Clean lines. It's one of the most beautiful parts of a single speed. Like a solitary snowboard track though a wooded glade in uncut powder, the drivetrain of a singlespeed is aesthetically pleasing to look at. If a minimalistic graphic designer or artist were to portray bicycling, they'd be smart to use the image of a singlespeed.

I noticed this while working on a cruiser bike last night. The blue frame, the silver handlebars and the stellar, one cog chainline. Much more elegant, sleek and simple. Artists and creative people – those who value aesthetics and soul over practicality – are drawn to singlespeeds. Scientists and pragmatists prefer gears, suspension and all that doodad. I know which way I gravitate, but this doesn't necessarily make one better than the other. Different strokes for funky folks that make the world go round.

Been taking lots of photos lately from various corners of the neighborhood, Colorado and even the world. But they just sit on my hard drive, hidden. So I went to Art Hardware yesterday for a solution. Black matting board. Matting spray. An exacto knife. A pen that writes on black. Combined with a cheap but solid photo printer for printing digital pictures, and I can now make simple, cool looking, inexpensive framed photos that tell a bit of the story of our various adventures. Made two last night - one from Iceland and one from the Colorado Trail – with more to come.

Check out Matt Chester's new website. Clean, black and white, and I dig the old school Rage Against the Machine type font. Still waiting on my frame, but the man is crafter, not a mass producer, so the wait for something great is part of the territory.

Monday afternoon, August 30

Transcript received this morning at space HQ (names have been changed to protect the innocent).

> Dear NIMBY, > After the Estes Stage today I decided to take a > lesiurely mountain bike ride with my aging mother on > the Eagle trail north of town. We were enjoying a > pleasant chat comparing the newley released Buckaroo > Barbeque Non-Stick Meat Hook vs. a tradition two prong > BBQ fork, when all of a sudden I was unable to hear my > old mother's failing voice. I looked concernedly to > the North only to discover that heavy machinery > belching black smoke and outputting approximately > three million decibels was disturbing the peace of my > previously magnificent ride. Curses, I say. > I like to take beginning mountain bikers on the Eagle > Trail because of its proximity to town and technical > ease, but I no longer can do so because the formerly > pristine view of the plains and Boulder Open Space is > now tainted by row after row of mindnumbingly similar > suburbian shitholes. > What can be done about these atrocities committed so > close to a precious mountain bike trail and surely > happening at an astounding pace all over the world? > Why call in Cyclchemo Man, the anti-sprawl > eco-terrorism superhero! Just as chemotherapy combats > cancerous growth inside the body, Cyclchemo Man > combats cancerous growth in the city. Got a > subdivision going up? Send in chemo man and the rest > of the monkey wrench gang in to tear it down. > NIMBY clearly has a reputation to maintain and some > members may even inhabit the cancerous growths, so the > support for Cyclchemo Man must come in the form of > secret cash drops. > If NIMBY is in support of the new eco-terrorism unit, > send a representative to meet at the corner of Laramie > and Broadway with a 55 gallon drum of Karo syrup, a > palate of cement, and a garbage can full of diesel and > fetilizer at 0230 on Sep. 13. Best of luck. > Amen,

Monday, August 30

I entered into a mountain bike biathlon race this weekend. I've been wanting to get into ski biathlon for some time, and when I saw this summer version of the sport on the calendar for this weekend at Snow Mountain Ranch I jumped at the opportunity. A bit of background: biathlon is a sport that combines cross country skiing (or in this case mountain biking) and shooting. I think it's origins stem from some game the Russian and Norwegian armies used to play. Basically, skiers ski loops and stop at a target. If they shoot and miss the target they have to ski penalty laps. It's very challenging to get your heart rate down and your body calm enough to shoot accurately.

I purchased a biathlon rifle on the cheap from a friend in hopes of getting into this sport this winter. There is a biathlon range at the Eldora nordic center, and it should make for a nice break for the monotonous loops around the course. So anyway, after a brief safety clinic on how not to kill yourself and others, I took some practice shots. This was the third time I ever shot a gun in my life - the first being an M-16 on an army base as an army brat, and the second being five shots with this very biathlon rifle a few years ago. I impressed myself Saturday by nailing the first five shots I took, which apparently doesn't happen very often. With my ego fully stoked, I then proceeded to completely miss my next 15 straight shots, not exactly a huge confidence boost right before a race.

My strategy for the race was basically to bike fast and hope for the best in the shooting. Sizing up my fellow competitors, they looked very fit but not necessarily like bikers, and they seemed to all be expert marksman. I gunned it at the start, and managed to open up a pretty good lead off the start. Missed a turn (biathletes have a bit to learn about marking mountain biking courses) and had to backtrack, suddenly in last place. By the time we got to the first shooting range, I was back up somewhere near the lead, but I'd blown myself with the effort to get up there.

The first round of shots was in something called the prone position, which means lying down. Aiming while breathing hard was almost impossible, so I slowed down and tried to relax. No matter. I missed four of my five shots, and thus was forced to take four rather hamster like penalty loops. Back on the course for lap two and opened up a lead, but it didn't matter in my head because the next section called for the standing biathlon shoot zone, which is much harder than the prone position. In practice I hit zero shots in the standing position, and was fairly convinced I'd miss all five shots and lose the race because of it.

Nevertheless, I had a strategy. Fire off the five shots as rapidly as possible, barely aiming, so I could get the penalty loops over with as soon as possible. By some bizarre miracle of god, I managed to hit three of the five targets! It was complete luck, which I muttered to some of the spectators who congratulated me for hitting these three shots. I only had to take two penalty laps, which allowed me to cruise the last lap for a very surprising first place finish.

It's always great to learn something new, to have that beginners mindset, and I'm stoked on this biathlon thing. Something new to look forward to this winter. During the event, you could look out to the east and see a fresh blanket of snow covering the continental divide, a precursor to what will hopefully be the mother of all winters. Time to start getting back in shape: some tough but sort of meditative time in the gym, riding in on a regular basis, and for the first time in years, riding up the hill once or twice a week in the fall, enjoying the crisp cool evenings and watching the seasons change before my eyes.

It's been a good year. A successful Revenge, a win in the Yukon and an amazing adventure on the Colorado Trail. But why stop now? I've come to realize that there is no ultimate adventure, or goal in life. It just keeps coming – the next ride, the next race, the next big thing. The beauty of biking, skiing, and just being in the mountains is that you don't have to rest on your laurels until you're basically on your death bed. These are activities you can do until you die, which means I've got at least 70 to 80 years left to do and see all the things that need to be done and seen. Almost certainly not enough time, so the days to waste are few.

Finally, happy birthday to my awesome girlfriend Suzie! 22 years old today!

Thursday, August 26

A quick entry before bed. The pilots successfully completed the Colorado Trail, despite rain, sleet, wind, thunder, lightning, flat tires, bent derailleur, stomach aches, back aches, getting lost, ridiculously high elevation and a myriad of other factors too numerous to mention right now. Instead, a picture album will have to suffice until I get some time this weekend to decompress the trip into words.

Thursday afternoon, August 19

Transcript received from pilots:

"dude. we live. sleet,rain and snow...but we crossed the divide. supposed to get better tomorrow... besides ass chafing, and one flat - we are on fire!"

Damn, that sounds epic. I'm kind of pissed I miss that one. 24 more hours of paying the reaper until I join the crew in Leadville. Meanwhile, the rain beats down in Boulder, as fall and winter seem to be coming early this year.

Thursday, August 19

Take it to the bank. When intergalactic pilots decide to ride the Colorado Trail, the weather will instantaneously turn to sheit. Back in 2001 we met a foot of snow on Kenosha Pass, cutting the trip short. So far this year, we've had a massive rainstorm and flooding just as the crew heads out. I'm meeting them tomorrow night, assuming they get that far!

Sunday, August 15

The poach of the race didn't really happen. Apparently a couple of pilots were somewhere in the vicinity of Cheater's Corner, but I didn't see them anywhere. Just as well. I actually decided to enter the race at 9:30 am while riding up Shelf Road, but upon arrival they informed me that 30 minutes wasn't enough lead time to sign up. It's hard to believe any race promoter can pass up $50, but I guess that's the name of the game these days. Back in the Caribou Mine days, we used to delay the races just so the latecomers could make it to the start. There are still some great races out there, but the whole preregistration, license thing rubs me the wrong way. I mean, if someone who lives a mile from the race course decides they want to sign up and race, it shouldn't be that big of a deal. We're not signing up to spy in Saudi Arabia or something. Oh well. I must say, the course looked pretty cool, utilizing some of the better nordic terrain at Eldora. Maybe next year we'll even "pre-register." (Isn't all registration preregistration?)

Watched the race for a bit with the alien, and enjoyed seeing Travis ride up the hills twice as fast as anyone else on the singlespeed. Met up with Whit and Steffan and rode some of the local boondoggle rocky-as-all-heck stuff in the Happy Valley neighborhood. A splendid day, with a bit of hail at the end to keep things honest. Feeling fairly good on the bike, recovered from Montezuma, which is nice going into this CT thing.

I've been put in charge of "guiding" our group on a stage from Lake City to Silverton, Colorado. This is a mother beast of a route - 45 miles according to TOPO, with about 12,000 feet of vertical climbing. A good stretch of the trail sits above 13,000 feet above sea level, meaning there can be no failure with the body or the weather on this day (an alternate semi-lower route is available if the weather is absolute sheit.) I'm actually quite glad I'm slated to have the day off before this day, as I volunteered for drive commute duty.

Now the good stuff. This route traverses some of the coolest, high alpine terrain in the world. And it has great historic significance. Mail men on skis used to commute this way, risking death by avalanche and freezing to death, all to link the two once prominent communities of Lake City and Silverton. The area is a spectacular cornucopia of old mines, ghost towns, abandoned aerial tramways and other random artifacts from 100-years plus ago. Got to hit Amazon and see if I can find a companion reader about the history of this area.

The trip historian. That will be my official role. I can't really relate to Napoleons conquests or the kings and queens of old England, but I'm absolutely enthralled by the old originals who tromped through the Rocky Mountains. I feel a connection to them, since I try to spend as much time as possible climbing up and exploring their past domain.

Saturday, August 14

My town bike, an old Bridgestone MB 5, got stolen a few weeks ago. The cable lock was left on the ground, cut, so there was little doubt about it. A bummer, because the frame was my girlfriends first ever mountain bike, and a little strange, since the thing was a POS worth no more than $25. The brakes didn't even work. Some poor bastard is going to be in for a little surprise the first time he or she hops on the bike and heads down a hill.

What are you going to do, but build up a new one. Project Blue Rusted Out Ionic is in full effect. Another Suz bike, that fell victim to a nasty crash and a bad, crease top tube dent. Ionic told her not to ride it anymore, and it sat outside for a whole winter, gathering rust. I brought it inside last fall, and it's actually in halfway descent shape. Descent enough for a town bike, at least.

Lots of mish mash parts lying around, and had to order a few new ones to complete the mix. Basically chose the cheapest of each. I've never actually built up a bike from scratch, so this is quite exciting. Banged in the headset with a hammer and a 2x4 to brace it. It's a good bike to practice on, since there is little I can do to damage it more. In the rack, awaiting completion, maybe tomorrow night.

After three years of sitting under snowdrifts, and complete abandonment, the Blue Ionic is coming back to life. This may sound a little weird, but I sometimes imagine my bikes sitting in the shed at night, commiserating. Some feeling good, some feeling left out. For example, Johnny Rotten has had an exceptional year - ridden almost every day, trips to the Yukon, racing in Montezuma's Revenge. Conversely, the Moots probably felt pretty abandoned. Sad, and maybe a bit resentful of Johnny. Until lately, when she's been reborn with a new fork and has been the bike of choice. And, an expedition on the CT awaits the Moots.

I imagine the blue Ionic, awakened from a deep slumber today, suddenly being rebuilt, almost quivering with excitement. No more trails for her, but hopefully many commutes and things to see on the streets of Boulder. And a trip to the Tour de Dewey - certainly a better fate than sitting under a snow drift, rusting to death.

Friday, August 13

Not feeling super verbose lately, so photos will tell most of the story. Four straight mornings of picture perfect riding out. Crisp mornings, great trails, better friends. Now if Bob Costas would just shut the hell up when Bjork is singing, all would be good!

Wednesday, August 11

Stoked to get out a little earlier than normal today and pull something a little bigger. I don't know if it's these cool, almost-pre-cursor to autumn mornings, but I've been feeling stoked to ride this week. Actually wore a ski cap under the helmet today, something I have not done for months, as the first road descent out of Happy Valley has been in the 30's the past few days and is pretty darned chilly and raw. I hope we have a real fall this year – not that joke of an indian summer last year. I want mornings with frost, crisp, cool, wool jersey days and at least a couple freak snowstorms in September and October.

Got up on the Ridge this morning, which seemed to have healed a bit since the last time I was up there about a month ago, despite all the rain. Riding the Moots, getting used to the gears, and actually having fun with it. It's sort of a novelty after a summer of riding the single everywhere. Up and over the top, as I wanted to test the climbing legs a bit. Felt pretty good, thanks in large part to a totally sweet remix in the iPod. Hazy and gray in town – should be some good thunderstorms later on. I am mildly concerned that the weather patterns seem to be not exactly conducive to riding across the state, but I suppose it is what it is. Last time I did this ride, we got snowed out on Day #2, so it can't be worse than that? Right.

Updated the calendar section of this website so all you pilots can schedule the key events with confidence. And for all you Bjork/Trance fans, cut and paste this website into the browser (it's been coded not to link): http://www.trip-of-hope.com/hplace/deepsound.net_bjork_pagan_poetry_remix.mp3

Tuesday, August 10

Eerily quiet on the ride in this morning. Absolutely no cars on the dirt road once I got off trails, which hasn't happened since 9/11/2001 when I noticed there was no traffic anywhere way before I found out about the events of that day. Lots of energy today, probably from sitting around too much not riding as regularly as usual. I have all these great ideas for things to write about while I'm riding, but as soon as I get inside, inside the air conditioned climate controlled office, they dissolve.

But I will say that a day started with a two hour mountain bike ride is a better day than that started with a 1/2 hour bus ride or drive to work.

Friday, August 6

DK was talking about giving a little to get a lot in his blog the other day. This saying never was more apparent than this morning. I gave an hour of sleep, and got a stellar ride with friends on some of the best, rarely used trails in the county. Narrow, overgrown singletrack, abundant late summer wild flowers and more moisture than I've ever seen on the trails in early August. Of course, this is real life, so there were a couple things that kept you on your toes: first, a blinding sun at exactly eye level, making it nearly impossible in place to see rocks or even the trail. What to do but trust it and let the bike find the way. Second, my bike had a mystery shift, that seemed to drop down two gears at exactly the steepest part of the climb. It was almost as if the bike were saying to me, "You want to ride this in granny gear sissy boy? I don't think so! Click, clack, slam, ugh." Maybe one of these years I'll actually learn to tune a bike desrailluer. That or just keep riding the single everywhere.

It was good to be riding with the crew, after a summer of almost entirely solo riding. Upon getting to work, I was asking myself why we only decide to do this particular commute once a year?

Thursday, August 5

Been basically resting the past few days. Not really full rest, as I've been going to work of course, immersing myself in some things that I've put aside for awhile. Feeling pretty antsy with all this rest, a fact that was comically evident when Kevin and I decided to ride up to the Hill for lunch. Instead of a nice casual jaunt on cruisers, I was feeling antsy, so I decided to faux attack him up 9th Street. Of course, Kevin wouldn't just let me drop him, so he hopped on my wheel. Suddenly 9th Street became the base of Alpe de Huez, with Armstrong and Iban Mayo dicing it out on our way to grab sandwiches.

Decided to go for a short ride this evening instead of heading straight home, so I did a nice little road climb up to the a lake and then descended a rocky, overgrown trail that I have not been on all year back home. Riding the Moots, trying to get used to the gears, to pushing a smaller gear. It looks sweet now, since I put the Spicer fork on it. It's so weird riding with gears after pushing the 34x18 all year - it's almost like learning to ride again.

A killer evening in the hills. Rain clouds dot the divide, and beams of the setting sun pop through, basking the moist green grass and purple flowers with warm glow. The past few days I've noticed it's getting noticeably darker. Right now it's 8:30 pm - almost pitch black out. A month ago, I would be completing my rides home at exactly this time in fairly bright light. In a couple of weeks, the crisp mornings and evening will return, a sure precursor to autumn.

Wednesday, August 4

Basking the past few days in the post Montezumas Revenge glow. It's a lot of work getting ready for this thing, and it feels good to be done, to have completed in an honorable fashion, to have a result I'm fairly happy with. You always look at little things and say what could I do better, but I think it's also important to just be happy for a little bit, and enjoy an accomplishment before delving straight into the next task.

As satisfying as it feels now, it was unquestionably the toughest Montezuma's Revenge I've done. And this had very little to do with the singlespeed. The singlespeed was almost a non-factor. It was a little slower on the flats, but was faster on many of the rideable climbs, and an absolute wash on the sections where everyone had to walk anyhow, which were considerable. It got a lot of attention, but to me the only reason I rode it was because it was the bike that felt right at that moment, and it was the bike I was used to from riding all summer. So enough on that topic.

I probably suffered more than any other revenge this year, or at least the suffering is fresher in the mind. Lots and lots of occasions where every ounce of me wanted to quit, but something kept the body pedaling. There were sections – parts of the night loop come to mind, as well as the entire upper section of Grey's Peak – tha were some of the most painful of my life. And then there was the stoke of coming through it, and having a strong, fun second day.

So the race started off chaotically as usual, with a dynamite blast in the old town of Montezuma. Up around the mine tailings, in a mad dash, which I came through in next to last place, right behind Dawes Wilson and Colleen Inken, both former champs. Lots of rookies this year, who seemed to find it essential to grasp the hole shot in the first 10 seconds of a 24 hour race. Up the first climb, and passed about 20 folks, including another guy doing the race on a singlespeed using a 32x23 gear ratio. He told me as I went by that he "spiked" on the start. Yeah, that tends to happen at 10,000 feet above sea level sprinting up mine tailing like Ben Johnson. Unfortunately, he had some misfortune later in the race, crashed on a bridge and apparently knocked himself unconscious and out of the race.

Onward we went, through the massive crowds (about 100 people) in zuma, around the early loops, before heading out on the night loop. Feeling steady and good, riding way more than I thought I would and actually making up ground hiking on the dudes spinning the granny gears. Cool. Down to the Colorado Trail, where, for the third year in a row, I suffered. Can't really understand why this section hurts me so bad. It's not all that steep, and it's one of the most fun sections of the course. I do know this. If I'm going to take the jump to the next level in this race I need to improve in this section. The past three years, I've made a late run, but I've sort of dug myself a big hole because I suffer on the CT. It would be nice to have a good end run and not be so far back in the pack.

Oblidee-oblida, it is what it is. After an hour of hell, the body comes around again, and its a relatively quick jaunt around Frisco, Keystone, the new section of trail and up to Montezuma. Easier than previous years, but hardly easy. I think I arrived in zuma a shade before midnight, in pretty good spirits, thankful to be there and to have not given into the demons of the mind and dropped out. And how are you really going to drop out anyhow? You have crew people who have committed to being there, and who knows where that nice warm comfortable car is? Deep down though, I think I realize that 24 hours of pain is much easier to handle than a winter of regret.

OK, so now we've come to the feared Grey's and Torrey's Loop. Spirits rise here for a number of reasons. First, I like to hike and there are few things better (in theory) than being on top of a 14,000 foot peak at sunrise. Second, I get dinner from my fabulous girlfriend Suz before the hike. Momo from Kathmandu in Nederland this go around. Finally, I now have a crew member to pace me along and keep the spirits high. King Nimby, a very good friend and mountain comrade was the victim this year. Everyone is so impressed with the competitors of this event, but the crew members are perhaps even more spectacular. King Nimby hauled a 60 pound pack to the top of Greys and Torreys, fed me, catered to me and kept me in one piece, all in the middle of the night when any sane person would be sound asleep. Dave: you're a freaking rock star. To Shenna - thanks for letting Dave out for the night!

Dave said in his blog I was hurting him. If this was the case, he does a pretty good job hiding the pain, as he seemed to be doing just fine. However, near the top of this beast of a climb, I was doing anything but fine, and Dave came to the rescue, keeping me moving, keeping me from getting hypothermia, and keeping a rather dire situation somewhat light. I was moving so slow - basically, I now know what it feels like to be 80. I'm not sure if it was the altitude, or a lack of hiking this summer, but for whatever reason I definitely hurt alot. It was really cold - about 25 degrees with a very stiff wind sweeping across the barren, rock strewn ridge. The good thing was, it seemed like everyone else was hurting too. Everyone but Colleen Inken, a former Mt. Everest climber and zuma champion who was running between the peaks.

The Greys to Torreys and back to Greys episode was just cruel, both physically and mentally. But, I only have myself to blame. I sent an email to the race promoters last September telling them to choose this route. They told me later this was the impetus for doing the traverse. I will say that through my dazed stupor, it was amazing to see the full moon to the west, and a deep red sun pop over the horizon and the lights of Denver to the east. I wish I had been more coherent to actually enjoy it, as even now it sort of seems like a faded memory, like a dream.

Now it was the simple matter of heading down the mountain. No easy task, and as it warmed up and the body started to sweat, things really started to hurt. We sort of rolled down the mountain, like a sack of potatoes. But it worked. Back on the bike now, down the rockiest son-of-a-bitch road in the world into Montezuma, where just eight hours of climbing insane loops awaited.

I used to collapse at the end of these races. Back in 2000, I was in 4th place coming off Greys, and ended up in 16th, sitting on the side of the trail, crying, with my feet in a stream. The last three years, it's been a total reverse. Slow early, cruising at the end. Came off Greys in around 27th place this year, but feeling relatively OK. Sort of curious how the legs would respond on the single, but I had a powerful weapon in my corner. Meriweather as a pacer. I can safely say there is nobody I would rather have haul me around on the day two loops than Whit. He is extremely strong, even more patient and someone who I just enjoy hanging out with. The afternoon felt more like one of our epic rides than a race, as we discussed everything from ATV's, to EPO to Marmots. We stopped little, and rode pretty quick for hours 16-24 of a race. Lots of hiking, and the feet hurt like hell, but things were good now.

We cruised through loops five and six, but things were going to be tight to squeeze in loop seven. The options were either to go for it, or sit in a lawn chair, drink beer and veg out. And while the latter was tempting, we decided to go for it. We flew up the rideable part of the climb, and this was one section where the singles were definitely an advantage. Had we been on a geared bike, we would have been spinning. It's cool what the body can do when it needs to. Steady up the climb, but this is a long loop on top, that wraps around the ridgeline forever. We were going about as fast as we could, and it was looking iffy. Storm clouds were converging near the top, and lightning was a dull, real risk. With ten minutes to go, at 3:50 pm, we made it to the top checkpoint. A great accomplishment, and we could have stopped there.

But this was a 24 hour race. It was almost impossible to complete the descent back to zuma in 10 minutes, but we had to try. Fortunately, I've had a bit of experience in this scenario, as I was involved in an almost instant replay two years ago with Dave. This time around, we were on rigid ti forks, with no big ring. We definitely put that Spicer's break theory to test, as this was definitely the fastest descent I've done since that one with Dave two years ago. In the end, we missed the cutoff by two minutes. We did, however, set the fastest time for loop seven of the entire day, breaking the previous fastest time by four minutes.

A good way to end the day, and it was awesome to share it with a friend. Whit and I have not hung out much this summer, and this was a killet way to catch up. Ended up completing seven loop, finishing in 12th place, and riding and climbing farther than I've ever gone before in this race (they eliminated a very short loop in the new course, so while the loops are less the total mileage is more).

A special thanks must go out to my girlfriend Suz, who once again crewed me for the entire 24 hour race. She is a light when things are pretty grim, and a huge motivation to keep on moving. She understands that this race is important to me, and allows me to go for it.

So that's that. Time to relax mentally and enjoy the Rocky Mountains in late summer and fall and take care of a few real life things that I've been putting aside for the past few months.