A convergence this morning. Perfect, crisp temperatures, no wind, moist ground and good legs. The trails are temporarily buried with a firm layer of snow/ice, but made the best of the situation by heading over the old contentious mining road, to the back side, up and over. At the base of the mining road, passed two of the most beautiful horses I've ever seen, grazing in a frosted meadow. White horses, with brown patches shimmering in the golden morning sun, straight out of a Lonesome Dove movie. Sloppy on the mining road, with deep frozen puddles and two treacherous tracks through the firm snow, made by an overly ambitious jeeper. Good fun though, requiring a bit of precision to negotiate. Feeling good on the last climb, well rested from a mellow weekend. And then a descent into the wild kingdom. Deer everywhere, a fox there, a hawk circles above. And the crows, ever present. Into town, where the air and smells remind me of coastal California. A rarity here in the great American wasteland. Not a bad Monday morning, all in all.

Sunday, April 25

A great loss struck close friends this weekend. Good friends, and not just in the sense of being close. I mean good people. Pure. So pure, that even the manner in which that tragedy is handled is a thing of beauty. A perfect crystal shattering into a sparkling wonder.

Wednesday, April 21

Tempted to drive this morning, but thrilled I didn't. I saw a lot this morning...things that would have been missed from the prone position assumed behind a steering wheel. Here's a few images of what the bicycle lets you see and experience in a stretch of less than 14 hours.

Tuesday, April 20

I tip-toe down to the shore. Stand by the ocean. Make it roar at me. And I roar back. Violently happy.

The wind howls and the snow falls here tonight in Happy Valley. Through the slight crack opening in my window, there is a low hum hiss, as it billows off the continental divide, into my room. Such is life at 8,700 feet above sea level in April. A hint of spring, and then wham, a reminder that winter is still the dominant force in these parts until, oh say, July. According to the calendar, it's spring, but that means little here.

An epic commute home today,with a dabbling of everything. Big winds down in Boulder, straight in the face, test the spirit and will. Then, the climb, which today was almost the easiest, most mundane part of the whole affair. A surprise, near the crossing - a herd of Elk, 100 strong at least, grazing under the evening light in a meadow. Snapped a few photos, and rode straight west into a building tempest on the horizon. Clouds, soaring to 20,000 feet, dark, foreboding, ominous, and it appeared, smack dab where I needed to go. No sooner had I put on the wool jersey, the jacket, the ski cap, booties and wind pants, then it hit. A crisp gust followed by piercing snowflakes dancing around, driven by the gale. Fortunately, I had my yellow lensed sunglasses today, or I likely would have been blinded. Plodding along, warm, except for the fingers. No matter, a small discomfort. The snow increased. Into the woods, out of the wind, where an idilic setting awaited. The snow was clinging to everything but the trail, exposing a brown pathway in a swirling, chaotic world of white.

These are the moment you live for, so I slowed down, breathed deep, took it all in. No, I don't live in Disney World, but I may as well. Took some interesting pictures of the surreal setting, and enjoyed the sparkling cocoon. Off the trail, along the shelf, up the road to my home, where the gods of winter still rule.

As a psuedo New Englander, I've been taught never to trust your good fortune, that the tides will always turn for the worse. Don't get too comfortable with the good. But the bike disproves this theory. Everyday - even when the mountain roars - is a good day when the bicycle is chosen. What to do, but hang on to the ride and let it take me where it will. And continue to roar back.

Sunday, April 18

Finally got around to putting together a slide show from the 2003 Intergalactic Single Speed Championships. I liked the event this year. It was hard, and we kept it on terrain that would be OK for a large group. I overheard some people whining that they wanted more singletrack, and I suspect a lot of people have been coming to the IGSSC over the years just so the locals can show them the "secret stash." That's not really the point of the IGSSC, and it was a bit hypocritical to moan about Full Cycle group rides on social singletrack trails, but then host a massive group ride ourselves. So this year was super epic - probably the hardest one yet - but we kept it totally legit on lots of mining roads in the high country. And we'll probably do the same this year too!

Saturday, April 17

It's the weekend, but I have to work. As the editor of a newsletter for the company I work for, occasionally there are deadlines that I have to hit, and this is one such time. It's OK though. The subject matter is fun, I get to be creative and I made a point to bury myself to the bones with hard rides this week, so the two days off will be a nice rest period. When it comes to work, I like what I do. That said, I do eventually see myself starting and owning my own business. Answering to myself, doing things exactly how I please, how I believe they will work to the utmost. I don't want to own a business that just grows forever. Something small and sustainable - possibly even a one person show would suit me just fine. Something that makes the world a better place - not just for people, but for the dwindling "environment" as well. I suspect some of my plans might seem futile, too niche. But I believe if you have the passion for something, and work to convey that love, you can succeed with just about anything. Lots of ideas bouncing around, but the key is finding time to take the steps to put them into action.

Thursday, April 15

When I left the office this evening, I had no idea where I was going, other than up the Boulder bike path. Motivation was low to climb the big hill, and there were other options to consider. An easy day on Batasso? Climb to Gold Hill and catch the 7:40 bus home? Up towards Wall Street and beyond? Logan Mill? Decided not to worry about it, and let instinct take over, guide me along. Instinct chose, and pulled me straight up Canyon, left on Magnolia, and up and over the big hill, to home. No rest for the instincts apparently.

Climbing is a bit like Catholicism. A lot of suffering to reach that higher state. Suffering up 18 percent grades, while cars race by a 20 times the speed you're crawling along at. They are home sooner - no doubt about that. While I'll be pedaling along up the last switchback, they (who are they?) will be home, plopping down in front of the couch after a long day at work. I admit, there are times, like today, where the pull of laziness is strong. That 5:40 bus sure would be nice, as would the gradual spin home. But I resist, and go, up, up, forever up. Up for hours. All worth it, when cresting the top of Magnolia, just as the sky turns that amber hue of dusk, Bjork's song "It's in Our Hands" rotates through the iPod.

"Well aren't we scaring ourselves unnecessarily? Aren't we trying too hard? 'Cause it's in our hands. It's all here. It always was. It's in our hands."

Off to Iceland in 14 days!

Tuesday, April 13

Following last Monday's ill prepared episode up Magnolia where I ended up getting borderline hypothermic and had to call for a ride, I had a bit of a score to settle today. Same route, only this time, better prepared. Watched the weather (it was relatively clear), brought a few more clothes, and a bit of food. Had a sweet climb today and made it home no problem at all. Learn from mistakes and improve. Basically, that's what life is about. Feeling good this early part of the year - better than the same time last year - so that's quite encouraging. A little stronger each year...that's the goal.

Overwhelmed of late by the sheer history surrounding Happy Valley. Ghost towns here and there, old mining claims scattered about, towns I never knew even existed, from a long gone age. Today, while climbing the hill, I pretended I was an old school miner taking supplies from Boulder to my claim in Happy Valley. While I don't know if miners rode bikes for such distances, it seems like a pretty fair mode of transportation for the rough dirt roads that were prevalent back then.

I want to find out more. I want to take a weekend afternoon sometime, head to the library and research the archives of this place. Many questions. Like what was Happy Valley like in 1899? Who lived here? Why was 505 originally built? To compliment the book studies, my bike, a tool for exploration. I suspect I'll be spending an awful lot of time this summer on a version of the 2003 IGSSC course, as there are many mysteries to uncover in this high, lonesome land.

Attended opening day of the Colorado Rockies baseball season yesterday in Denver. When I was younger, baseball was, without question, my favorite sport. I played every summer, and used to bounce tennis balls off the garage door wall pretending I was some major league shortstop. Got out of the game for some reason - no regrets though really...I'm too damned skinny to play baseball and I like tromping around the woods too much. Still, the love for baseball remains. In its purest state - basically the antithesis of everything it is today in the major leagues - it's the perfect game. The distances are magical, there is no clock, and the vibe, on a perfect summer afternoon, is as good as it gets. I plan to follow it, and my beloved Boston Red Sox, who have not won a World Series since 1918, with great attention this year.

An excerpt from the book I'm reading about Caribou, a mining town of 1,000 people between 1870-1900 (and now ghost town) that sat on the ridge above where I live today:

"Entertainment and amusement for adults and children were primarily self-made. Hiking, horseback riding, biking, and picnics retained their popularity. In the 1880s baseball grabbed a share of the spotlight; games were played on a diamond built in Caribou Park. Dances, generally held above Murphy's (a local bar), often lasted into the early morning hours, three quadrilles or square dances being followed by a polka, waltz or some other round dance. At midnight couples would stop for a lunch or dinner and then head back to the dance floor."

Sunday, April 11

Saturday, April 10

Good days are a common occurrence in 80466 country. And why not? With a plethora of mountain biking, skiing, snowboarding, climbing and hiking options, in one of the most spectacular places in the world, you'd be hard pressed not to find satisfaction on a daily basis, provided you have the motivation to at least get out your door and start pedaling, walking or skiing. While good days are common, great days – the ones you put on a pedestal and five years later look back and talk about fondly are harder to come by. More than just getting out there, these days are unique because of some sort of intangible, almost chance factor that makes you think that there just might be someone up there looking over us, making sure things are really, really good every now and then. Today was a great day.

Of course, 20 inches of fresh powder helps a lot. Call that the X factor of April 10, 2004. While comparing the snowstorm of 2004 to the blizzard of 2003 is a bit like comparing the Colorado Rapids soccer team to the British Premier League Manchester United super squad, in this year of drought, it'll do just fine thank you. I knew it would be a big one last night, driving from Boulder to home, as rain turned to heavy, thick snow flakes as we climbed higher and higher. Eight to nine inches on the ground last night, transformed to 16 this morning.

As this is likely one of the last full fledged winter days of the year, not to mention the next to last day Eldora is open until next November, I felt the need to pack it in. First activity, snowboarding. Now I'm sure some people think the life of a powder hound is all fun and games, laid back, with the mind on the powder and the powder on the mind. Not so. My girlfriend and I were discussing this tonight, and came to the conclusion that the vibe before a powder day is exactly like the vibe during the Gold Rush in these parts. Only now the gold is white, and the goal is a few turns in bliss. The process is not exactly relaxing and idilic. More like testosterone filled chaos, with everyone on the verge of snapping in anticipation. People are racing up the road, cursing at one another, sprinting across the parking lot, dragging board, skis, mono board, whatever, cutting one another off, just to get the damned first spot in line when they drop the line and the first chair loads. Not for the lazy either. Today, we arrived at 7:45 a.m. a good 45 minutes before the chairs opened. And we were the fourth chair in line.

So after assorted acts of chaos - people trying to cut line, bribe lifties, the standard fare - the line drops, and like a herd of bulls we're off. Managed not to trip, and got on the fourth chair. A good position, and as a veteran of Eldora I know a trick or two to turn the fourth chair into the first chair once we reach the backside. Exit stage right on the top, a few quick kick steps across the flat, and then I'm bucking my boot to my binding while heading down the run at 15-20 mph or so. Can't let those bloody tele skiers get first tracks just because of equipment. Around the horn, picking up speed, straight lining it. Swoosh, there goes a tele skier on my right. Bam, down goes a hippy boarder on the left! Soon I'm in first, on my way to glory, to the gold! And, then, a surprise. Ski patrollers, like SS stormtroopers, are blocking the way, saying the lift in closed and won't be open for five more minutes. In the time it took them to say that 20 people have arrived at the rope, my lead vaporized.

This won't do. If the patrollers don't let us through, there will soon be 100 people at this spot, and when they drop the line it will be the equivalent of a Chinese Downhill. Someone would certainly get hurt. We rather forcefully convince the patrollers to let us go to the bottom of the lift, and they oblige (what choice did they really have). After almost getting clotheslined by the rope, and avoiding downed skiers and snowboarders, I make it to the bottom, but not in first anymore. Been dropped to the third chair. Ah well, that will have to do.

So that was the drama in the morning, the earn it part. The rest of the morning was sheer bliss. Run after run of deep, effortless powder, thigh deep. The best day of the year. Better late than never. Rode with a group of friends at times, as folks made their last appearance of the year at heaven after six weeks of dry purgatory. In the trees, on the main runs, ducking ropes, it didn't really matter. Today, we struck gold and we mined the hell out of it.

Since Eldora is a small mountain, and things tend to get tracked out quickly, I lasted until around noon and then headed home. A quick Saturday nap, as the snow continued to fall, and then it was time to break out the wooden white Norwegian Army skis for a jaunt west. A polar opposite to the morning. Still, silent beauty. Reverent almost. The biggest drama of the afternoon was seeing some massive tracks in the snow, and wondering if they came from a black bear prepared to raid Happy Valley, or a large dog. It turned out to be a large dog. Skied ten miles round trip with Suz, towards 4th of July campsite. Followed well laid tracks for a while, then a single track, and then breaking trail. Hard work, but there was a satisfaction in the effort. Passed the time soaking it all in, and playing around with the digi camera.

The trees were spectacular. Sunken, covered with a thick layer of snow, row after row, across the valleys towards the continental divide. The river moved along as well, not at a trickle and not at a roar. A comfortable pace, similar to our ski. The riverbeds, slightly iced over. Near the top of our ski, at around 10,000 feet above sea level, a good 24 inches of snow, which will do wonders for our snowpack and water supply.

And then we headed back home. Down, down, down, gliding quickly, silently. Got home, and after catching the Red Sox win on the NESN (no idea how I'm getting that - the first pitch I saw was a Sox home run...a great day indeed) it was off on the next adventure, a night time hike up Spencer with the dogs. The snow picked up again, and by the top I was breaking trail through knee deep snow. Breaking trail for my dogs - the lazy bastards! I felt a bit like Rocky training for that fight in Russia against Ivan Drago. All I need to do now is hang up a big slab of meat in the shed, and start punching it on a regular basis, and I'll be all set for Montezumas! Reached the top, at Champion Mine, and gazed through the snowy haze at Happy Valley, sparkling below. Suz and I fell back in the snow and made snow angels, like 8 year old kids in the first storm of the year. And then headed back down the mountain, to Really Happy Valley, to get ready to do it all over again tomorrow.

Friday, April 9

A darned fine day for rigid fork fans. Found out today that Fat City Rigid Forks are going back into production in very small runs. According to Wendyll Behrend at the Fat Chance barn in Vermont, they "are in the process of bringing our rigid forks back to market and "the guy in the barn in Vermont" is working on the first batch of five." Shoot them an email at yobetty@aol.com if you're interested. In my opinion, these are one of the best forks for 26" bikes available for rigid fans. Speaking of rigid forks, I've been dealing with the guys over at Wily Cycles to get this key component to project 2.9 X going, and I have to say they have been awesome to work with. So while we're spreading the corporate love (although both these companies are more skilled craftsmen than corporate), give them a look at www.wilycycles.com.

Pouring rain today, and they are prediciting a major snowstorm in the high country, right in time for the last weekend of the year at Eldora. And, it's Friday! What more could you want? Well, SOMA could reopen I suppose.

Thursday, April 8

My rides this week are starting to develop a theme: cold rain. After hiking the past few days in the spectacular, misty, wet mountains, decided to get back on the bike today and ride the only legal singletrack in the Boulder area. A quick hour and fifteen minute jaunt on a normal day - you get up in the hills a bit, and it's a good break from a long workday. Such were my thoughts upon heading out at 4 p.m. this afternoon for a routine spin on this loop.

Today's ride was anything but routine. After the initial painful climb, it started to rain. No big deal, as I quite enjoy riding in the rain. Unfortunately, it was accompanied by the bad ass of the mountains, lighting. Lightning scares the hell out of me. I've had some very close calls, including a near miss, or hit depending on your perspective, about five years ago up on Caribou Flats while setting up the old race course. I'm leery of it to the point where when I'm riding and lightning is anywhere in the vicinity, I'm hyper alert for any raising of the hair, or anything feeling a bit off. A sign like this, and I'm quickly off the bike, scampering for safe ground. A bit neurotic perhaps, but I don't imagine getting struck by a huge lightning bolt is good for longevity.

And so it went today - riding, watching the skies, counting lightning to thunder (it was at 2 seconds today), waiting around when things got too gnarly, and pedaling damn fast across any open sections to avoid exposure. Had I gone one ridge over from where I was, to Sunshine Canyon, I would have been in the midst of the blasts. It was an odd day for lightning, a bit too cold I thought, but this time of year literally anything can happen weatherwise.

All the while, the rain came down with increasing strength. Soaked to the skin, with water gushing off my helmet and down my face as I tried to negotiate the final, rough descent. Discovered yet again that my jacket is completely useless in the rain (unless you need a sponge), so as soon as I finished the ride and had a hot shower, I bit the bullet and ordered up a nice, new waterproof jacket designed especially for mountain biking in such conditions. Today was not so bad - I only had to descend from around 6,700 feet to 5,400 feet. Had I climbed to Gold Hill (8,200 feet) or an equivalent height, the combination of wet and raw cold could have been deadly coming back down. I've been there more than once - including a time in the mid-1990's where a buddy and I were forced to break into a shed in Left Hand Canyon to borrow any clothing item we could find to prevent my 140 pound skin and bones body from freezing to death.

I'm not complaining about the elements. Being cold, feeling the lightning a ridge away, pedaling through sleet and snow, the uncertainty of it all, the power of mother nature is what makes mountain biking, in my opinion, the best sport in the world. The balance (not a battle) between my will power and common sense with the awesomeness of whatever the skies can bring down. Nothing is predetermined, and it's certainly not a controlled environment. Combine that with being in the woods, on a narrow trail - this encapsulates everything mountain biking is about. Today, while sitting on the ground waiting for a particularly harsh volley of lightning to pass, I happened to be next to a young sapling Juniper Tree. Stopped my thoughts for a few minutes and just looked at the thing, the way it grew, the way the water beads dropped off the branches, trickling to the ground. An experience you simply don't get pedaling the road bike along the dreary dusty streets to Carter Lake.

Been reading a great book the past few days, Silver Saga by Duane A. Smith, that tells the story of Caribou, Colorado. Caribou, which is on the ridge north of Happy Valley, was a booming mining town with more than 3,000 residents in the 1870's. Today, absolutely nobody lives there. The ultimate ghost town story, so check it out today.

Monday, April 5

Staring outside all day, gazing west, with a nervous anticipation. Today was the first weekday after daylights savings time, which, for the past five years has marked the first commute home. It's a solid commute - 25 miles with about 4,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain. If you want to call it training, I suppose you could, but really it's my salvation during the long hot summer. And if it helps me get fit for a few "events" later in the year, so be it.

The skies were not promising. Gray all day, with thick layers, billowing towards the sky. The clouds didn't lie either - a quick check of weather underground showed a massive patch of green (rain) and blue (snow) extending from the Sangre de Cristos to Steamboat Springs, centered, it appeared, smack dab over Happy Valley. Around 4 p.m. it started to rain in Boulder, and I began to have second doubts. While I love epics, I don't necessarily wish that the first climb of the year be a Gavia style, rain through snow hypothermia inducing affair.

But to hell with it. The rain in Boulder ceased, and I simply stopped looking at the radar. And despite the gray clouds, at 5:30 sharp I suited up. Wool socks, leg warmers, baggies, Patagonia silk weight, a NEMA top and short fingered gloves. My theory being it would be hot going up, and if I got drenched, I'd still have a woolly and a parka to toss on for the long, endless ride on the dirt road. After the climb. The climb, which takes place between miles three and seven, is a bitch. 2,700 vertical feet in those four miles, and a significant number of stretches where you could almost pop a wheelie and land on your back. Someone once told me it was the second steepest road in the U.S., but who knows.

So the climb starts all well and good, except for the fact that the first mile is absolutely vertical, and I'm not in great form right now. In good shape, from skiing, but the body must adapt to climbing, get smooth, in the metronome tick-tick up. That will have to wait until later though. Climbing is almost cleansing, the pain washing away any stress accumulated over the winter. The body will get stronger, and so will the spirit, as spring and summer progresses.

It's very early season, so today rode the geared bike. Spun! My goal for this year is to be a bit smoother, and push a slightly smaller gear going up, at least until I get back on the single and blow that theory to smithereens. Kept it easy, and felt all in all good. Slow but steady.

Things really started to feel cleansing when a drizzle started, and then, about a third of the way up the climb, a steady, cold rain. And it was cold, probably 39 degrees or so. I wasn't really getting all that warm going up, a sure sign of trouble when things started to get crisp and the rolling descents on the muddy Magnolia road began.

But what are you going to do? I had to finish the climb - never ever quit going up - but was less than enthused about freezing my skinny ass off on the remaining 15 miles once the summit was reached. By now things were getting ugly. Thunder was clapping above, and the rain seemed to be picking up a few ice crystals. And I was getting colder, even as I tried to push the pace.

I figured I could survive to the top, but would not mind a ride over the dirt portion home. Busted out the AT&T cellular, and, after struggling to get one bar of signal strength, gave a wishful call home, politely asking for a ride, and trying not to sound too terribly concerned. Made it clear that I wanted to reach the top, and if I wasn't there, my girlfriend should wait for me. No quitting on the first climb of the year.

This was a wise move, but since I only left a message, and didn't actually talk to a real person, I was more than a little prepared to have to slog through the sleet and snow 15 miles through dirt and rock home. And freeze to death.

Approached the last few steep sections and almost did fall over backwards, as I decided to show off for the passing car and cut the switchback to the absolute vertical spot. Got the thumbs up, but was now basically shivering as I climbed. Soaked to the bone, that deep cold that saps right into the marrow and takes a warm shower, some tea and about three hours to recover from.

If my ride home didn't show up, this would be an epic for the records. A little early for that, I figured, so I hoped. And continued climbing. The last two switchbacks, and voila, reached the summit. Hopped in the woods for shelter, and forced my slightly numbed self to take off the wet clothes, toss on the Merlino wool, the parka, the Swix gloves and hat, and prepare for the worst.

And then, with headlights glimmering through the sleet, rain and darkening night, my angel showed up. No hesitation here. Took the wheels off the Moots, tossed her in the back seat, and entered the cocoon of warmth. Shivering slightly, but glad to be warm. As the miles ticked by, and we gazed at the rain turning to snow through the thin visible line created by the wipers, I didn't have many regrets. You never like to end a ride, but it's a long season, and I was stoked to finish the first big climb of the year well and relatively intact. A bigger storm than I thought initially. Here at 8,750 feet above sea level, a spring snowstorm is blanketing the Rocky Mountains with a few inches from New Mexico to Montana.

Saturday, April 3

Winter - or at least a bastardized version of it - returned to the hood last night. Woke up to 6-8 inches of fresh slop, complete with a very thin ice crust layer from the mist over the mountains. Actually, a great day at the mountain, with very first tracks on Corona, and some shockingly deep runs on Salto Glades in the wake of avalanche work from the patrols. Day fifty of lift serviced skiing/boarding this winter. 50 days at the hill has been a goal of mine for the past three seasons, following a time from around 1994-1997 where I skied very little. Prior to that, I used to ski race train almost 200 days a year, in the bitter cold hills of Vermont. Truth be told, I got a little sick of skiing after that. But I find now that about 50 days a year leaves me satiated for winter, and avoids burn out on the bike later in the season.

Of course, if I didn't have a job, and lived in a place like Lake Louise or something I'd probably want much more, but you do what you can. Actually, lift serviced skiing and big all day adventures are the only outdoor activities affected by my job. I probably nordic skied 100 days this winter - plenty - and I can ride up to five hours before and after work any day I want (as could anyone who works a 9-5 job for that matter). Speaking of riding after work, the time changes tomorrow, which opens the window for long, peaceful climbs home. Time to tune up the geared Moots, and ease into the climbing thing, as opposed to the sledgehammer effect of Mag or Kiterod on the single. That must wait until much, much later in the year.

Friday, April 2

So anyway, Banff was the shiznizzle. Everything about it rocked. The mountains surrounding the Bow River Valley were sheer, rocky, white and spectacular. Almost Alp-like, considerably more jagged than the hills in this neck of the woods. The nordic area was great, and it was super inspiring to be skiing at a place where the Olympic Games were held. Makes you go that extra ten percent harder, out of pure inspiration, the dreams of the younger days. Got in four mornings of nordic skate skiing, under a dawn sky with absolutely nobody else out there. Can't ask for much more than that.

More highlights. Lake Louise is without a doubt the best ski mountain I've ever been to. There are some tremendous chutes off the backside - narrow, one line hop turn stuff down a 45 degree slope. My favorite kind of riding in big, expansive terrain. I could spend a season there, or twenty for that matter. Canadian people are great, super chill, nicer and a bit less sarcastic than folks from this country. I'll definitely be going back - especially since plane tickets from Denver to Calgary are only about $230.

It always feels good to be traveling north. My favorite direction. Especially this time of year, as the days get longer, and the sun never sets. Midnight sun is the ultimate energizer. Looks like I've got a couple trips coming up to the north country in the upcoming months too. One definite trip to Iceland at the end of this month, and a promising opportunity for a paid work/play trip to the Yukon in June. We'll see about that one, but I do hope it happens.

Back on the bike full swing now, at least in the mornings. We'll save the first commutes home for next week when the time changes. For now, playing in the mornings in our stunningly dry woods. Today's ride was stellar - perfect temperatures, and I felt a little less guilty knowing snow is predicted for the next few days.

Sold a bike today, my IF Cross bike. Some good memories on that rig, but I have not been riding it much since the move to Happy Valley, as it's not the best ride for the loose scree terrain that is common on many of my commute and training routes - mainly 505 and the Switz Trail. So I'm moving to something a bit burlier, a bike with the benefits of a cross bike, but the burliness of a mountain bike. Project 2.9 X goes into full effect tomorrow, thanks to fundage from the cross bike sale.

I feel especially good about the sale because the guy buying it is from Juneau, Alaska! Peace of mind knowing the Planet X will be exploring the mountains of the Tongass Forest for the next, oh say, 20 years of her life. Some may think bikes are inanimate objects, but I'm fairly convinced they are living object, with a soul, and I just wouldn't feel right sending a bike like Planet X to Cleveland or something. So Alaska and the Great White North it is!

Thursday, April 1

April Fools Day! On point today for trickery from co-workers and friends but as of yet all is quiet on the western front. Been slacking on entries of late, as I've been travelling and then doing the inevitable scramble to catch up from travel. Went on a spur of the moment, United ticket discounted fare winter salvation journey up to Banff, Canada last weekend for some days of nordic skiing and snowboarding. Skied on the 1988 Olympic nordic course at the Canmore nordic center, and boarded at two phenomenal areas, Lake Louise and Sunshine. More later, but for now I've posted a few photos from the trip.