of horse prints that resulted in miles of washboard, energy sucking trail, out in the sun, and choking dust. I'd obviously rather be pedaling my bike that pushing it, but this section remains in my head as a least favorite.

The backside of the lakes changes back to wooded singletrack, and a very steep push up 900 feet to the ridge. The trail swoops around, does another short section of climbing, and you find yourself on a second ridge, looking back across a vast field at the ridge you were just on, above Twin Lakes. A mix of singletrack and ORV trails, up another short steep push, and you pop out on the dry side of the mountain again, descending quickly, steeply, sharply, and soft cornered through the kitty litter trail towards Clear Creek Road. The switchbacks on this section are very loose, and I basically trials-hopped around all of them. By the bottom my arms were pumped and my rotors were ping-ing back into shape.

The rest of the way to Buena Vista involves a gravel road out of Clear Creek, a short stint on hwy 24, and then more gravel along CR371. 371 wasn't so bad, very scenic as you follow the Arkansas river, and see all the boater camps and put in/take out parking areas. You pass through some old railroad tunnels, and interesting rock formations get closer and closer before eventually passing you by. It is a little long though...and I definitely seem to have a problem staying motivated on long flat gravel sections. I start to feel every pound on my back, shift uncomfortably on the saddle, pedal pedal stand and coast, get frustrated, slump back in the saddle and repeat. I need to get over it.

B.V. came, as did some more hot food; always re-energizing. As we sat over dinner, we realized, or remembered, that this was basically it for civilization before Silverton, unless we went drastically off route to resupply. I think Chris was a little daunted by it, and if I wasn't daunted by it, it may have been a bit of my own naivety. The plan was to just get a hotel here in town, get some good food, good breakfast, load up on supplies, and formulate a plan. We found a room, and started looking at maps. Chris was definitely in a bad place. We both made the mistake of looking at how far we still had to go, but I was finally getting used to the days, and my body was feeling good and recovering fast. I layed out some goal mileages for next few days, and it seemed to appease Chris. A few more calls to folks at home and we were both in bed, resting up after a day of fairly efficient 70 ish miles in about 13 hours.

Wednesday started off a little slow. Chris needed to go to the post office to get some resupply stuff he had missed the night before, and hit a gear shop for more back packer meals. We eventually started our trip out of B.V. at around 930, and pedaled more flat road, started the climb towards Cottonwood pass and hit the trail at the Avalanche trailhead. A short and steep climb got us up around 10,000 where the trail leveled off and played in the forest a bit. Really fun cross country riding, short ups and downs, but nothing you had to sit and spin on. The occasional hike a bike, either from terrain, fatigue, gear load or one of the any other reasons you get off and push your bike on the CT, but nothing too sustained and we were making good time. One last little ridge climb, and we were on our way descending through Eastern PA style rocky singletrack, diving in and out of stream fall lines with high bermed g-out turns. It was great trail, and reminded me a lot of the east coast. I was having an excellent morning on the bike, and making good time.

The trail eventually dives out onto a gravel road that travels through a few horse and youth camps before descending to the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Resort. Maybe I was a little tired, maybe I was anxious to get to some more food, but for all the technical descending I had done, leaving race buddies in the distance each time, and getting compliments (on MY descending?!!?) I decided to get a little fast and loose on the descent, hit a little booster bump, nearly miss a sharp turn, and end my race. I landed a little jump with not enough time to slow and turn before a serious drop off, grabbed a little too much front brake on a marblely, loose on hard corner and the front end dissappeared as if on ice. I hit the ground pretty hard and was sliding. I remember trying to get up on my back, but nothing worked and I came to rest, immediately feeling the blood soak my shorts and drip from my arm. I got up, jumped around a bit, full of adrenaline, but checking to make sure things were okay. I took a look at my arm and tears welled up in anger, frustration, and a mix of other exhausted brain chemicals coming to light with the reality of the situation.

Chris caught up to me, and I think knew immediately that my race was over when he saw the damage. I got myself wrapped up, and coasted the remaining miles before the Hot Springs with one arm in the air, elevated to try to slow the bleeding. Immediately the fast paced slidewhow started in my head; images of everything I had been through, suffering, until the parts I felt good, including today. Every hike a bike step, every 12k pass, every cold meal.

My race ended at the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Country Store when I jumped in the truck of a concerned citizen and headed to the Salida Hospital. I was only 225 miles in, feeling great, and leaving a race against my will. I had put a lot of time and planning into the ride, and it seemed to be going well. This thing claims at least a few riders this way every year. Plenty pull out because of fitness or getting lost, or weather, or isolation; and all those decisions seem easier to deal with than those of us who make stupid mistakes, hit the dirt, and have our races ended without even a second of mulling over options.

Even in this abridged version, this is by far the hardest thing I've done, on a bike or otherwise. As the post event depression fades, and I give some more positive thought to the experience, I remember that I was doing well enough, had the mental and phsyical challenges under control, and was still riding with the unquenchable thirst to see what was over the next ridge. I now have 12 months to think about it, and I'm sure the memories will fade, but I've yet to shake the feelings of being out there on the trail.

The Dr. said jokingly as he numbed me up and dug around in my arm to remove all the sand and gravel embedded in my muscle and tendons that "it looks like you've become one with the Colorado trail." I liked his phrasing, just not necessarily his meaning at that moment. It was a great experience and one that I'll hopefully carry willingly with me, and not be haunted by, over the next year, until I return to ride the trail again.

DOT racers rejoice. Follow the CTR right here.

2009-08-01T15:02:00.000-04:00

The Colorado Trail Race starts at 6:00 am, Mountain Time, on Sunday August 2nd.

Watch in amazement at how fast some of these dots move. And just keep your fingers crossed that mine gets all the way to Durango.

Thanks in advance for your well wishes.

It's the final countdown.

2009-07-31T18:03:00.002-04:00

Que Europe.

Alright...less than 48 hours to go before the 2009 CTR. I've left the elevation behind, and am in Denver breathing the oxygen rich air of 5500 ft. Forum posts, emails and VMs are flying between racers, trying to figure out logistics. Who's staying where, how are we getting back, where's this party tonite?

Honestly, other than some childlike anxious anticipation, my general mood is:

Let's get this thing started already.

If I didn't want to share in the camaraderie of the suggested 6 am start on Sunday, I'd be off 45 mins from now. I'm fully aware that its gonna be a tough week. I'd be disappointed if there weren't multiple points at which I felt like quitting. If last week was any indication, mother nature is not in an agreeable mood. Breck experienced new snowfall at 11,500 during a storm Wednesday night. My few rides up near 12,000 were cold and wet, and the anticipated afternoon pop up style storms of the summer mountains have been replaced with 5 and 6 hours of constant drizzle, and lightning and hail at night. Maybe she's done. But I'm not counting on it.

Starting is the hard part. Day three of any adventure is a tough one, but after that it becomes routine. The transition from pedaling my bike to walking it will eventually lose that feeling of frustration that usually accompanies shoe tread to terra firma. It'll become about moving forward. Looking over the next ridge. A fun half mile of buff trail. Out running a storm. Riding by headlamp. Napping in a meadow. Reaching Durango.

The waiting is the hardest part.

Three days in Breck

2009-07-28T17:08:00.002-04:00

Four days so far here in Breck. Saturday ended the long drive from Asheville. I got here, and instantly became homeless because the hostel place that told me I didn't need to make a reservation, was all booked up. Town was packed, and town is expensive. So for a few hours I made calls and walked around looking for a place to stay. It all worked out, got a condo at a good rate, got the bonuses of a kitchen and laundry, and made myself at home.

Sunday was the first day of riding. Brought the road bike out so I could ease into the elevation, and put it to good use on a short spin along the Blue River rec path, up to Frisco, and then around the Dillon reservoir. There's a short, 500ft climb up Swan Mountain Rd, but other than that, nice and flat. I did actually see a woman pulled over and taking Oxygen from a medical grade stainless canister. This opposed to the $25 dollar personal oxygen they sell in all the stores. hmm..

Monday. More road riding. This time from Breck to Frisco, and then around to Copper where I picked up another rec path and road up to Vail Pass. Its a 1500 ft gain, getting you to 10,500 or something. There's a large parking lot and rest stop up there, crowded with people. Its good to see so many people on bikes. I saw folks starting to descend from Vail Pass thinking, surely someone of that age/weight/experience, is shuttling. An hour later I saw them all making their way back up to the pass. A genuine "Way to Go Folks" to all of em. Way to not sit on the couch. In the meantime my penchant for road biking on gravel reared its head, and I climbed up Shrine Pass Rd on a whim, and was awesomely surprised. More climbing, more desired elevation, and the road was perfect for skinny tires. Grabbed a few pics at the top after scrambling around in road shoes, and then made my way back down to the pass, down to Copper, and down to Frisco. The bike paths up here, while pretty crowded at times, are a great road riding source. The only roads around here are busy roads, and the rec paths offer a pretty quiet way to get around.

Tuesday: Time to break the mountain bike out. This years CTR added on a section that is usually detoured by bikes; Segment 7. It runs from just north of Breck proper, up and over the Ten Mile range, crossing the Continental Divide, and then down into Copper. I headed out early, trying to ensure I didn't hit any afternoon weather up high. The trail climbs up a short climb and then descends to a lake and water source. This climb was generally climbable, in a very small gear. I didn't have all my CTR stuff with me, but I did have some weight. Hopefully the added weight doesn't tip the needle and put this section into the walking zone. The descent was a lot of fun. Fairly narrow trail, rocky enough to be interesting, and all through fairly dense forest.

I past a few campers at the lake/pond at the bottom and started the climb up to 12,000 ft. For the most part, this was a long walk with my bike. If I rode a half mile I'd be surprised. The weather up top was pretty harsh. Still sunny, but pretty cold, and the wind coming from the west side of the Divide was howling. I spent about a mile slowly climbing the ridge on the East side, occasionally popping into an exposed position and nearly getting blown sideways. This continued off and on the whole way until the trail switches back a few times to gain the divide proper. If the elevation and walking over rocky ground weren't enough, the wind coming over the top actually doubled the effort needed to simply make the ridge.

Once on top, it was absolutely stunning. Breck could be seen down the gradual slope of the East side, and the treeless runs of Copper Mountain down the much steeper west side. The trail up here was finally rideable again, if you tacked into the wind a bit to stay straight. I spent a lot of the time 12 inches to the left of the actual trail, fighting to get back in the groove, albeit a rocky groove. The trail takes possibly the only non steep fall line into Copper, gradually swooping through long switchbacks above tree line, and then tightening up in the timber. A little off camber, and a little wet from last nights storm, but almost a wide open descent with a couple brake checks through the shadows or some rocks.

Copper was a welcome site. The section is supposed to be slow. And it didn't disappoint. I hit the trail head at about 8:30 this morning, and ended the segment at the highway at about 12:15. Just under 4 hours, but not really loaded, and obviously fresh. This should prove interesting during the race. My goal is to have about 14 miles under my belt and hit this very early on day 2, and not have the pressure to go much further into 8. A good little recovery day, other than the 3 hour hike up to the Divide.

transGA attempt 1.0

2009-07-22T14:16:00.004-04:00

So I delayed writing this up because I've been busy planning for CTR. Then I started writing up a detailed description of our days. And then I stopped.

We know where the big climbs are, the hard to find intersections, the arm lashing zerotrack downhills, the unbelievable haul-a-bike section, good places for water, good places to sleep and on and on. We kind of earned this info, and I think I'm going to hang on to it.

Afterall, we are trying to be the first, and since we didn't make it, there isn't much to write up yet. There's some idea rattling around in my head about doing this lighter and faster in the Fall. I guess stay tuned.

I did, however, do a write up for my Spot adventures page, check it out.

Cheers. And stay tuned for CTR updates.

transGA 2009 pre party!!!

2009-07-09T09:12:00.003-04:00

There's no party, just a lot of hectic packing, checking maps, and tucking food away into little unused spaces in all the packs. This has never been done. Don't get me wrong, we aren't striving out into the unknown wilderness of a distant land, we're crossing Georgia. But...pound for pound, this little ride is harder than the multi day self supported rides of the west. Sure it lacks the elevation, exposure to lightning, and remoteness, but it does have more elevation change per mile, and the heat of a Georgian summer. You pick your battles.

Greg is ready to go. If you don't know him, somehow my bike is named Greg. It says it right on the frame. Most people thing I either a) stole the ride or b) have an alter race ego named Greg. Either way, it is what it is and there was no convincing Spectrum Powder Works that it actually said "Grey" and was detailing the paint color of that block of the frame. So I get Greg, and Greg get's ready for battle.

Greg's all Rohloff'd out for now...running an out of spec 32 x 16 so I can stay in the higher, cleaner running gears most of the day, and have some amazingly small gear ratios when I need them. He's also donning a matching ensemble from Epic Designs in Alaska. Eric made me a custom frame bag to match Greg's rather small front triangle, but it holds my tarp, first aid, pump, stakes, a pair of capalene boxers, UV water maker safer, and a water bottle. The handlebar bag holds my sleeping bag, bivy, and sleeping pad. The little pouch is empty for now less some toilet paper. I'm sure a map will find its way up there, a camera, and some more snacks. Also tucked up into the cockpit is a Mountain Epic feedbag. I don't leave home without it. The little guy holds all my munchies, some chapstick, Genuine Innovations tire plugs for quick emergency fixes, and a little sunscreen.

The route belongs to David Muse. He's put in a lot of time to explore the mountains of northern Georgia and put this route together. And he made it hard. We drop up and down amongst the bigger hills of the northeast, crossing rivers, then the Appalachain trail, then a river, then the AT, and repeat. And the AT is always up on the highest ridge. We'll see it 4 times on day 1, and once again on day 2 as we climb both Hogpen and Wolfpen. Day 3 and Day 4 will be mostly single track, utilizing the Pinhoti trail system. We'll be riding all the trails around the Mulberry Gap Mountain Bike Get -a- Way and then doing the Snake Creek Gap time trial course backwards. (i've raced that thing like 6 times, each time saying "boy i'm glad this race goes this direction." should be interesting)

That's it. It's Shey Lindner from Georgia Cross fame, Jim Smart from wet sand "Florida Climbing" fame, and myself. I'll make a solid effort to take a lot of pics. I'm carrying the damn camera anyway. If you wanna keep an eye on us you can using the nifty little SPOT site.

Follow Us..point and laugh..make sure we don't stop moving for very long!!

We're starting Friday morning. You can click the link all you want before that, but it isn't going to show you anything. Patience grasshopper.

Thud

2009-06-24T15:46:00.006-04:00

this is just ridiculous

not to mention that my bike is still named "Greg"

but watch me come back and RAVE about it. Off to a beer filled Wednesday night ride at Dupont.

Racing vs. Riding

2009-06-24T10:45:00.002-04:00

My little experiment into racing this season was as educational as an experiment should be. The plan was 51 miles in some pretty extreme heat. Spoiler alert....The end result was 4+ laps completed and pulling the plug.

In what is becoming an ill fated and trendy theme among race promotion...we started in a quaint little town. I guess the goal of this is to hold up traffic, block residential streets, and THEN take a barely spectator friendly sport six miles away from the people whose lives we just interrupted. Davidson had given the race promoter a choice of 6am or 10am. He chose 10am. Great. Its nearly 100 degrees, a marathon event, and...hmmm..sure 10am sounds great. Toss in the single speed factor, and you have a fun 20 minutes of slowly losing site of your start group, just in time to get passed by the later start groups. Well, that's how it happened for me. Somehow Dejay, Timmy D, Shane, Rich, David and the "San Diego" guy were all able to stay tucked down in the midst of the geared pack for a greater period and got a nice little rid to the race course.

I was able to pass Rich on the later half of the road section, his weight loss program was having ill effects on the downward trending pavement towards Fisher Farm Park. The third start group served as great clogging material once we hit the singletrack, and rather than fight through it, I sat back and recovered a little from the high RPM spinning on the way in. Rich caught us as well, and now with a little more support, we "on your lefted" our way through some folks all through the singletrack and hit the open field furnace section of the course. I was able to leave Rich on one of the more gradual climbs, and kept looking over my shoulder for him, but didn't see him.

Second lap I got on the wheel of a BikeMan racer, and we worked our way through the woods. He'd flub a couple little technical sections and hold us up, then my 32 x 19 wouldn't make a little power move, but generally his pace was pretty good, and we talked a bit through the woods. Having someone to ride with helped keep my pace up even though I didn't know who was ahead of me, or how far they were. I caught the San Diego guy wearing a Carolina Bikes kit, whose name I'd know if they only posted the results, and rode with him through the final section of single track and out into the field. This was really the only comfortable place to drink, so the field meant a lot of one handed descending and drinking (sorry officer) and then trying to put some open power down on the climbs. I swear the last rocky grape vine climb had radiant heat flooring installed along its length. I've never felt heat like that. It was the worst 100 yds of the course for sure.

Lap 3. I think I passed Dave Hall somewhere in here? I'm not sure. I had one crash induced mechanical, and a loose cleat, both of which required pulling out a 4mm wrench and losing a few positions. After the cleat episode, I jumped on the bike with unnaturally fresh legs, and sprung into the field section, passing San Diego and Rich with ease, dropping them completely within one turn. I also passed my Asheville training partner and good friend Ed in the beginning section of the field. I had seen him in the woods the whole time, but was never able to get to him. The heat of the field was starting (if it hadn't already) to take a toll on everyone. As I passed him he said, "Dejay isn't far off." That's when I started playing the mental game. I had seen Shane and Shey across the fields many times (forgetting that Shey wasn't even riding SS) and thought they were next and that Dejay was up leading the race somewhere. So with Ed's comment, and my half awake thought of Dejay always winning, I figured I was working towards Shane. About 45 seconds after I passed Ed, we hit the steep climb after the paved bike path, and Dejay was there, 20 yards up and walking his bike. I was still feeling pretty fresh, stayed clipped in and climbed passed him. Got a little pat on the back and a "way to go" from Dejay and was on my way out of site. I was still feeling good, and stayed on it, trying to chase down Shane in the only part of the course where effort lead to speed. Up, down and around, through the rocky furnace climb, and through the start finish. That's where I found Shane. Sitting under a tent drinking a Coke. Great, now I'm winning the SS race.

Crossing through the pit area I was met with a lot of "where's Dejay?"s, Timmy was hanging in the shade of a technical rock section post Lefty explosion, and was surprised to see me before Dejay. In fact everyone I passed was surprised to see me before Dejay. At one point I passed Dickman out on course, and in a generally concerned way he asked how I was feeling. I wasn't too clear at this point, but I remember saying, "Good, except I'm in front of Dejay."

What the hell does that mean? It means that my lack of racing this year, and lack of any real success in the genre (minus the show up 5 times and get 7th overall NUE experience) had made me a little uncomfortable up front. Lost. I had come up on him on that hill, and never even hesitated about blowing right by. After learning that Shane was out, I really should have sat in and let Dejay catch me early in Lap 4, assuming I'd then be rested, and he'd be tired from pulling me back in. Instead I stayed out in front, racing kind of hard for most of the single track. There were a lot less bodies in the woods by this time, and I lost my rhythm. No carrots to chase, SS or otherwise, and I just didn't have the mental toughness to stay focused and "race" a mountain bike.

A lick of my upper lip revealed a tongue burning amount of salt, my stomach was turning over, and my brain was asleep. Lap four was all about cracking. Dejay got me back pretty early. Then Rich. Then San Diego. Then David Hall. If I lacked the mental toughness to continue winning a race, I surely lacked the mental toughness to continue when I was surely off the podium. I crawled through the pit area, and was met with a lot of concerned stares. I wasn't looking very good, was not responding to questions all that sharply, and I had to sit for a minute. I tried to go out for a 5th lap, but when the singletrack didn't wake my soul, and I saw the cars again, I pulled the plug.

Class is in session. Today we covered:

Lapped races are mentally hard for my long day in the woods mentality
If you aren't really racing, you shouldn't keep racing
I changed my diet TOO much prepping for this race and over did it on electrolytes in anticipation of the heat
I have no idea how to win a race
I have bigger fish to fry, and continuing was going to dig a hole that would take precious days from which to recover

Congrats to Harlan and Dejay on excellent races and winning their fields. Fuzzy had his worst day on a bike in a while, and managed a 4th place finish on gears. Rebecca was 3rd in the women's field and for a while was really chasing down Rebecca 2. Rich pushed hard to finish a tough race for him, and took 2nd, I think, or maybe it was San Diego, I'm not sure..again...results aren't up and I was delirious at the finish.

That's it. That's my race season. One race of walking my 100lb bike through the woods for 20 miles, and one race of pulling the plug 2 laps short in a Piedmont kiln.

Neverending Mapwork

2009-06-19T11:39:00.004-04:00

We had a legitimate tornado here last night. My back doors flew open and my house sprung leaks. Power was in and out throughout the whole ordeal, and Atreyu couldn't get out of the swamp of sadness. The Nothing swept thru west Asheville and cancelled all Bluegrass shows west of Louisiana Rd. When Mike's Sidepocket didn't fill the void, I returned home and hit the maps for my little self supported adventure.
I lacked a blanket to hide under and old timey looking candles, but it felt as adventurous. Thank goodness for Google Maps. You can simply type the word "food" near any intersection, get a list of somewhat reliable results, and then make awkward calls to the given phone numbers:

Me: Hello, are you still at 313 Cherry Top Rd?

Shop Owner: Yeaaahhsss Suh.

Me: Google tells me you serve "food" is that correct?

Shop Owner: Who says we got food?

Me: The computer. See, i'm planning a really long bike ride and need places to resupply and maybe get a bite to eat.

Shop Owner: Uhhh...yep. We got food.

Me: What are your feelings on spandex?

And so it goes. The joys of planning a never before completed self supported mountain bike ride. I've called countless "supply", "general", "corner", "mountain", and "trading" establishments trying to figure out if calories are going to be easy to come by or not. I dare say riding may be the easiest part of this whole ordeal.

Signage

2009-06-17T13:56:00.004-04:00

Just a little Marshall and back with Fuzzy today. He had a mission to go past Marshall and climb up to 25/70 where the aptly named Beard Hill is.Not to be left out of the mix, I found this.
AND I can't help but think the founder's of American Apparel have seen this sign before. Its the EXACT font they use on all their stores. American Motors ---> American Apparel. I can see the logic.Off to get a delicious 12 Bones recovery meal. This is a very exciting blog.

When'd it get so god damn hot in the South.

2009-06-16T16:14:00.002-04:00

Shoulda seen it coming, but Summer is here. We hid from it up here in the mountains for a little while....but now its fucking hot; and what perfect timing. Why are waterholes so far away? And why do I keep riding my bike?

I took the weekend to be decidedly non bike oriented, slept a lot, watched movies, had a weekend guest, visited the WNC Arboretum, ate barbecue, and generally recover from the mountain bike mini camp that engulfed the last two weeks of my life.

Back on it Monday for a little three hour road ride to see if the legs would open up. They did. I'm feeling surprisingly spry and able to whip myself back into what feels like race shape. It's been a while, but I think this is what race shape feels like. After the three week float through the Grand Canyon in January, I've worked every week made available to me. No riding, sparing a weekend warrior stab at it occasionally. That means, as far as "training blocks" go, my base period was June 5th through 9th, Recovery period June 10, Building phase June 11 and 12, Recovery Period June 13 and 14, and another Building Period June 15 and 16.

Lets see Carmichael coach around that shit. I've somewhat successfully crammed 3 months of work into about 12 days.

The culmination of this extended joke will be me racing this weekend at the Kenda Cup East series Cowbell Marathon Challenge (or something like that..names are getting out of control). I haven't raced in flat circles since the Ohio days. Five laps of anything other than melted Maple Bacon Ice Cream is rarely enough to get me in the car, but there'll be a lot of friends at the race that I haven't seen since last season. So..off i go. Around and Around for 45 miles plus 6 of something else...hopefully non-circular.

So if you wanna see something really funny, come out and race on Saturday. You can stuff pebbles in my jersey pockets or whatever you fast people do to oppress the slow. Sunday is all fun and games, with a full day of drinking in the Piedmont sun and heckling the REALLY fast guys during the less dizzying XC race.

I typed for miles (musical inspiration...)

2009-06-10T10:14:00.007-04:00

A lot has been happening and its all been blog worthy....but its not getting written about. I don't like re hashing and dramatically re-enacting a-la Matlock the last few weeks of life just to get it up here. It was a mistake. It happened. I'll be better in the future.Current topics of discussion. Team Niner in almost its entirety has been staying at the bungalow de Robb for the past two weeks give or take. Lots of riding. Its probably a down few weeks for them, mid season lull, but Dejay, Fuzzy, and Rebecca's down weeks feel like a training camp for me.

I worked my last few days last week and we rode a bunch at after work mecca Bent Creek, a quick out and back on Laurel, and then the abbreviated Fish Hatchery Loop on a freshly graded 475b AND 225. Beware.
I think that was all Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday....Friday I packed up all the bikepacking stuff, Rohloff'd the bike, and headed to GA for a little extended trip of mildly secret intent. There will be more to come of this in weeks to come, but for now its a little hush hush. Our Friday start was delayed by some rain (we're a bunch of pussies) We rode four hours on Friday till like 12:30 under beautiful moonlight, and 12 hours on Saturday under some oppressive GA sunshine. Somewhere's around 22,000 feet of climbing for our efforts, including 4 trips up and down to cross the AT. Pretty happy with my sleeping setup. On the verge of something, but can't really say too much about it until it actually happens. Can't go getting expectations up.....

Rest day Sunday. Extreme rest day. I couldn't even make the drive home without pulling over and sleeping. The rest of the day was more of the same. Laying around, stretching, eating, stretching, drinking, and sleeping. This is all important.

Monday was pretty quiet around the house. Dejay and Rebecca had headed up to Boone. John was doing family style stuff with Christina and little Ian. Turning down a trip to the Children's Museum, I went for a little spin along the river towards Marshall. Mostly tempo stuff on the way out, high cadence, just trying to wake the legs up after the Fri/Sat effort. On the way home I did some little 5 minute TT efforts along the flat stretche of the river. Surprisingly I felt like I had a little pop. Maybe the training camp effort was starting to solidify.Test time. Dejay and Rebecca were still up in Boone. John would be joining them on Wednesday. Dejay, in a rare moment of brilliance, hatched a plan. I should drive to Boone Monday night, we'd ride back via the BRP on Tuesday, and catch a ride back to our cars on Wednesday in the Fuzzy Sprinter. Perfect.

Dejay and I rolled out at 8:20, and all I could say as I walked down the steps was that I really didn't feel like being on my bike. We followed Rebecca's directions to the parkway without fail. The only problem: parkway closed. So we did a 15 miles, 1 hour parade lap around Boone, down 321 and regained the Parkway. I was surprised by the scenery up there. Lots of farms and fields of wildflowers to chase Dejay through. Dejay took off up the first climb, and I was working hard to keep up right from the start. Around the 30 mile point though, I started to feel really good. I was clicking down a few gears, and seated climbing away from Dejay. Later I was dropping it down a few more and standing out of the saddle. Flat spots turned into TT efforts. The parkway grades allowed a lot of strong seated climbing, and I only felt bad when the climbs went on and on up through Crabtree and the northern side of the Mitchell runup. Nutrition felt balanced. Ass didn't hurt. Legs would pop into an effort when I needed them, and I was brimming with confidence the entire ride. It was a very happy 112 miles and 18,000 feet of climbing, just 3 days after a nearly identical effort on the mountain bike.
Its been a lousy pre season for me, filled with work and schedule conflicts and the rest of life thrown at me. The past few weeks have me really feeling at home and safe in Asheville. Finally surrounded by a group of good people, hanging at the newly de-roomated house, making the summer cookout rounds, riding lots of bikes, putting in lots of hard miles, sharing the kitchen and front porch, washing, and repeating on all levels.

Saying goodbye to everyone for a while today. We just made some scones and eggs, and are heading out for rides. John for a long 5-6 hour effort, Dejay and I for an hour spin and some more staring at the TV. Its our rest day after all.

DSG...nuff said

2009-05-11T10:44:00.001-04:00

This may explain our duo's awe inspiring 3 laps in 12 hours. Kylie got our first lap out of the way in very close lighting, loud thunder, and ride saving rain. I did two laps of walking, took approximately 7 hours or so. Awesome. My core muscles, hip stabilizers, back and shoulders got a great work out...for the first 17 minutes. The remaining 6+ hours just really hurt. Wanted to quit multiple times....most of the field quit part way through their second lap (when the mud got angry).

Adding to the feeling of despair was Bruce Dickman's voice careening through the forest, mentioning "beer" or "kegs" more often than racers crossing the finishing line. Clearly the woods was not the place to be this afternoon. I sure didn't get any faster on the bike this weekend, but did learn to suffer a bit...had a lot of fun with Kylie, Dejay, John, Curtis, Rebecca and all the other folks I haven't seen in a while, and may not see again soon. Cheers to everyone who suffered through any of that, be it 100 yards or 8 hours.

Just so everyone knows, because apparently amazing feats don't earn you an interview, my old racing partner and friend Chip Meek absolutely owned this event. He won the Pro Solo Singlespeed category with 5 laps. He basically also won the Pro Men's category as well, because none of those big name guys did 5 laps. A lot of them left enough time on the table to do so, but called a truce. It surely wasn't a traditional bike race scenario, but a race is a race, and winning still matters. Either way, Chip's performance deserves some recognition for his ability to continue when something is on the line but all logic says "quit."

PMBAR 2009 redux

2009-05-04T19:49:00.005-04:00

Right off the bat.

I think the best thing about PMBAR is that there IS so much to write up about a silly little mountain bike race. A normal race write up, mine included, makes ample use of phrases like; felt good, chased down so and so, got tired, completed lap X, got passed by so and so, finished in umpteenth place.

Not PMBAR. PMBAR starts with 60 teams of two riders with very little idea what to expect out of the next 7 to 14 hours. You rarely "chase down" the next fastest team. They are likely half way across the forest, heading straight for you. The lycra clad duo that pops into sight up the trail are just as likely to be civilians as they are racers, and if they ARE the latter, they probably aren't your competition.

When you toe the line at a Pisgah Productions event you have to come armed with knowledge of the forest, all day fitness, and a level of self sufficiency that is lost on most events, even those tagged as "ultra endurance." The race format changes slightly from its proven form every year, but involves a half million acres of forest, some of the hardest trail east of the Mississippi, checkpoints, and a two sided map.

Ed and I lined up with the familiar faces of Pisgah Productions. A rag tag bunch of adventure seekers, different than your typical race bunch. Maps were handed out at 8:25, and the race started at 8:30, when you were allowed to open the maps to learn the day's 5 checkpoints: Two of which would be mandatory, a total of 4 of which would be required to finish, and the 5th was left like a carrot, teasing you with a two hour time bonus. You win based on your finishing time with either 4 or 5 checkpoints. If after your fourth checkpoint, you think you can get the 5th, without it taking an additional two hours, it'd be worth chasing that carrot, if not, you'd better find your way home in a hurry.

A funny thing happens at race start. Two groups, lets call them Locals and Contenders, take off up the mandatory climb up Black Mountain, while everyone else opens maps to see just what they are in for. We chose the first option, assuming we belonged to one of those groups, and tucked the map firmly in a jersey pocket as soon as it was handed to us. Maybe the climb up Black would be better if we didn't know what was in store afterwards.

Our Christmas morning was at Presley Cove, where we tore the map open with the misguided exuberance of a sixteen year old thinking that the small present that lay before him contains car keys instead of a tie tack (uh, thanks Mom and Dad). Our race was now 30 minutes old, we had made good time up the climb and were in the presence of the usual suspects; a third group, The Veterans. These are the guys that routinely spend 9 hours in the forest without pride on the line, ride shit the wrong way, and can persevere beyond whatever Eric throws at them. The false sense of brotherhood experienced during these few crucial minutes lead us to believe we were not only Locals, but actual Contenders. As such, and to stay "in the running," we didn't spend what one would call an "ample" amount of time with the map. Most folks continued up Black Mountain, we were the very first team to not, and dropped down Maxwell.

What did we know that they didn't? Only time could tell. After the initial "racey" start, the reprieve of coasting down Maxwell and the casual climb up Clawhammer was a fine decision according to our legs. Let those other teams tackle Black Mountain the "wrong" way right off the bat. We were going to ease into this thing, AND we thought we'd have two checkpoints under our belt in just a bit more time than most teams would have one.

After our climb to Buckhorn Gap on Clawhammer, we descended Buckhorn Gap trail to the North Mills river trail. Most of my time spent on these trails is headed the other direction, so the continued descent felt great. We may have had the longer route planned, but we were doing 15 miles an hour while the other teams were walking up and over Black. We crossed the suspension bridge at Mills river and started our journey along Squirrel Gap.

I can never say enough about this trail. Its gentle in its elevation changes (for Pisgah), is technical in a rideable kind of way, is rarely more than 12" wide, and is one the most remote trails in the forest. The hour of riding we had under our belts had me primed to ride this trail. In my last Pisgah Productions vs. Squirrel Gap bout I hit the trail with 15 hours of riding behind me. This time we were both feeling great, I was a little spun out with the 32 x 22, but had geared for the unexpected, and was making fine progress in light of it. We hit the first checkpoint at Cantrell Creek with 3 other teams, two of which had taken our path, one had gone up and over Black, but all were here now, getting passports stamped. One team dropped Cantrell, and the rest of us continued on Squirrel Gap.

Some bike acrobatics on the part of the two lead teams allowed us to take the pole of our little cohort. We knew there was one team ahead of us, and the other team that dropped Cantrell was now in the unknown. Just as that thought settled in, Adam and Eric came flying straight at us, followed by Bruce and Ross. Some real Blue Angels shit got us all though the Rhodo unscathed. I knew we could get the second checkpoint by continuing on Squirrel, and then taking Bradley Creek. I had a strong hunch that Mullinax would also get us there, but considered the time it took to take out the map and mull it over, and made the executive decision to blow the Mullinax intersection, passing a team exercising geographical conservatism. As did Indiana Jones' adversaries, we chose poorly, and found ourselves waist deep in Bradley Creek and a few minutes late to the second checkpoint. So goes PMBAR.

Back across Bradley, just in time to see Dennis and Bob come darting out of a hiking only trail ahead of us. Ooops. These kind of accidents always seem to follow Dennis. Shucks. And to think they eventually finished a mere 4 minutes ahead of the next team.

Onward! We reversed Bradley to the intersection with Squirrel, took a right and continued to 5015. We pulled the map out. Something unconscious caused us to second guess ourselves. The plan was to climb 5015 to Yellow Gap. But there was a possibility to continue on Bradley to 1206. Had we spent about 6 seconds more looking at the map it would have jumped off the page like a 3D schooner (Bradley to 1206 up Pilot etc), but the suddenly unlost Dennis/Bob duo sparked that stupid race mentality again. Chase Chase Chase, so we did, all the way up 5015. We passed them when they stopped to fill water at a drip, foregoing the bastard modernity of pressurized indoor plumbing 15 minutes away.

From Yellow Gap to the 3rd Checkpoint at Washcreek was a no brainer. Drop 1206, work 5000, get the check point, and reverse the whole situation. It started to rain on the way back from the checkpoint, and continued enough that it had now entered its hand into our decision making and eventual fate. Wet Pisgah is a different creature entirely, and changes the race dynamic, in our minds, a great deal. After dragging ourselves back to Yellow Gap, we took a moment to recover. This is where we also ran into typical race favorites Brad and Matt. Brad had strangely cracked a frame, climbing the first 20 minutes of Black Mountain. After returning to camp and negotiating his 9 foot 6 body a ride on a medium Trek, they had continued, and were now smiling high on Yellow Gap. Perseverance is the name of the game after all.

This is where it got interesting for us. We had slowly lost sight of the teams we knew to at least be ahead of US, knowing little of what that actually meant in the grand scheme of things. Our entire cohort would be heading to the aptly named "Good Enough Gap" on Laurel Mountain. Its called so because as you climb Laurel Mountain, most of it rideable, some of it a short bike shouldering hike-a-bike, you reach an intersection that takes you to Pilot Mountain. If you continue past this point, you get to stumble/ride through Lord of the Rings (does anyone else call it that?) and eventually do a mandatory hike along the no biking Blue Ridge Parkway zone. Most people hit the intersection, say "Good Enough" and go drop Pilot Mountain instead.

Back to our story. Everyone was heading to Good Enough Gap, but HOW? The entrance to Laurel Mountain is nearly pissing distance from the top of Yellow Gap. But its a long trail. And it rooty, rocky, and now, most importantly we though, wet. The bottom of Pilot is further along 1206 (emphasis on the "further" in further) but Pilot is much shorter. But its also straight up and as technically challenging to walk up as it is to walk down.

Here's the thought process penned out. If we continued up Laurel, chasing the other teams, we would be relying on our fitness to close the gap over wet technical trail. we didn't know if that all important gap even mattered, the winners could be on their second beer by now. We thought the gamble of doing "something different" was worth it, and decided to stay gravel bound a bit longer, and march funeral procession pace up Pilot Mountain. Maybe we'd make up a little time, maybe even get up and back before the other teams saw us, so they wouldn't know we snuck around, or maybe just make up a few minutes that could help position us with some of the other unknowns floating around the forest. On the way up we passed everything imaginable. Teams coming from their 1st checkpoint on their way to their 2nd. Teams coming down from their 2nd on to their 3rd, some of which had done what we did, some of which had come up Laurel. At this point in the day it was hard to tell what was going on.

On we marched. I was watching the time elapse from when we left Yellow Gap. 30 mins. 45 mins. 1 hour. 1:15. We were getting dangerously near the top, and giddy with the idea we might get there and back unnoticed. Then we saw the biowheels jersey. Dennis' vocabulary is limited to "get the fuck out of my way" when descending, so talking to him would be useless. The Lake Blue Moots duo of Thad and Dicky came next, and we stopped to talk strategy a bit. Always a pleasure riding with both these guys, they both know what its all about. Dicky said he had considered our same idea, which made us feel less idiotic, or more idiotic, I couldn't tell. Thad kind of grunted something. Dicky was dragging him around all day, and I think it was his first time down Pilot. That's a recipe for disaster, but he kept it together. We on the other hand, had just been handed our final blow. The rest of our rabbits slowly dropped by us, adding more and more weight to our Sisyphean situation. Who's idea was this anyway?

Alright. Checkpoint 4. Laurel Pilot Connector at Laurel Mountain, a.k.a. the aforementioned Good Enough Gap. Heartbreaking name at this point of our epic saga. The Greeks couldn't write it better. A little of the old out and back, and we were again at the bottom of Pilot. Descending that thing fatigued was an eye opening/elbow contusioning experience that I can't strongly recommend, but then again, I've never bragged about my gravity skills, even when fresh. The only thing on our mind at this point was the Black Mountain parking lot. It was a decision made more out of strategy than unwillingness to continue. Our cliff note study of the map 7.5 hours ago had immediately dismissed the 225 checkpoint. At this point, it wasn't even under consideration. Of course we could go get it, but it would obviously take more than 2 hours and wouldn't be worth it. (We were wrong by an average of about 25 minutes, for the record)

The end is boring. As it always is. Journey vs. Destination kinda thing. Just get it done. Ed and I traded back and forth an ability to turn the pedals over; his coming first on the North Mills River and Buckhorn Gap trails; mine making a surprising appearance on the way up Maxwell. We were able to pass one team on this final climb. The only hilite of the last hour. One more hike up a short section of Black out of Presley Cove, and we were at our final summit of the day. A quick descent down the sometimes-technical-sometimes-swoopy Black Mountain trail and our day had ended.

P.S. CURSED PMBAR!!! If you care about your final position, your day doesn't even end when you cross the finish line. You have to sit around and watch 120 revolutions of your big hand to see if anyone went to get the 5th checkpoint, earning them a 2 hour time bonus, and slotting you further back into the pack fodder. I can say that it almost made the first pint unwelcome.

ts my first PMBAR, which means I've skirted a very important rule in doing both Double Dare and The Most Horrible Thing Ever. Its good to finally be legal. Kudos as usual to Eric for throwing these things. I guess he ACTUALLY makes a buck on this one, which he firmly deserves for all his gratis efforts the rest of the season. Thank God. If he ever stops doing these, a certain ilk of rider will wander the woods aimlessly, thus differing very little from what happened on this fine day.

Cheers to Ed for signing me up and being just under the weather enough to keep it interesting. Cheers to those of you I rode with throughout the day, discussed the merit of one route vs another, IPA vs. Summer ale, SS vs. Gears and Camp vs. Not to Camp.

And a big Congrats out to Jonathon who unsuccessfully tried to kill himself; twice.

Decisions Made in Haste

2009-05-03T08:42:00.003-04:00

There were a lot of possibilities on this day. We chose this one. The underlying idea behind it was probably the 3rd fastest route out there. Mullinax off Squirrel may have been a better choice. When CP 4 came around, we were losing ground on the teams ahead of us and went for a gamble, opting not to ride Laurel Mtn, but instead to hike up Pilot Mountain. We think it saved us a little time, but ultimately no positions.

The 5 checkpoint route (on 225 behind Looking Glass) seemed like a dummy bet, but actually paid off for most people that made efficient route choice to get there. Ultimately earning the win. The best 4 checkpoint route was probably to do the CPs as such; Bradley, Squirrel/Cantrell, Laurel Connector/Laurel, 5000. Although 1206 seems like a beast in the middle of the day, and I think some teams had luck with opting for the same route, but going after the 225 CP rather than 5000.

That's the extent of obsessive compulsion for today. It made sleep pretty tough. Any guy who keeps a bound journal of all his Pisgah Rides, annotated with segment times, must be allowed a little lattitude in matters of route choice. But when you pull a map out at Pressley Cove and plan the next 9 hours in 3 minutes, things happen. We raced the hell out of our plan, and I've put the demons to rest.

Two Days in Asheville = Two Days in Pisgah

2009-05-01T21:15:00.004-04:00

This all actually happened last weekend. But on the eve of PMBAR 2009, I'm hoping a little review will make me stronger, if only mentally.
The goal was to shake down some new gear that I'm checking out for my CTR attempt this summer. First up; new bags from Epic Designs, brain and sweat child of Eric Parsons in Anchorage Alaska. While impressive, extremely so, a thousand or two miles of Alaskan tundra is a little different riding than the technical proving ground that is Mother Pisgah. Eric made me a custom frame bag to match the geometry of the Dieringer. I think it turned out pretty good, no? It has one partial vertical divider and a mesh sleeve on the zipper side. Also in there is a front handlebar harness system. I've yet to make a sleeping pad choice, so I'm still using the extremely light, but bulky Ridge Rest I've had forever. The front bag held it great, and Eric designed a removable pocket that was a nice place to keep a camera, map, and lot of food at my fingertips.
Also running the gauntlet was a polished off sleeping system. Siltarp by Integral Designs, weighing in at 7 oz. A Montbell Breeze Dry-Tec U.L. Sleeping Bag Cover, basically a bare bones bivy sac weighing in at 6.3 oz. And my Mountain Hardwear Phantom 45 sleeping bag, 17 oz. I'm a cold sleeper, always have been. Low temp on Saturday night was 39.
Shelter was easy to set up. And I'm new to tarping, so that may be a no brainer to anyone who's used one before, but I was surprised. I just built myself a little fort, like a kid in the woods. I even had a moving 4th anchor point so I could have a high ceiling for looking at the map, or drop it down to protect from weather (of which there was none).

This bivy/bag systems I've put together is just about perfect. The bivy adds a lot; waterproofing, maybe 8-10 more degrees of comfort, and a little protection for the ultra thin Phantom bag. I basically never separate the two. The bivy was a little clammy early in the evening, the fabric requires a pretty heavy temperature gradient between inside and out to push water vapor. But it did get cold by the end of the night, I hunkered down, drew everything tight and woke up nice and dry in the morning. Very important when dealing with down fill, and even more important when dealing with as little down fill as there is in a 45 degree bag. Even the cold sleeper slept through the 39 degree early morning without an issue.

The ride itself was meant to be pretty mentally taxing right off the bat. The only fun thing I did was the little 475 climb and Caney/Cove descent. I wanted to do a few trails I enjoyed, and had ridden many times without all the gear strapped on. Caney/Cove fit the bill and the schedule for the day. I had added a little air pressure to the White Brothers fork in anticipation of the weight, but soon found out I either didn't need it or added too much. The IMV valve thingy pretty much does its job and I shoulda left the air pressure alone. Other than that the bike handled pretty good with all the stuff. Most of the weight was low, in the frame bag. Puffy stuff on my back, and the superlight albeit bulky pad upfront. Other than some shuffling around noises from the handlebar, and a little clunk from the framebag now and then, it all worked out pretty good. I don't anticipate as many roots and rocks out West, so we should be good there.

The rest of the ride was meant to break me. If I get used to pushing on when miserable, I'll be all set for Day 3 of any multiday event. After hitting Cove Creek Campground I started the long, gravel, and 84 degree furnace of a climb through Gloucester Gap, past Farlow, hiked Shuck Ridge, climbed through Black Balsam and topped out at Ivestor Gap. 2500ft to right about 5800ft at the beautifully grassed fields of Ivestor. This place is completely out of the way, and there's no good way to get there, but I love it up there every time I make it part of my day. The rest of Pisgah doesn't look like this at all. The forest is strewn with rocks and craggy trees. It seeps and drips moisture from all angles. At times it feels as though the Rhodo and Mt. Laurel tunnels will go from lashing your arms, to closing off completely.
Not at Ivestor. Its wide open spaces, and ripples of the Blue Ridge extend out in every direction.
I stuck around for quite a while, taking it all in, and taking in a few calories. I came out on a half empty tank from a late flight on Friday, and not much breakfast on Saturday morning. I was 5 hours in and already paying for it. I went and explored the rest of the Ivestor Gap trail past the fields. The trail skirts the boundary of the Wilderness area, and I figured new trail was better than retracing my breadcrumbs back along Ivestor. Somewhere along the boundary, the trail becomes the Graveyard Ridge trail, and then eventually turns into a hiking only trail. And NOT a good bike hiking trail. Very tight, lots of low trees and narrow passes. Basically a mess. But whatever, new trail is new trail, and it would be great lunch hike with great views and sun baked rock out croppings to soak in a sunset later in the year. Duely noted, but at the moment, the benefits of research were not outweighing the misery. Meeting the Black Balsam pavement was a welcome event.
The rest of the day was pretty easy. Rode Flat Laurel Creek for the second time, and it was still fun. Passed a lot of people camping along the creek, at what looked to be great swimming/sliding spots, gonna have to go back and check it out. Flat Laurel dumps you out on 215, which needs to be climbed to the parkway. It was hear that I started to investigate a rhythmic sound coming from the bike. Was it rhythmic with my cadence, or with the turning of the wheel? Wheel. Is it break rub? no. Something in the tire? No. Is it bearing problems? No. Well whatever it was, it helped pass the time all the way to the parkway where I decided to get off and take a look before dropping 2500 feet at speed along 215. Broken Spoke. Well, actually nipple, my 2nd in as many rides, I think. Grabbed a little electrical tape off my seatpost (That's why I have that there!) and fixed the problem.

Dropped 215 like a rock. No pedaling for 12 minutes. Not bad. Climbed FS104 to the northern end of Sumey Cove. I went to check out Courthouse Falls and found my little place to sleep. Worked out well, and I was done.

Morning run down (why don't I have pictures???) Climbed Kissee Creek "Rd" back up to Farlow Gap, and descended Farlow for the first time. That's right. I've never done Farlow. Until now. Went pretty well. I cleared a lot of the steep stuff, had to get off in one particularly rocky section where I just lost too much momentum, and then battled along the ridge with the steep ups and downs, all rooted. The stream crossing were roaring, and actually kind of sketchy in riding shoes, bet the downhill guys in 5.10 rubber have no trouble. Met Daniels ridge, rode it for a while before flatting, and then eventually made back to the gravel, past Cove Creek, jumped on the Davidson River trail to a) get off the asphalt and b) skip a little knob on 475. Made it back to the crowded Fish Hatchery parking lot at about 11 am.

That's a lot of work for 52 miles, but, it is Pisgah. 12,884 feet of climbing, 7.5 hours of moving time, and lots of sleeping time.

When it rains it pours

2009-04-16T09:37:00.010-04:00

Alright. Here's the problem. When I have nothing to write about, I have plenty of time to write. And over the last week i've done a lot, and haven't touched the ole blog. The marathon work months are behind me for now, and I've enjoyed two weeks off, a lot of personal travel, rewarding experiences, getting back to my roots, riding new trails, race planning, and more riding before a few corners of Pisgah close for the season.

Soon after landing from the utopia that was Fort Wayne, I headed up to Pittsburgh to spend a little time with Bella and some friends from Cleveland. My bestest friend Tara came down with my other bestest friend Finn for some Pittsburgh museum day tripping. We couldn't leave the house until Finn and Bella had had enough play time and Finn figured out how to use the doggie door.

Next stop the totally awesome Pittsbugh Children's Museum. I think I had as much, if not more fun than Finn. He's still at the age where sometimes the cardboard box is more fun than what's inside. Whatever child development specialist designed the blended art/educational exhibits should realize that some kids just want to play in dirt. Which he did. When asked (after 3 hours of stimulation) what his favorite part of the museum was, he replied "The T-rex." The T-rex was a stuffed dinosaur up in the infant level that we stumbled into....he picked it up carried it around for little. And THAT is what he'll probably remember. Cool.

Because the children's museum went over so well, we decided to go to the Mattress Factory the next day and expose Finn to some of Pittsburgh-if-not-the-country's best art installations. My curiosity was piqued by the James Turrell pieces. He works with light, or more recently the absence of it, and builds room sized installations challenging your perception of light, and space. Finn, not so much. We sat in one of his dark pieces for like 5 minutes, waiting for our eyes to adjust, which takes 20 minutes of sitting in a room so dark you can't see your hand infront of your face. Quoth Finn, "Why don't they turn the lights on?" An artistic statement in and of itself muttered from the mouth of a nearly 3 year old. He did dig a japanese installation involving two mirrored rooms with lots of color...could of guessed that.

Back to NC, man that drive gets longer and longer everytime, but that last hour or so is beautiful from Johnson City down to Asheville. I spent an hour at home, grabbed some climbing gear, well all of it, and thru it in the car for later sorting. Cam and Bess from my Grand Canyon trip were in town and had just got off working an Outward Bound course at Table Rock and invited me up for a night of wood fired hot tubbing and a day of climbing and introductions. No problem. We woke up on a chilly morning and decided to drive/hike up to the summit of Table Rock and get a look around. Cam pointed out the undeveloped side of Linville, Short Off, and whatever that gendarme on the left is...i can't remember...

Back to basecamp, make some lunch, and the head for some actual climbing. I think the last time I climbed rock was up at Cathedral when work sent me into NH, almost two years ago, and before that isolated incident, it had been another year, maybe with some Ice inbetween, but that's a different animal. Table Rock is a confounding kind of approach...and without local climber knowledge, its easy to get skunked. We found a clean face with what appeared to be a pretty good weakness, a right arching crack/corner system to a ledge. We never identified it in the book, I racked up, and went at it. Not a good pitch for my first lead in a while. Probably a good eastern stout 5.8+ with sketchy gear. It got a little heady on some moves when I spaced my gear a bit. Because of the arch, I had all my pieces extended with shoulder length slings to help with the rope drag, but 10 feet above a piece, with a 2 foot sling equals a 24 foot fall. Nice. Got to some anchors and was relieved. Although it did take way too long to construct this manky mess.
All safe...but not that clean, which was always a goal of mine. Where's my cordelette? what's that second draw doing? that's right...nothing. So I'm on one point. That's not good. Could girthed to the shelf as a back up. My climber system is actually pretty good though...autoblock on the belay and the knot means either one of those bolts could fail and he'd be okay....but if the right one fails....I'm a gonner. I got better, and the belays and transfers got cleaner on the other two pitches we climbed. This is what happens when you throw a biker back on the rock.

Alright, back to biking. After Table Rock, like the same day, I got back and went for a quick road ride with my friend Kylie. Its finally happened...a dual sport day in Asheville. I would have preferred a climbing and Mountain Biking day, but I'll take a road ride, its a start. We tiddled around for about and hour and a half, and Kylie, like she always does, got some errands done on the tail end of our ride. Friday was more road riding, into a really cold storm on the backside of Elk Mountain. Nice timing. Finished the Elk Climb, the descent to the BRP, and all the way to the summit of Town Mountain in a nice big drop down pour. The descent down Town Moutain was hypothermic at best, and I couldn't get warm the rest of the day....even while standing in the coldish, surrounded by storms Pisgah Brewery for the Pisgah Brew Crew Jersey Release night. Imagine that....cold rain and cold beer don't warm you up?

Saturday I (literally) threw Bruce in the car and headed to Athens to pre ride the SSUSA course, and enjoy Terrapin Brewing's 7th anniversary. My race promotion partner, Shey Lindner, and SSUSA spirit award winner, Mike Stanley were converging on Hawke's Creek Farm to ride the course, plan the set up, and the other events. We had a good lap on what's going to be a very busy, power demanding, tight little XC course. I can ride for hours, but honestly, 40 minutes on this thing hurt. The 4 laps for the championship are going to take a lot to stay focused and keep pedaling to win. Over a couple beers in the field we brainstormed the rest of the weekend activities, and came up with some great ideas. Works done for the day. Off to Terrapin, where Mike treated us like royalty. A thousand people were standing around in lines for atleast 30 minutes, trading beer tickets for a 4 oz tasting pour. I sat in a camp chair, and had full pints brought to me. Not to shabby. This treatment allowed Bruce and I to catch up pretty quick, and then surpass most of those in attendance until it was late, we were hanging with Brewery staff inside for the afterhours, and then bivying under the Terrpin Team tent out in the field for the night. We were woken up by a homeless guy toting a plastic festival cup of IBA, which I assume he found in the field. Alrighty! Time for an Easter Breakfast at Waffle House and off to Clemson to ride.

Isaqueena is an impossible to understand network of trails, that I have visited once before. Following 30 people and a marked course. Thus, I remembered nothing and it was proven over and over again, but we were two men with no schedule, and no cares. We covered just about every part of the area, some of it twice, some of it by bushwacking. Found some more water in which to make us feel alive...a now repetitive Bruce and I habit. Also took a couple runs at the downhill course. Fully rigid bikes don't make the best DH bikes, but I did the best I could, and got did get a little more comfortable with the wall ride. We put in a good 5 hours or riding around, did some fast twisty stuff, some gravel roads, some Pisgah esque remote feeling single track, and played on some man made stuff...not a bad day of riding. This place is only 2 hours away, but in Asheville, that drive doens't happen. In Cleveland, 2 hours was like a minimum...amazing how things change.

The Issaqeena ride was also the dirt debut of the Rohloff setup. Other than some either "unbroken in" grinding or "not enough oil" grinding the things works great. Its definitely a pig back there, but as long as you don't huck off stuff all day, you don't really notice it affecting ride quality, other than simply being a heavier bike to climb. I think it actually helps the descending, keeping some weight low in the rear and helping braking conrol. Plus, standing into the pedals and hammering flat singletrack is something I can't do on the SS setup, and it was fun launching away from Bruce on those sections. I have it set up with disk brakes and an aftermarket "Monkey Bone" to allow disk brakes and a pretty clean setup. Apparently all disc brake applications use the external gear box. Which is kind of clunky, but if you break a cable or shifter in the back country, you can still shift this with an allen key, pretty handy. Gonna run an oil service on it and try to put as many miles on it as possible between now and CTR

And finally....with my taxes done, and tax day not yet over....I had time to ride all my favorite seasonal trails in Pisgah before they become illegal like princesses at midnite. Kylie, Ed and I left White Pines, climbed the defibulator that is Bennett Gap, and descended Coontree. Both Seasonal...good bye trails. We then road spun over to the hatchery, and up 475 to the odd little entrance to Caney Bottoms, aka the paint shaker, thank you Tomato for that name that won't leave my head. I actually had a newly Suspension Experts tuned fork on my bike this time, and it felt great on Caney Bottoms. Also seasonal, you will be missed. Up the steep singletrack out of Cove Creek to the grassy road that never ends. From that, anaerobic up the stairs, push the rocky washed out climb, and make the ridge with that pesky puking feeling hanging around, and then drop my favorite technical descent in the forest; Daniels Ridge. Once again the fork felt great, and I, yes I, dropped everyone on the descent. That doesn't happen often, and it won't happen again till October. So long Daniels. Next we climbed back up 475 to Long Branch. Long Branch is a fun, twisty, non tech descent that lowers you all the way to a little Cat Gap and a little of Butter Gap. I'm pretty sure Long Branch isn't seasonal, but it doesn't go anywhere you can get out of without riding seasonals, so I guess the Long/Cat/Butter trilogy is done for as well. It was a great day of riding, the 3 of us moved really well together. I was testing out my fork again, Ed had just 69'd his Merlin TI singlespeed with a new 29" wheel and home rebuild of the Lefty SL, and Kylie was on her brand spanking new Inde Fab team build with all kinds of fancy if not dialed in parts. I earned my 340z grande Dos Equis for 3.75 and fried ice cream today. Quite a prize.

Vacation Time.....

2009-04-05T09:31:00.007-04:00

So after a 9 week blitz of work, I'm enjoying two weeks off. And its going to fucking snow in North Carolina. Thanks God, all those years in my life I wasted believing in you, remember, those years before I could tie my own shoes, and this is the thanks I get. I'll remember that.
I guess you did give us this. 400 years ago. Good job. And along the way you gave us the Tomato. He and Joe were pointing out some of the trails across the valley, and when asked to recreate the pose for a shot, he gave us this...Good work buddy. That'll help everyone out. We enjoyed a beautiful Sunday or riding. It had rained on and off all week (I hear) and also on Saturday when I got in from Seattle. Sunday was a sunny spring day. I met Jonathon and the South Carolina crew of Joe, Jim and Dennis at the Black Mountain parking lot in brisk temps. We rode Sycamore Cove, a first for me. What a great trail. The days of parking at Black Mountain and killing myself out of the gate up Black are done for. Sycamore is a nice couple mile loop that serves as a great warm up, and its technical enough (at least when wet) to wake you up early in the morning. We followed it up with a seasonal lap on North Slope again. That damn root hole almost got me again, as did the stairs. Another fun loop that I'm going to miss in a few weeks when it goes back to non bike status.

The main event was the climb up Black. We had all kinds of plans involving trails on the otherside of Clawhammer, but never really made it. South Carolina, the little sister of North Carolina, apparently lacks the elevation change of the bigger brawny North Carolina. In their defense, climbing Black isn't an easy task. I felt really strong on it. I'd climb till I couldn't any more, grab a tree, grab some breath, and continue. I got the new GX2 grips from Ergon, and am digging the little bar ends. Something about turning your forearm 90 degrees and getting a little forward of the front axle seems to give a lot more power for SS climbing. As we gained some elevation, the sun came out, and the trail dried out. Really a perfect day on bikes.

We played around on all the technical stuff along ridge. I actually made all the switchbacks until the sharp right with the rock gap, and then after that it was hit or miss until I pussed out on the rock step thing that girls ride. Our gender is under attack....or maybe my riding abilities shouldn't be used as an example of "man" riding. After play and crash time, we enjoyed the radiant warmth of the rocky outcroppings, and then just decided to reward our efforts with an extended downhill back to the car. I've actually never ridden down Black, and it was long over due. It was even drier now in the afternoon and was a lot of fun. The bottom gets faster, but unfortunately wetter on this day, and we eventually ended the day mud covered and thirst quenched with a car-warmed Yeungling in the parking lot, and some mexican food in Brevard.

Yeah Spring.

Big 'Ol Backpack on a day I didn't need it

2009-03-24T23:05:00.003-04:00

Allow me to introduce you to Ergon's BC3; a great way to carry a lot of shit. I mean, A LOT. I have a BD1 as well, and it suffices for most long days out in Pisgah when weather is questionable, and you actually want to carry enough to get your under prepared friends out of a tough spot. It held all of Eric’s required gear for The Most Horrible Thing Ever in 2008. Never resting on its laurels, Ergon took the same great harness system and put a 25L, waterproof from both sides, simple, clean and well thought out pack on it. I had 120oz of H20, a sleeping bag, sleeping pad, first aid, map, a banana, all the bike stuff except the tube taped to my seat post, handful of gas station food (pop tarts and fudge stripes), arm and knee warmers, Endura shell, my blue NUE shower jacket, long sleeve wool baselayer, a fleece top, and eventually the Endura knickers I started the ride in. I’m by no means suggesting that cornucopic list of goods as a well though out “gear list” nor did the weather require any of that shit, but I wanted to fill the bag to capacity. In doing so, some thoughtful planning was required, put the sleeping stuff on the bottom, the bike stuff went in Ergon’s detachable gear organizer on the inside, and the clothes layered in on top. Some food could go in the outer compression compartment with the map or easy access by a friend, and I shoved a knife in the slim little pocket that is on the compression pocket. Didn’t really have an idea of what else would go in there…maybe a map that isn’t as big as the Pisgah map? It could certainly hold other stuff that people could get for you. One thing Ergon could to is make some suggestions as to what they expect you to put where, at least as a foundation on which to improve. I’m sure SOMEONE there had a plan in putting specifically shaped pockets everywhere.

I’m 5’10”, weigh 160 and have the roughly the same upper body I did in 8th grade gym class. All those facts led Jeff to fit me to a small chest harness and a medium waist belt. The pack fits great, maybe even better than my BD1. The shoulder straps are kind of small and fit so that it feels like they just grasp my shoulder and the straps disappear neatly and tightly under my arms. The result it that it doesn’t really feel like a “chest” system, and more of a “shoulder” system, and really made my upper body feel unencumbered moving around on the technical descents. I did today’s ride rigid, and I think this harness set up contributes a great deal to the pack not jostling around and feeling like you need to readjust it at every breathing point on the trail. I have the BD3 set up in the “short” of the two positions on the torso height adjustment. This put the waist band a little high, so I may go test it at the other position, but even as so, it felt like the weight was in two places during the ride; on my hips, or nowhere. The harness systems keeps the bag, even loaded down and stuffed like I had it, completely off your back. The only points of contact are the minimal strap points over your shoulder blades and along your hips. I had on a synthetic base shirt and a wool jersey (that was probably a bit much later in the day), but ended the day with a sweat free back. And because the thing feels so solid on your back, I never had that extra gravity weight added as the bag slopped around from side to side, or up and down during steep descents. It was literally not there for half the ride. From lots of experience with mountaineering and alpine packs, I’d have to say that the goofy shape holding plastic supports that surround the waist, and the equally odd looking ball joint connector of the shoulder harness are the novel design ideas that allow Ergon to keep this thing from resting flat against your back. They make it a little difficult to load in the back seat of your car or into an overhead compartment on a plane, but I think I can live with that. Without them you’re left with just another small alpine pack trying to serve the bike community. Ergon started over and designed something for bikers moving at high speeds, in different body positions, where the subtle shifting of OUR weight means cleaning a line or stacking it a pile of tombstone rocks, and the last thing I want to worry about is my summit pack-cum-biking pack sliding around or drowning me from behind.

I have a frame bag coming too, as I know I can’t put everything necessary on my back for an extended trip. But if you’d rather keep the bike light for hike-a-biking and lifting over blowdown, you could easily do multi day trips with this pack and the addition of a something like the Mountain Feed Bag up front for essentials, or a small saddle bag for bike stuff and dedicate the backpack to clothing and sleeping. Ulitmately this pack isn’t for everyone. I think Ergon suggests this bag for doing events like the Transrockies?? If the transrockies is anything like the BC Bike race (which it is, exactly, with less single track), this bag would be over kill. In the hot as hell and predictable weather of those seven days, my BD1 was almost overkill, allowing me to carry our TEAMS required gear, and Chip got off easy with a 80 oz camelback. Maybe the german translation of CTR is Das Trans Rockies and that’s what they meant.

There’s two schools of thought, and thus two types of people out there. Those that wear a backpack, and those that load everything on the bike. For me, as a single speeder (not for CTR but for most everything else) I’m in favor of keeping the bike light, easy to carry/push, and handling like I know it to handle. If the gear can fit as securely and comfortably as it does in the BD3, why ride any other way? No seriously is there? I’m still open to suggestions and finalizing the gear lists and bike setup over the spring, but think I have a pretty trusty traveling partner in the BD3.

2009-03-23T09:35:00.005-04:00

I finally put real keys in a door Friday night, actually Saturday morning, and found a wonderful present waiting for me at my rarely visited home. I heard one time that when you go on vacation, you should always order something online before you leave, so that when you are depressed about leaving wherever and returning home, you'll have something to cheer you up.
I live in the bizzaro world of that scenario, but its still nice to find boxes. Ergon had rushed me a new BC3 backpack to add to the arsenal of quickly accumulating multi-day weapons. Perfect timing as I was headed out for a group ride the next morning.

The original plan was to meet steady riding partner Ed, his friend Mark from ATL, female phenom Kylie, and Phil from Suspension Experts at White Pines. By the time we showed up, Kylie and Phil were nowhere to be found, but Adam, Chris, Chris, and Park were. So it was going to be a bigger ride than expected, especially when the original cast finally showed a few minutes later. Nine riders total and not a plan between them.
First some standing, then some pointing. Eventually a barrage of typical Pisgah style route descriptions was launched into the air. This to that to this, to drop this, to climb that, to this, drop this back the car. For a few minutes we were 9 riders with too many ideas, and then someone went north on Clawhammer and it was all settled.

Up Bennett Gap and up Buckwheat Knob to Club Gap. Drop ?Barnett Branch and some road to the Cradle of Forestry?, climbed Club Gap Trail back up to Club Gap and dropped Avery Creek back to Clawhammer and on to the car.

The Most Horrible Thing Ever 2008 was the first and only time I’ve gone up Bennett and Buckwheat to Club Gap. It was a march then, and it was still a hard push this time around. Fresh legs helped a bit, but we were a little too fresh two minutes from the parking lot. Bennett gets on top of you quick, lets up from time to time, and the undulates along the ridge to the Bennett Gap. It basically repeats itself as Buckwheat Knob all the way to Club Gap, at the Cross roads of Black Mountain trail, Avery Creek, Club Gap, and the last ridge of Buckwheat Knob.
Along the way we met a cast of characters going what will now always be referred to among our group as the “right way” on their lazy headtube and setback fork equipped monsters. Like two indigenous tribes yet unknown to each other, the groups pointed and discussed the equipment and route choice of the others, until a third group, the bearded bipeds showed up and we all felt better about our daily routines. The heavyset continued on their way down, and we continued on our way.

From the high point at Club Gap, the mystery trail, that I guess was Barnett Branch, led us down to the Forest Discovery Center. We could have ridden all the Pink Bed seasonals that are typically open through tax day, but due to the looming unibomber in Pisgah, the area is still closed as they do a prescribed burn to discover the buried munitions. Not worth poaching anything over there. After much discussion, and a false start up Club Gap followed by some questioning, we do in fact climb back up Club Gap, to the crossroads.

Rolling down Avery Creek was a lot of fun. It’s a little tech at the top, and I dove in headfirst. I did the same thing at the top of Heartbreak a few months back. Something about a lot of climbing leading up to a known dedicated decent gets everyone excited. I made it through unscathed and settled into a nice ridge drop. We crossed over some double track and regrouped after a flat. Then came the food. Cookies of every variety, tuna, and even a cold folded up pancake. Quite the spread for a remote section of forest. We saddled up and finished on Avery rather than cross over to Black Mountain. Group mentality favored the confirmed “swoopyness” of Avery over the big mountain style Black Mountain.

We regrouped at the cars, and let a couple people go to enjoy a few beers. I hadn’t been out in the woods for a month or so, and the hotel elliptical workouts had drove me to near insanity; so we extended it a little bit. Out to 276 and over to Davidson River Campground for a short loop on the North Slope Trail. NST offers a nice, climbable grade up to its high point. It took everything I had in the legs to clean the climb. Nothing overly technical, but at just a grade that I spent a good 10 minutes a pedal stroke shy of walking. Sticking with it hurt, but I made the top and the reward was an elongated descent, flat in spots, all twisty and a little technical at spots. I avoided a giant root hole that could have swallowed bike and rider as one, and as a crowning moment, didn’t avoid coming hot into a set up steps at the trails end. I heard Chris whoop behind me as he hit them right on my wheel, but we both made it through, had a laugh, and I crashed sideways into a rhodo for no discernable reason, and pedaled the road back to the cars.

Excellent ride on the first day of spring. Oscar worthy best ensemble cast of riders, one flat, no attitudes, and lots of smiles from the company of friends and the spirit of Pisgah.

Politics and Posting

2009-03-19T20:13:00.002-04:00

Between pay check work and moonlighting as race promoter extraordinaire, there has been little riding of note. Trying to stay fit in a series of hotel room-fitness center-rare outdoor exposures has been a challenge, but I'm doing what I can. That being said, if I do anything riding worthy, i'll put it up, but most other energy is being put into SSUSA, and the fledgling SSUSA blog over here.

Race promotion is a spicy cocktail of hardwork, politics, niceties, avoiding grudges, and begging. After months of hard work and negotiations with the National Forest Service, its suddenly all up in the air again. If I had an end to the story, you'd hear about here, but I don't. If you want to come race one speed bikes in Georgia in May, keep an eye on the event, and be very very flexible.

Training Adjustments

2009-03-08T22:05:00.009-04:00

Yesterday I got all the news about the final podium line-up at Snake Creek Gap. As awesome as it is that Shane "Dedicated Athlete" Schriehart shattered my time, along with the second place guy, it certainly smacked me awake about the season basically slipping away due to the work schedule. I'm basically not gonna race anything, PMBAR, DSG and SSUSA withstanding. Luckily they are all back to back to back, so I'll kill myself in May and then get back to work I guess.

The only thing still on the agenda is CTR. My hope is that I have enough basal fitness, willingness to survive, and back country experience to make it through the "race" from Denver to Durango. Still, one can't rest on his laurels, and I do need to continue to put in miles. CTR is about a whole lot more than the miles though. Its about performing in all kinds of heinous situations, levels of misery or all out bad planning.

I've developed a training schedule, and tested it out this weekend. I figure at any given point of that race I will be dehydrated, sleep deprived, malnourished, exposed to weather, suffering some sort of bike set up issue, or experiencing low morale. I need a way to experience that fantastic starting line up of suffering each time a get a little time to ride out here on the road.

So here's how it went down. Started last night with a lite dinner at a friends house, accompanied by two bottles of red, and a bottle of port for dessert. Decided we should all step out, and hit two of Los Feliz' local bars, the Tiki-Ti and some place I don't remember the name of. The Tiki Ti is a family owned, authentic to the next level Tiki bar with fruity rum drinks drank by hardened old men at the bar because they are strong as hell. Its a paradox of alcoholic proportions if I've ever seen one. That surely oughtta take care of the Dehydration part for tomorrow.

Not enough room on the couch for the two of us, so I take the floor. She's already asleep, and the vacancy left by me needs be covered up with my only blanket, because I'm just that kind of guy. So now I'm on a cold wood floor with a sheet mummified over my entire body trying to hold my exhale warmth in. I'm pretty sure I slept a little, but it was mostly all about tossing and turning and shivering. Sleep Deprivation taken care of.

Wake up at 8, now 9 thanks to DST and make a cup of Intelligentsia Coffee (lucky friend has one of their only shops around the corner). That's breakfast. Revisit Dehydration, and enter under nourished.

Ride from Los Feliz back to downtown LA, where my paid for but unused hotel room awaits me. Rather than sit around all day and get shit done, I decide to put some miles in. A quick thievery from map my ride, and I've got my route all planned out.

I grab the cross bike, because that makes perfect sense for a road ride. I don't have a floor pump, so the hand pump has to do...probably running about 60 psi in the tires. Perfect bike set up right?

And because its LA, and sunny, I take off in shorts, jersey, some Swiftwick 12's, and shove a vest in a rear pocket on my way up to a snow covered 5700 ft Mt. Wilson summit. I was so cold, even working on the way up, that I lost feeling in my entire arms, and my knees turned purple. The hour descent was pretty painful too. Perfect suffering temperatures.

And much like I'm fully expecting of CTR, the scenery was amazing. Scrubby rocky, craggy hills, covered in the dead husks of century plants, slowly morphed into snow dotted slopes and thickly clouded vistas. The roundtrip was 72 miles, and Motionbased's most conservative elevation profile puts the total gain at 11,500. I had two bottles of plain ole H2O, and 3 packets of Sport Beans, the last available at a shop in LA. I by no means "killed it" out there today, but I did get a nice 5 hour ride in. Data for ya

Gehry architecture on the way out of LA
Hills along the bottom of Angeles Crest Hwy
A little higher up, and still clear.
Almost near the top, but the last place to get a clear shot, there's some snowy peaks off in the distance.
Two things here; the cloud I climbed into that blocked my summit prize, and the fact that the only way you know you reach a summit is when you see cell towers. What gives?

I'm now one step closer to finishing the CTR.

West Coast vs West Coast

2009-03-03T23:36:00.006-05:00

Last Saturday went like this: only it started on Friday Night

Rogue Brewing's Tap House and Distillery (Yep...Rogue started doing a few liquors...some rum, gin, and yet to be bottled vodka and whiskey)Timberline Lodge and a drive around Mt. Hood. The snow was taller than our car around 5000 ft. Full Sail Brewing's Tap House for Lunch, which overlooks its namesake, a section of the Columbia River famous for wind and kite surfing

Multmonah Falls, the quickest hike to one of 10 waterfalls in as many miles along the Columbia River Gorge. According to our Full Sail server, its the "biggest" west of the Mississippi. I don't know if that means highest or what, certainly wasn't CFS, the wind turned it to mist by the bottom

Back to Rogue for another night. I didn't ONLY go to Rogue, but it was the hilite. Deschutes had some great stuff on tap (and a really good pretzl), and Widmer is actually working with some experimental Hops and had made a hopped porter with it that was tasty. The men and women of Rogue are just a little more interesting in what they do with beer.

Now I'm trying to balance these two people in LA. The weather is great. LA is not. Riding was a near death experience from the west edge of Beverly Hills out to Santa Monica. Beaches were a nice change of scenery, as were the barrio's and Asian gangs on the way home. Why doesn't this guy smile anymore? Its because he's been home for 6 days in 2009. Looking to make it a solid 7 days eventually

Home Stand

2009-02-21T14:17:00.006-05:00

One west coast trip behind me, and three weeks upcoming. In between was a solid week of Asheville, and the first Sunday I've been home for a long time. I finally got to attend Marvin's early Sunday Pisgah Worship ride, and was happy to have a new route (for me) on the agenda.

A 9:00 o'clock start meant I was awake just long enough to realize that my time zones were screwed up, and that it was still cold down here in the Southeast. We started at the Turkey Pen parking lot, the birth place of many a good ride in the past. This time my crew was able to keep us dry. We climbed Mullinax to Squirrel Gap and began the technical climb to the summit of Squirrel. The trail had been dry, and very cold, and the traction was great. It's seen enough traffic over the winter that most of the leaves were clear, and the rocks of the first half, and roots of the second half, were all visible. Old man winter has also seen to it that the Rhodo and Mt. Laurel be trimmed back, allowing one to keep your eyes open; most of the time.

We splashed through the intersection with Cantrell Creek, and made the climb back up to Horse Cove. The trail was well worn from all those poor souls that attempted 2009's running of The Most Horrible Thing Ever. A fast downhill brought us down to Mills River, where the North Mills River trail snakes through the forest, at times endlessly, to the Buckhorn Trai. More climbing, but the gearing on the Dieringer felt great, and Ed and I went at it a little bit, his aging but agile Merlin TI conversion eventually taking the lead. A well deserved rest was had at the top of Clawhammer at the intersection with Black Mountain.

I've come down (sort of) this section of Black Mountain before, but never up. No amount of experience was necessary; one foot in front of the other, bike next to me, Hope wheel clicking away in mockery. Finally made the top of Black, and enjoyed the view. A little hazy, but through the absence of foliage, we could see both the North and South faces of Looking Glass.

Some downhill, and some technical riding along Black Mountain took us to my introduction with Turkey Pen. A half hearted joke about "just 3/4 mile back to the car, right?" was made in my honor, and the journey began. In stark contrast to our recent ride over squirrel, or the countless trips up Laurel this winter, Turkey Pen doesn't see a whole lot of traffic. In excitement I took the lead, and soon had completely lost the line. I tried my best to follow a faint trail of overturned and bunched leaves, but it wasn't a fool proof plan. A missed turn and a log jump landed me a perfect wheel base spacing distance, smack dab into another log. I was tangled in my frame and upside down before I really had any idea what was going on. Welcome to Turkey Pen. The rest of the trail is either steep up, or steep down. The leaves made both going up, and going down difficult, and sections in either direction were walked. I'm still not the best descender, but when the leaves make controlling speed impossible, I tend to get off while I'm still the one making the decision. Back to the car, right of the descent, which was a nice surprise. Mass had ended.

Here's some ride data for you.

Monday called for recovery, and the weather saw fit that I could do it on the road. I haven't been on the 'ole Roubaix in a while, and was looking forward to a little effortless speed and mindless spin work. Recovery ride always means my short loop out into the farm country of Haywood County. Living here, on the far outskirts of anything social, does afford me this one luxury; open road without fighting through any kind of urban traffic. I can do loops out of here and be passed by 4 cars the whole time.

Some very unexciting ride data.

The rest of Monday was spent playing uninformed tour guide for Chef Greg, on his way back north from an extended trip to the Hilton Head area. We walked around town, where I kindly pointed out things, and apologized for not knowing anything about said thing. It went well. Geniously I took Mr. six episodes on the food network to my favorite eatery, and he was pleased. Thanks to The Admiral for making me appear to know something about the place I allegedly live. Bluegrass, Black Mountain, Westville Pub, a game of liquor catch up, A bottle of wine, and a half season of Entourage later, my recovery day ended at 4:30 in the morning.

More road riding!! So exciting, but it rained on tuesday, and it looked pretty threatening today. Felt like I could do a little tempo paced hill climb workout, so I headed of towards Bear Creek up and over a few good ones to the little town of Marshall. Marshall was where all the rain was hiding. I quick cookie at Zuma coffee shop, and I had the decision ahead of me whether to ride river road back to Asheville proper, or turn around and undo what I just did, up and over the hills. I hate river road, and I hate flat, headwind riding, so opted for the out and back option. Much steeper climbing this direction, and it was hard to keep things together.

Anyone care for road data??

Thursday was another slow day, and I used it to finish the organization of gear that still lay around my house, and some friends houses, from the Grand Canyon trip in January. A late afternoon beer or 4 motivated me to get out of town again, and off to Georgia.

Georgia and the riding down there will get its own write up. I met with the Forest Service down there and we finally hammered out a route for SSUSA. It's going to be incredibly hard. Let that be said. And the date has changed. Hope to have the details wrapped up by the end of the weekend.

Happily Second (and Third)

2009-02-09T20:34:00.002-05:00

Sitting in second and third is fine by me. Snake 2 is in the bag, and that's it for me. March is off the schedule, I'll just get to watch. And after this past weeks shake up, I'm looking forward to seeing how it all comes out. Great race for the SS riders, some lousy performances, some great ones, and it's all gonna get interesting in March. Race promoters take note.

The race opened up in mid fifty degree temperatures, in February, and pretty darn good trail conditions. It was either a childlike reaction to the weather or Shane Schriehart in my start group that made for a fast start. Very Fast. And Shane, the only competition I had in my radar, got all Nicholas Cage on me and was Gone in Sixty seconds. Maybe I hung with him a little longer, but he was a few bike lengths ahead of me by the time we hit the creek crossing.

I chased down a handful of other Dedicated Athletes, a Krystal rider who wasn't Jamie Pillsbury, and a Terrapin guy or two, including Mike Stanley. After my fast start cum lose-the-lead-anyway morning, I just got through those guys and settled in, assuming Mr. Schriehart was long gone. He drug me around the Firewater 50 course (plus 17 miles) last summer, stretched his legs and wanted to keep going. The guy can ride.

The sunny temps and lackluster desire to make a move had me feeling pretty good; riding well within a pace I could hold all day and still look around and enjoy things. Somewhere after the pine tree climb I came across a Krystal rider who was in fact Jamie Pillsbury, who was feeling the effects of a busy work schedule crossed with an early season race. He wasn't going to make it to the finish today. That oughtta motivate him enough that he'll be back in March with guns drawn. Good luck to him.

I made the parking lot, dropped the arm warmers, switched flavors of Rapidade at the SAG station, and got a pat on the back from Sideshow Bob himself. While all the other pro guys get private shuttles up to the start to make sure they can start off the front, Garth was trying a new strategy; start in the back and fight through slow traffic all day in an effort to..uh...I don't know. Maybe saying "on your left" 100 times makes him feel fast. We talked eachother through the climb at 17 miles. He was saying how I was killing it on a single speed, and then justifying it away with some jaded geared rider math. PPHHH...i made sure to point out that he was only 4 minutes ahead of me, had gears, and was a quasi sponsered überpro. We had a good laugh and I wished him well as he climbed out of site.

Lucky for me I had a new rabbit on the horizon. Chasing Garth to chew the fat for a bit pulled me back to Shane, whom I figured was done with the race already, breaking a new SS land speed record. It seemed Shane wasn't feeling all that well, and was cramping up in the technical sections when he lost momentum. And that's just how it went. He'd pull a way on the easier terrain, and I'd get him back when the rocks gaves his legs fits. We had a great internal race going for a while, sharing lines and catching up, but eventually it was his time, and he wished me luck and told me to get on with it.

I felt really smooth going through the last few miles of singletrack. The last 3 miles were littered with the walking dead as usual. I give the beginning to novice folks who do the 17 mile version of this race a lot of credit. When I was down in that part of the curve, fitness and technical riding ability were pretty well related. When I only had the fitness to race 17 miles, my technical riding ability matched it, and I stayed away from courses the like of the Snake Creek Gap. This is a huge race for some of those guys and girls, and they all push through to the end. Good to see for the sport, and for this race.

I crossed the finish line at 3:29:something. Roughly 2 minutes slower than last month. While I had a great day, the comfort level and control of riding over the last 6 miles was definitely a product of dogging it through the first half. Either my head wasn't in it, or I just didn't have any good pace riders. That's the one drawback this year compared to last. Last year I had some people who I knew were fast, and they made me faster. This year those folks are either missing completely, or haven't hit their stride yet. With Jamie and Shane having bad days, Chip missing out, and some of the way faster than me talent that shows up later in the year not quite ready for a trip to Georgia; I was in no man's land all day. I knew where all those folks were, and I had no reason to look ahead, let alone over my shoulder.

And that's why my hat's off to Doug Frederick, aka Dougie Fresh in some circles, for his performance over the weekend. He's been lurking around the top of the race for last 2 years, and over the weekend had a day where it all felt good. He cut over 30 minutes of his January time. I didn't even realize it in the parking lot afterward. Congrats to Doug, let him hear it if you ride with him.

Best to all you the guys in March. If everyone gets there shit together and has a good day, the race should be on some half assed cable network like VS., I'd rather watch that than 6 hours of world championship poker. Place your bets now. Who's going to take the SS podium this year?