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Friday, August 29

In a cocoon lately, stuck between the reality of work and the elvish two hour respite of my morning play in the woods. So busy lately, communication with the outside world has been shut off. I've mentioned it before, but the bike is literally the breath of fresh air in days that question sanity. Work has been a curious blend of deadline pressure, passion, frustration and relief the last few days, a strange marvelous melting pot of human emotion. Sort of like a roller coaster ride with no end in sight and some damned scary obstacles ahead. Just go for the ride and pray. Yet my hours in the woods center me, keep me from flying off the handle.

Oddly enough, I'm in probably in best form I've been in all year riding wise, feeling spry on the climbs and feeling more in sych technically than I have in years. Life and riding right now has little contemplation...just hanging on and praying the ride ends up in a good place.

Spinning some trance tonight as the rain beats down outside. My new mantra: play whatever makes me happy and forget about thinking what anyone else would like. Play from the heart, the emotions, the soul. Trying to tap into that energy that makes a rave or club at 2:21 a.m. seem like heaven.

They're predicting snow above 11,000 feet tonight.

Monday, August 25

There's a place on my commute into work, high on a cliff face above a big canyon, where I have a perfect panormaic view of both the high peaks of the Rocky Mountains to the west, and the Denver/Boulder metro area to the east. A place to contemplate why the mountains, which just exist and sit there, look so much more dignified and regal than the city to the east, driven by people going round and round struggling and sweating to succeed.

The problem with our society is not the fact that we have to work 50 hours a week, stare at a computer screen all day or endure ludicrous commutes to earn our keep. No, the problem is that when we play in the woods, dance on our bikes through singletrack and live our lives on our own terms, we're beautiful creatures: dignified and royal. That dignity is stripped when we get in our car, endure long, confined hours in an air conditioned building and endure the endless tirade of modern day life.

The salvation: no matter what we deal with in our day-to-day life, we're suddenly transformed into mythical, mystical dieties - the real us - when we pedal into the woods.

Sunday, August 24

Two thoughts to divulge on the topic of trails.

Back in the early days of mountain biking, there existed a trail in Marin County called the New Paradigm Trail. I've never rode it, but from what I hear it was a stellar singletrack, offering everything mountain bikers could ever desire. Yet this was not what made the NPT groundbreaking. The New Paradigm was used as a test: a test to show that mountain bike trails could blend harmoniously with nature, and could even be used to educate people about the natural world around them. There was modest signage explaining to folks trail etiquette, historical information about the area and key facts about the natural flora and fauna and how to protect them.

It's a brilliant concept. Rather than bitch and moan, Marin local mountain bikers used the NPT to educate riders, in an atmosphere when they are most attentive. Of course, the New Paradigm suffered an ill fate, as Marin enviros couldn't fathom the idea that mountain bikers would give a rats ass about the environment, thought it was a big hoax, and eventually had the county destroy the trail.

Second thought...the word "IMP" and how it applies to trails. According to Merriam Webster's English Dictionary, the word "imp" means either:

1. a small demon: FIEND

2. a mischievous child: URCHIN

After thinking about this for about 3 minutes while cooking up a packet of Easy Mac last night, I've concluded that our local trails lack a certain imp quality. First let me define what an impish trail would be: lots of trees, serpentine, flowing obstacles, elevated features that blend with the environment and an overall dark, deep and mysterious feel. Trails that make you feel like Yoda twisting and turning through a land of elves, goblins and other miscellaneous deviltry.

There used to be trails in this area that had this quality, but they've suffered from overuse and and the snarl of the friendly 2-stroke fuckers. Now to any idiots out there reading this thinking this is a reason to build new trails, I assure you it's not. The last thing we need is to clutter our dwindling woods with more mountain bike trails. But perhaps environmentally enhancing steps can be taken on existing trails, that are already well used but unmaintained and uncared for, to add a certain impish quality back to the routes. Combined with a New Paradigm shift to educate the full squish masses.

Saturday, August 23

I'm still buzzing off the Bjork concert, so I've been surfing her website recently, www.bjork.com, and happened to come across this beauty of a quote from her, in regards to Buddists:

"I've been reading about reincarnation, and the Buddhists say we come back as animals and they refer to them as lesser beings. Well, animals aren't lesser beings, they're just like us. So I say fuck the Buddhists."

Here, here! So anyhow, today I spent the day doing some maintenance work on a route that has become the most popular trail in the Nederland Galaxy. thanks to fat guys, bike shop owners and other enemies who insist on boosting their penis size by "showing" the "cool" trails to all their friends, who go on to repeat the process and so forth. Maybe they'll even get laid in the process, as some idiotic doe eyed freeride-chaser young co-ed is awed by her guides mastery of the local network.

So for my words of wisdom tonight (hold your breathe!) I'll again resort to BeeYork:

"I thrive best hermit style."

For your next ride, instead of jaunting out with the regular posse of partners, go solo, or, if necessary to prevent relationship strife, one other significant other person. In fact, we'll hereby decree the next month Intergalactic Solo riding month, which will end at a big festival at the Intergalactic Single Speed Championships, sort of like the young native american returning from his solo vision quest to massive tribal party. Maybe we'll even make a new bumper sticker, with the words scribed, "FUCK GROUP RIDES." Yeah, that's it!

Finally, here's a shout out to computer software employees everywhere wasting valuable company time, and preserving personal sanity at the same time, reading this website on a daily basis.

Thursday, August 21

A couple new items to check out on the site. First, for the surliest rant this side of the Ted Kazinski, check out our newest blog, the Magnolia Chronicles. You can visit this regularly from the Pilot Blogs link on the left.

Also, we've compiled some photos from Montezuma's Revenge to put together a little slideshow. Enjoy and good night.

Wednesday, August 20

It's warm outside, but the shrill chill of fall is in the air nonetheless. You notice it most in the morning and in the evening in the high country - above 8,000 feet. The glory season. Rides and life become precious in the fall, a race against time, yet also something to purely savor. Gold carpets of Aspen leaves in the woods, the return of the creatures stocking up for winter and the sharper angle of the sun does something to stir the senses.

Of course, we're not quite there yet...I only saw the first yellow leaf on an Aspen tree yesterday, so there's a ways to go still. Nonetheless, the excitement is there. With Montezuma out of the way, fall becomes almost exclusively single speed season, with orange Johnny Rotten answering the beconing call this go around. We'll ride in the mornings, and as long as the light lasts, we'll ride in the evening too. Less objectives now though, more exploration and simply enjoying the sensation of moving at the speed of a brisk wind through the Rocky Mountains.

Did my first ride since the Revenge commuting in with Stein on the other side of the Valley, the north side, which for me is much less well known. Followed the dashed line as far as it would go, a bizarre trek through open meadows, jeep roads and lots of mansions. As Kevin and I were scouting the map, navigating what we thought was some rarely used back route, a dude in khaki shorts and a purple polo went blasting by us, which sort of killed the spirit of the ride. Evidently this area wasn't nearly as remote as we initially thought. But wait...maybe it was. Now that all corners of our earth have been farmed, mined, built up, torn-down, repeat process, etc., I suppose the only real adventure is what's new in your mind. And for Kevin and I, this was unchartered territory.

Born in the wrong era, we were. I can't think of a single one of us who is really cut out and designed to be sitting behind a desk 8 hours a day. Much better suited to tromping arounds the hills all day, searching for food, shelter and other necessities of the simpler time.

Tuesday, August 19

I had originally written up Montezuma's Revenge for the site Sunday night, but just as I was about to post it my computer crashed and I lost the whole entry, so this has had to wait until now, sitting here in Doozy Duds on the Hill at 10 p.m. doing laundry to write this sucker up. So sorry about that.

Anyhow. as many of you probably already know, the Intergalactic Pilots had a good 24 hours at this most epic of events. First the boring numbers. Meriweather had a stellar race, overcoming a crash in the first 10 yards of the race to come in 6th place overall. By the end of the race, Meriweather was the only competitor noticibly moving up in the standings. Joe Lindsey, who we'll call Il Pirate for his climbing prowess, finished 19th in his first modern era Montezuma's Revenge, completing the legendary Grays Peak Loop despite a rough night. I managed to ride 8 loops, which was a personal best for me which ended me up in 11th, a result I was definitely stoked with.

Like Timmy, I find it extremelly challenging to write up a 24 hour race in any assemblage of an organized entry, so I'll try to offer up some of the highlights, lowlights and downright bizarre moments. Starting with the good:

- Mars and the Moon from the ridgeline climbing up Grays Peak. Surreal beauty as the moon cast it's ghostly shine off the scree, the only other lights being a beacon on the top of Grays and the sporatic lights from my other competitors. Climbed Grays with Pilot Munky and Ohio Boy, two outstanding companions who pushed me, carried my gear and kept me moving after a brief puke session after drinking too much Yerba Matte Tea.

- I actually enjoyed climbing Loveland Pass this year, accompanied by Doug (original founder of the original baggy short, Chrome). We kept it fairly consistent and mellow until the end, where we opened up the pace, surrounded again by the moonlit continental divide. Best of all, I had warm clothes for the ride down, unlike last year where I suffered from a nice bout with hypothermia on the same descent.

- The crew of friends following and helping out. If I miss anyone I apologize, but the list goes something like this: King Nimby, Timmy P, Dolph Lungren, Lisa, Oz, Kevin, Mike, Josh, Megan, Suebedo, Knut (bike repair pre race). Special kudos of course go to my kick ass girlfriend Suz who is basically the best crew person in the world. Think racing 24 hours is tough? Try feeding, consoling, clothing and generally keeping someone in check for the same 24 hour period. Add to that a solid week of picking up food and gear for me before the race, and doing chores to reduce my stress load, and you basically have an angel.

- The hoots and hollers of folks as you came into the highway crossing between the CT and the Peaks trail, as lights lit up the mile long descent down the switchbacks.

- Feeling good on Loop 6, driven on by some i-Pod trance and a bike that I absolutely love. No mountain goats this year though!

- Loop 7 with Joshua, rocking it 15 minutes faster than my P.R. Again, without crew folks, these results would be impossible.

- Overcoming numerous crisis, including one on the the CT climb, the bike path, Loop 8 and a bit of a bobble on the Grays Loop. The beauty of 24 hour races: if things are going bad, perservere, and the inevitibly will get better. Hopefully.

- Sunrise on the top of Grays. The expanse of the entire Rocky Mountain west opening up in front of us.

- Dawes Wilson, Thane Wright and Monique Merrill. These guys set a serious bar, Thane and Dawes both rode onto the 11th lap with Thane barely sneaking past the 50 year old Dawes. Meanwhile, Monique crushed the women field and most of the guys finishing 4th overall, first in women, and setting a new course record by 2 full laps.

The Bad:

- It's sort of funny now, but things got sketch on the Loop 8 descent. Basically, Doug and I reached the top at 3 p.m. when we were promptly greeted by hail and lightning on a ridgeline at 13,000 feet. Kind of freaked out, and ended up following one of my competitors down this ridculous descent, but apparently he didn't know where he was going either, because we all got seriously lost. Doug and I got separated, and ended up bushwhacking, sliding and stumbling down a seriously steep log and rock strewn slope as the tempest raged. Had we found the trail, the descent probably would have taken 30 minutes, but as it turned out we were out there for close to an hour and a half, as the icy tempest raged and electricity cracked over our heads.

- Whit hitting a camera man in the first 5 seconds of the race. What in hells name was that guy doing out there? Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen so many cameramen. There must have been a 1 to 1 ratio of photogs to riders. Oh well, Whit recovered nicely from a situation that could have been disasterous.

- Puking at 12,500 feet at 2 p.m. ain't much fun, so cry me a river.

- 10 bucks to get into 'zuma?

- Drama queen. Nuff said.

- Josh an I only saw 15 motos, 12 4-wheelers and one seriously hauling Land Cruiser who nearly ran over my foot on Loop 7, where the rednecks come out and play.

The Bizarre:

- I didn't witness it but apparently one girl hiked up Grays all the way to the top when her wheel slipped off her frame pack and rolled 3,000 feet back down the mountain, never to be seen again.

- More Grays bizarreness. Some dude lost his skewer and rode back down with his wheel duct taped to his fork.

- Where was everyone this year? Montezuma seemed more ghost like than ever, and it seemed like there was nobody within an hour of me - either ahead or behind - on the Grays Loop.

Maybe more on Montezuma's later, including a slideshow, but that covers it for now. Thanks finally to Byron and Andrew for pulling off this epic event once again.

As a bit of a celebration, Suz and I went to see Bjork at Red Rocks last night. Without a doubt one of the best shows I've ever seen. She's amazing...it's like watching a 3 year old with an angelic voice captivate the audience. Like watching a child play. The build was amazing from slow and ethereal to almost rave like by the end. It seems like she deserves an audience like some fancy play hall in New York City rather than a rock concert with a bunch of drunken idiots. It bordered on a classical feel, and was purely beautiful throughout.

Friday, August 15

T-minus six hours. A restless night of sleep, but at least it was a night of sleep. There's some definite nerves in the body, but it's good to have the day of the race finally here. On thing I'm psyched about is that I have a very strong support team this year. Oh well, not much to say. A few last minute details to wrap up and it's off to Montezuma.

Thursday, August 14

So what is this Montezuma's Revenge thing anyway? The short answer would be an act of masochism, but I'll try to give a bit more description. The revenge is a 24 hour mountain biking race, that as far as I know has no parallels in the universe. First the facts: The entire Montezuma's Revenge course is daunting: 234 miles, 37,000 vertical feet of climbing, never dips below 10,000 feet and it crosses or traverses the Continental Divide at least half-a-dozen times. That in itself would be challenge enough. What separates the revenge from any other race is two things.

First, Loop Five. Loop five is the signature loop of the revenge. On paper, it's nothing terribly daunting - 13 miles, although the 5,000 vertical feet of climbing should raise a red flag. Loop five requires the rider to ascend to the summit of 14,270 foot Grey's Peak. Again, nothing to difficult here, except for that the route to the summit is about 5 miles of vertical scree fields. You can't ride it. Competitors must strap their bikes to a frame pack and hike to the summit. It's a good 4 hours of hiking - sometimes longer if the shit goes down - to the summit of the highest peak on the Continental Divide in North America smack dab in the middle of a 24 hour mountain bike race. Oh, and the loop generally is completed at night.

The second factor that makes Montezuma's Revenge challenging is that all the loops on day 2, Saturday, are heinous jeep road climbs that are tough to ride in granny gear when feeling fresh. After 15 hours, it means the second day is a big slog of who can hike-a-bike the fastest and keep moving. As Joey Klein, a legendary 2-time champ of the revenge once said, "Basically, you would never choose to do any of these loops if you weren't racing them."

A few other things. The entire 234 mile length of the revenge has never been completed. Rishi Grewal, a former NORBA champ, rode about 150 miles in 2000, and that's the farthest anyone's ever gotten. Also, the race only accepts 35 entrants, but has never, in the 16 year history of the event, filled to capacity. According to the race director, "Folks call to get info on the race. We send them the map and never hear back from them again."

But then there is the magic of the event. It's always held on, or close to a full moon. It's truly a surreal experience skirting the summits of the Rocky Mountains under a full moon. Like any smaller event, the camaraderie among competitors is phenomenal. I remember a few years back, during the climb up Loveland Pass, being awe struck by the speckling lights of my fellow competitors stringing up the length of the mountain. We shouted encouragement's to each other, ringing bells and other shenanigans to keep the spirit high.

What else separates the event from the others: Reaching the summit of Greys Peak at dawn. Coffee in a lift shack on A-Basin at midnight. The frenzied start following the canon blast at 4 p.m. on Friday. Watching the skies for lightning on day 2. The mountain goats on the top of loop six. The serpentine Colorado Trail at dusk. The list goes on...

Interested in competing? It starts tomorrow at 4 p.m. and you can sign up the day of the race in Montezuma. For the full scoop, check out www.montezumasrevenge.com.

I'm not so nervous anymore. Had an stellar ride last night with Pilot Stein, exploring the Periwinkle region, a rarely visited mini-peak near the old burn area. Exploring possible commuting routes near Stein's new home, and getting ideas for IGSSC 2003. Ended up in a place I've never been before, on a ridge between two canyons in an area that resembled the rolling green hills of Scotland.

Wednesday, August 13

And now we're getting close. 48 hours from now, I'll be beginning the trek up Radical Hill and Loop 4, in Montezuma's Revenge. There's a nervousness, a fear in the body. You try to stay cool, but underneath you're ready to explode, figidy, as the senses prepare for the task at hand. People tell me I'm crazy for doing these events, but I don't feel crazy. I feel kind of tiny, and pretty afraid right now. Must manage the fear, or it will consume me, sapping valuable energy.

Why do I do these events? For glory? Not really. The glory, the accolades, are short lived. People congratulate you the next day, and you definitely go on a bit of a high from that, but it's short lived, and, in the end, hollow. This may sound ridiculous, but I think the reason I compete is that there are these rare moments, every now and then, where you feel like a god. Where the body is in synch, the mind is quick and responsive and you're actually not struggling. You're above it all. It's otherwordly, and only comes after breaking through with a huge effort. I pray that I get to this place this weekend.

The thing is, you can't force it. In fact, this has the counter effect...the body gets tense and you go slow. Must relax and trust that it will come...hopefully sooner than later. The one thing I won't do, and I'm putting it here in writing to hold myself to it, is quit and drop out of the event. That would be unacceptable, and would be the one thing that would be tough to live with for the next 12 months.

Monday, August 11

Remember that Snoop/Dre song from a few years back, "Lay Low." That's been my motto the past few days. Trying to bloody relax before this Montezuma's gig, but truth be told, I wish it would just start already. Not really nervous, so much as I just want to get it on. Went over the tedious process of arranging crew meeting times, food, clothing, etc. tonight, which I don't like so much but has to be done.

Got some great news tonight that the 15-year wonder kid, "Knut," dialed in my bike for the race, got my fork lock out to work and even performed some magical gizmo work to make sure the rear hub engages quicker than normal. This news provided me with such a surge of energy that I was dancing around the living room for an hour afterwards.

One last long ride tommorrow, mellow pace, trying to find the connector to my friend Kevin's house, who recently moved to the high country. On the map it's just a faint brown dashed line, hardly a main thoroughfare, but with a little luck it should go.

And in other, much more pressing news, the date for the IGSSC/Tour de Dewey has finally been announced: Saturday, September 27, 2003. Hold on to your helmets, as more info will be forthcoming as it arrives. Which got me thinking. While I love the whole alien shtick, I saw that Pirates of the Carribean movie last weekend and the thought occured that some sort of Intergalactic Single Speed Pirate theme, black flag with skull and cross bones flapping in the breeze, could be pretty fucking bitching.

Thursday, August 7

Back-to-back days on my flavor of the week ride. Rock, to Sunrise, up Hell Gulch to Freak-to-Freak highway. Hadn't done this ride in months, but optioned it in the last two days because it allows for a relatively long ride on a mellow grade, perfect for a week or so before a big event. Despite the lingering heat wave, I've lucked out both days, as grey skies and a nice breeze (albeit a headwind) have kept things cool both evening.

Hell Gulch is a doozy. I hadn't ridden this "trail" since back in the early 90's. That time I rode down it, and I remember it being one of the most miserable, jack hammer, off camber routes I'd ever experience. I'm not sure if it was a wagon road or what back in the day, but it definitely lacked a certain buffness.

Flash forward almost a decade, only this time it's the route home...uphill. Truth be told, not much of it is all that rideable. The first section goes, but once you get to the middle your basically hiking through shrapnel. It's obvious not many people venture back here, since wildlife is abundant and the area has this sort of magical overgrown feel that makes you think some medival troll will hop out at any moment.

Got a late start this evening, so by the time I arrive at the Freak Highway, it was basically dark. Kept thinking of that Lance Ad..."neither rain, nor the gloom of night," as I pedaled on through the blackness, sans lights, under the gray drizzly moonless evening... although not before I used my cell phone for the first time in a month to call my girlfriend, begging her to meet me in Nederland and order me some take out curry from the local Indian restaurant. Eat your heart out, Johan Bruneel.

During the ride, I thought alot about how my daily rides, regardless of length, are one of the few times during the day that I get to completely take care of myself. Most elements of our life, particularly work, involve giving a lot of yourself to some sort of cause or business. In a way, we sell a little of ourselves to earn our keep. I think this is one reason I enjoy my privateer status as a rider. I've been sponsored on a few small teams over the years, good teams, but I think I felt some residual lack of enthusiasm about taking something that I love and indeed need, and using it to publicize somebody else. So tonight, here's a big cheers to all those privateers rallying on around the world.

Wednesday, August 6

This past weekend I raced with the IMBA/Clif Bar team in the 24 Hours of Adrenaline in Winter Park, Colorado. It's been a long time since I've done a team 24 hour race - I think the last one was the 24 Hours of Moab back in 1997 - and I must say it was a nice breath of fresh air from the standard solo slog fest. Despite some seriously painful sleep deprivation, the event was a blast. The course was perfect on the 32x18 single speed and it was good to be riding and trading encouragements with other competitors. I had a pretty good day on the bike, and my teammates, Heather Szabo, Brandon Dwight and Pete Burhop all rode awesome. We ended up third in the four person category...I think we rode 27 laps...which was a nice perk.

The highlight of the event was between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m., when Heather and I decided to trade three laps a piece while we let our other teammates sleep. It's been awhile since I've ridden at night, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed this ripping, slalom like intergalactic experience. I kept telling myself to "Use the Force," and other random esoteric statements like "feel the terrain," blah blah blah. Oddly enough, the climbs actually felt easier at night, perhaps because you couldn't really see where you were going and thus couldn't psyche yourself out. The only problem is my four year old Niterider lights are beginning to hit their last legs, and I was feeling a bit envious of the riders with the HID new school lights that make the woods look like a night game at Yankee Stadium.

We had a funky set-up in Winter Park. In addition to our standard booth, we also had an area where our mechanic, "Knut" worked on bikes and I set up some turntables, speakers and such to spin some trancy, downtempo tunes, yo! The full on lounge effect. "Knut," who is only 15 years old, is probably the best bike mechanic I've ever seen. Each lap I'd come in, he'd find something new wrong with my bike, and by the end of the event he replaced my brake cables, replaced my brake pads, overhauled my pedals and sized up my seat height. This in addition to setting up our lights each lap, feeding us and making sure we we're pampered at a level I've rarely experience. The kids a rock star, and will go a long way in the bike mechanic world if he so chooses.

Rode the Moots this morning from Happy Valley to Gunsight Ride, over Z-128 and up and over Kite Rod. Getting reaquinted with gears for 'zuma after a couple week hiatus on the 1x1. That's all for now, as hundreds of emails need answering.