Thursday, July 29

Well, if all goes well, I'll be starting up Grey's Peak around this time tomorrow evening, heading to the top of the world in the dead of night. Probably will be quite dark too, as they are predicting cloudy skies and rain. All the makings of a serious epic. Found out today that there will be a Moots frame awarded to the competitor who can traverse from Greys Peak to Torreys Peak and back to Greys the fastest. That would be a nice goal to shoot. I have a 1 in 30 chance at that (since there are only 30 competitors), and maybe a bit better since I'll have the lightest bike which should make for improved scrambling at 14,000 feet over scree fields in pitch blackness.

Nervous, but looking forward to the race. Heck, it's only 24 hours, and there are few things better than hanging out in the high peaks all day. A reporter from the Summit Daily News called today asking about the race. He asked me my goals. I told him it would be swell to get to the top of Loop 9 and the summit of Arapahoe Basin, but that there are so many things that can happen that make rigid goals like this a bit unrealistic.

Strapped an Icelandic Viking figurine mojo to the Johnny Rotten tonight, for good luck and a little courage. Heck, you can't be afraid with an Icelandic warrior guiding the way! A full report upon completion!

Friday, July 23

It wasn't really a very sensible evening to ride home. Around 4 pm in Boulder, the rain was falling down sideways and lightning was crashing 1/4 mile from the office. This was the peak moment in a very rainy past few days in the county. Splendid in my book, but I mentally told myself no ride today - go to the gym, lift a little and stretch.

As 5 pm came about I looked outside again. Still raining significantly, but the thunder and lightning had at least abated. And it's been a long tough week at work. I wanted to ride, but the offers kept coming - a ride home from the bus stop from Suz, drinks and dinner with Kevin and Maggie to celebrate a birthday of someone. All the while, in the corner, sat Johnny Rotten, waiting patiently.

And then a change in attitude. It's only rain. You won't melt. You like rain. Indeed. Sprung to action, suited up and prepared to battle the elements. Co-workers looked at me incredulously, which fueled this mission just a bit more. Rage against the machine – rage against the norm and ride pilot.

It wasn't particularly cold, but it was wet. 4,000 feet of climbing awaited. You stay warm on the climbs. Up the bike path, I passed one solitary jogger. Streams of water puddled along the sides. The creek roared, brown and foaming. Onto the road, in a cocoon. Pretending I'm Lance for the evening, out when nobody else is. Live strong. Commercial message for sure, but I like it. Took the right hand turn up Sugarloaf. Out of the saddle for the first part of the climb. Feeling pretty good. Cars pass by, passengers occasionally giving a smile or a thumbs up.

Water is pouring down my helmet, through my sponge-like jacket, and it feels absolutely cleansing. Breathe in the crisp, moist air, breathe out a cloud of smoke. Into the narrows, staying seated, motoring. The road gets steeper, to the point where the cadence slows on the single. Back out of the saddle. More rain, soaked to the skin, but I'm not melting! No, today I'm pretending I'm Lance on some back roads climb in the Pyrenees, the boss, dictating the pace the the rain, the mountain. Pure fantasy of course, but if you can't dream you're already dead.

Over the top. Man, it gets chilly quickly! The rain mixes with the sweat, and I'm blinded by a piercing sting in the eyes. Glasses are useless, but without them debris gets in the eyes. So I make my way down the descent barely able to see a thing, through the clouded veil of the orange Nike shades.

The descent is over soon enough. Now onto dirt, climbing again. This is a shorter climb, and I'm finally getting a rhythm down, warming up. And then the rain slows, and finally stops, leaving in it's wake a mosaic of clouds whisping of every little peak, ridge and valley. Wow. Toss on a dry jersey, and continue along. Fly up a switchback, up over the top, and back down. Onto pavement. The divide to the west is misty and beautiful beyond words.

One last climb, and I'm stoked. Stroked to have ridden, to be in this beautiful place. As adults, we're taught to accept the elements. As a biker, we learn to embrace them.

Monday, July 19

Right before I left from work for my ride home, I gave my tubeless tires a quick shot of air. Snap. A previously weakened valve stem snapped, so I had to deal with trying to figure out how to take the damned stem out of the rim, and then quickly put in a new tube. With the low gearing of 32x18, I decided to go up either the north side or the steeper south side route. A stiff wind was billowing down the canyon, and since the south side is a bit more sheltered and winding, decided to head up that way. A tough climb on the single, but it went well, as the iPod helped keep the climbing rhythm steady. Even got a nice little rainstorm at the top of the climb, cooling things off a bit. I hadn't climbed this route in approximately two months, and it was nice to get reacquainted with an old friend.

The new Spicer ti rigid fork arrived in the mail today! It's amazingly light, and makes my Fat City Big One Inch fork feel like an anchor. I strapped it on the back of my camelbak for the ride home, and I didn't even notice it was there. Need to cut the steerer tube and put in a star nut, and we'll be good to go. I think I'll take it to a shop to do this, as I have neither the tools nor the confidence in my mechanical abilities to make a straight cut on this rather expensive piece of craftsmanship.

It seems the new rage amongst some of the pilots is big hit, freeride bikes. And I suspect, given the right terrain, they could be fun. Then again, after seeing Meriweather do some absolutely amazing things on a completely rigid singlespeed – riding stunts, gnarly descents and significant wheelie drops, I wonder what the point is? After all, if you're a pilot, and you have the force going for you, who needs a big hit freeride bike?

Sunday, July 18

Finally got up to Montezuma to sample partsof the course that I was unfamiliar with and test out the single speed gearing. A successful day on both counts. Finally nailed down Loop 8, which was a major debacle last year because I got lost, and managed to check out all of the new stuff. Kind of packed it in, as I'd rather only spend one more day up there as opposed to two, so now all I need to check out is the whole Grey's/Torrey's deal. The single speed is going to be hard, but it's hard anyway you slice it. To me it's a non-factor, and I don't want to make a big deal about it. It's probably a disadvantage in certain sections, and an advantage in others, so I think it's pretty much a wash. It works for me though.

Saw our favorite Klein rider up there riding the loops, so I assume he's doing the race. I say assume because while we passed each other three to four times over the course of the day, he never uttered even a single word of acknowledgment. Actually, I don't think he has any clue who I am (and why should he?), but wouldn't be sort of normal, on a trail with zero other people anywhere in sight, to at least say hello to a fellow mountain biker when passing? I think he may have been getting slightly annoyed with me actually, as I was kind of following him on a section of the course that I was unfamiliar with. I'd sort of catch up to him on the climbs, but hung back enough so as to not interfere with his ride, since he clearly didn't want company. Near the end of the ride, I followed him onto a wrong turn, and when he turned around I jokingly said "wrong way, huh?" This was returned with a sort of death stare and utter silence. So that was that.

A new Bjork album is due out in a little more than six weeks! Medulla, which apparently has no instruments other than Bjork's voice and a human beat box, is due out in the states August 31! I'm sure this will be getting a fair amount of air time on my iPod on those early morning frosty rides in this fall.

It always happens to me around this time of year, as the thermostat keeps getting ramped up. I start thinking about the still, peaceful days skiing through the woods, with a light fresh snow falling. Or, the days at the hill with the posse, dancing in the woods, gliding down on our snowboards or other tool of choice. I start looking forward to the cooling of the days, the longer nights, the fresh smell of a wood burning stove, the zen like satisfaction of splitting wood. And more snow riding this year, as I plan to make Johnny Rotten a dedicated snow bike in the winter once the Matt Chester arrives. A long ways to go though, and there is still much left to do this summer!

Been thinking a lot lately about life, and what my damned purpose is here. It's definitely tempting to do everything possible to make my own life as simple as possible: get a plot of land far away from the world, live a completely stress free life and ride my bike and ski all day. Very, very tempting, and perhaps this is the right way to go. Then again, it seems like the world is at something of a state of emergency, and maybe I need to make a more focused effort to influence the future. To teach people to build a love for the planet, to do the right thing to each other, to stand up for some of the ideologies presented on this site. Truth be told, I've led a selfish life thus far - it's been a ton of fun and I've seen alot. But the time is drawing nearer to take this to the next level.

Saturday, July 17

Spent this Saturday down at Boondocks Fun Park in Thornton, playing Laser Tag, Go-Cart racing, mini golf and a whole host of super fun activities that I almost never get to do. Part of this youth program that Suz and I are running. Very fun stuff, with a killer group of kids. Managing 17 kids is basically controlled chaos. You're never really in control, and the more you try to tighten the noose, the more you lose control. The key, it seems to me, is relaxing, having fun and using some subtle influences to get things to go in the right direction. I should say that Laser Tag is one of the coolest games I've ever played, and definitely has a certain intergalactic theme to it, with black lights everywhere, Luke Skywalker and Han Solo style blasters and space age trippy music. We may have to take the next birthday party for one of the pilots to this place.

Watched the Tour de France today. Quite a stage, and it was amazing to watch some of the best riders in the world crumble. They are indeed human. I'm a Lance fan, because I think it's sweet when people try to do something never done before. I don't buy the argument that Lance should not win a 6th tour out of respect for the other guys who won five. That's like saying Roger Bannister should not have broken the 4-minute mile mark because it's disrespectful of the other guys who tried before him. I can't even imagine the stress he's going through right now - the pressure to win, the seemingly anti-Lance attitude prevalent amongst much of the crowd and the whole drug scandal thing.

I was sad to see Tyler Hamilton drop out today. I used to ski race with him at CU, and he actually owned a house for awhile in Nederland. He has since returned to the area, and his recently passed away dog Tugboat actually has spent a fair amount of time at my place of work (I joked with my coworkers that this dog was worth more than us!). A passed away dog and a bad back spells a damned unfortunate week. Anyhow, here's hoping for a quick recovery and good experience in the upcoming Olympics. Speaking of the Olympics, a big congrats to an original pilot JHK, for making the team (the photo on this entry is him riding the RIP Death Star Bridge at the first IGSSC in 1999).

Off to Montezuma tomorrow morning to scout out the course. No expectations for this race, other than to push myself as far as I can go, be stoked about my effort and have lots of fun.

Friday, July 16

A little worn out on the bike. Started up the old Lord of the Rings Trails last night and just wasn't feeling the love, so decided to call it a day early. You've got to do that once in awhile, when the batteries are feeling a little low. And yesterday was that day. And it worked - this morning I was stoked to ride and did a little exploratory solo mission in Hyper Active Z neighborhood.

On Wednesday rode an old route that I have not been on in some time, up to the Ghost Flats, and then down Sophisticated Gulch. Rode with a couple of friends through a steady drizzle. Tacky on the climb, and perfect on the single. A few claps of thunder had me a little nervous, but what's a ride without dodging lightning bolts at 10,000 feet above sea level? The sky was amazing ­ clouds interspersed with a reddish hew from the setting sun, with the snow patched continental divide in the background, and a green sea of earth and vegetation, broken up by Indian Paintbrush, Columbines and the most amazing wild flowers I've ever seen.

Sophisticated Gulch is hairball descents, with lots of loose rock, fall away turns and low lying shrapnel to decapitate you. All in all, a typical good fun, Rocky Mountain-type route. Through an old ghost town near the bottom, a quick jaunt onto a classic, perfect singletrack (but what's up with the huge cattle fence?), one last climb just as darkness hit, and straight to Kathmandu for a big plate of MoMo with friends. All in all, that's about as good as it gets in my book.

Struggling with the whole geared bike thing, so I've decided I'm going to run a 32x18 on the single and do Montezuma's on Johnny Rotten this year. Why the heck not? I feel way faster on it and simply have more fun. Ordered up a Spicer fork for suppleness, so it's all good. I'll walk more than most, but I'll also have a bike that's about five pounds lighter than anyone else's, no small factor on the Grey's Peak and Torrey's loops. It could be a disaster, but I suspect it will be more of an adventure than anything else. And adventures, no matter how masochistic, are always a good thing.

The weekend awaits, and with it a day up to scout out zuma, another day hanging with my volunteer youth group, interspersed with OLN viewing of the Tour de France. A doozy of a stage today from the looks of it.

Sunday, July 11

A fun mellow weekend, before going into a little bit more of a focused time before zuma. Rode a little, hiked up the mountain with the pups, danced to some killer trance Saturday nightand hung out with friends. Oh, and put the rigid fork on the Moots, sampling this out, seeing if it's plausible. Trying to experiment to find the most give possible without using a suspension fork, a technological item which I've grown to hate. Stoked to ride a lot this week, and, after feeling a little indifferent to the thing, suddenly felt a burst of energy for Montezumas. It's going to be fun, and barring some unforeseen problem, should go well.

Man, the flowers are just incredible this summer. Must be the right combination of rain and sun, but I've never seen Columbines and Indian Paint Brush like we have in the hills this summer. A startling mosaic of color, as the mountains are alive for a brilliant, albeit short, summer season.

Friday, July 9

There are some odd little communities up in these hills. While the town of Ward takes the cake for weirdness in the public eye, I find the weirdness in Ward sort of friendly and refreshing. Sure, there more rusted out cars parked on main street than in a Detroit junk yard, and there is a certain dilapidated nature to the town in general. But the people seem friendly. Where else do you have 12-year-old kids bet you $10 that they can beat you going uphill on their motorcycles while you are on your road bike? Or have the general store owner wrap a serious case of road rash with Seran Wrap? Yes, Ward is weird, but Ward is cool.

My vote for the most hostile, weird community would have to be the little hamlet of Sunset. Perhaps it's the sheer box canyon that forces the sun to disappear at 2 p.m. each day, or more likely, the constant stream of jeeps on the Switzerland Trail, but for whatever reason these people are downright scary. Back in 1994, for example, I was riding through town, on the main dirt road, and saw a woman watering her lawn. Being the friendly type, I said, "Hi." Her exact response was, "Thanks for interfering with my day."

OK, one incident, no big deal. But then about a month ago, I was riding through town, and I noticed another woman doing some gardening work in her yard. Now, I've learned never to say hi to these people, but this lady had two massive Rottweillers on chains tied up. These were not friendly Rottweillers - no they were more the foaming mouth, I'd like to rip off your calf variety, snarling and growling quite menacingly. The thing was, the dogs chains extended about halfway into the dirt road. It was a bit odd to be crammed into the far right half of the road with these two Rottweillers going through German guard dog routine 101 only 12 inches from my leg. The odd thing was, the lady didn't say anything, or try to restrain her dogs in the least. In fact, I swear I saw her sneer.

Last night, as I'm entering Sunset on my ride home, I see a guy walking across the dirt road about twenty feet in front of me. There was absolutely no acknowledgment of my existence, and he walked with a purpose. I knew better than to say hello. As I'm about to pass him on the right, I see him, in sort of a surreal moment, pull out a pistol and fire off about 20 shots into the woods to the left. Impeccable timing, and I was amazed that he wouldn't wait 10 more seconds until I had actually made the pass. Needless to say, I got out of there in a hurry.

So while I don't want to generalize based on three experiences, I feel confident saying Sunset is the weirdest, and meanest, of the mountain communities.

Wednesday, July 7

Back in the groove, finally. Commuted home, the standard route, quite slow as to not have a relapse with the cold. An interesting ride. Right off the bike path, a girl asked me if Batasso opened today, which it is not – it's closed to bikers on Wednesday and Saturday. So I gave her some quick directions up another canyon, to some hell climb, telling her it was a "great, peaceful climb." I failed to inform her, however, that there are about 15 different places where the road diverts (I realized this later), so hopefully she made it someplace OK.

Then, a little later, saw Dubba, heading down the canyon from the ride, off to ride one more trail before going home to watch the tour. A solid evening in my book! He turned around, climbed a bit, started talking about work, and then caught himself. Dubba is, thankfully, a strong believer that work stays at work, and there is no sense polluting the beautiful time in the mountains by bringing it up.

Dubba turned around, and it was me alone again, with a slightly dry, squeaky chain and significant headwind. Head cleaning out the crud from the cold, which felt good. Clouds started building, but the rain held off until the very end. Near the last climb, saw Marcus and the family finishing up a stint at the local lake. Another solid evening. People getting out, breathing the air, enjoying a typical summer evening. Got home, and finally took Meriweathers advice to make a shake upon arrival. Good stuff. With zuma fairly close, I need to take care of the body, eat lots, sleep lots and ride consistently. Not that it's such a chore, really.

The heart of summer in the Rockies, and despite uncertainty about the future, all is well.

Tuesday, July 6

Caught a summer cold yesterday, and it's lingering into today. Not surprising, as I rode 44 hours last week – 24 hour races tend to inflate these number – and probably didn't rest quite as much as I needed to afterwards. So I'm resting now, and will likely benefit from it in the long run. I have not had a cold in more than two years, so I'm actually sort of enjoying eating soup, drinking green tea and sleeping a ton.

Survived the 4th of July weekend by sticking around the house and riding late. Eerily empty in the land of Frodo and Sam on Sunday night, as Suz and I went for a mellow jaunt up Confederate Hill. The rest of the world was watching fireworks and drinking beer, but I rather enjoyed hanging out with my favorite person in the world, with our only company being a couple of elk near the nordic area. A crisp night, sort of fall like. The Forest Service finally got around to putting up the no-motos signs on the trails, and the improvement is impressive.

It's not that I don't like people. I think people are great. However, I don't trust large quantities of people in the outdoors, especially when fueled with alcohol and a sort of entitlement attitude that this is America, so we can do whatever we want. I'm leery from past Mud fests, bonfires in the face of fire bans, SUV's driving through pristine meadows and other such idiotic acts. I wish I could relax, just let it go, not care. But, I can't.

Friday, July 2

Lock your doors, barricade the home. It's 4th of July weekend and the people have arrived in the high country. Out early, in early, with just enough mischief from the elves to keep things fun. In the meantime, check out some riding images from the Yukon.

Thursday, July 1

Back in Happy Valley, and darned glad to be at that. A cool night, and through the window I can hear the creek gurgling along, fueled by some last remnants of the winter run-off and recent rains. Everything is so green, and tomorrow, a chance to immerse in this lushness on an early morning ride.

Still, the north keeps echoing in my head. The sheer wildness of the place, the endless tests, the mountains, the rivers swollen beyond comprehension. The memories of the place are enough to drive a person crazy - Jack London being the perfect example. The author of the stellar books Call of the Wild and White Fang really only spent a few months in the north country, the rest of his strangely miserable life lived in San Francisco. But the images of the land spurned two great books that have long since outlived the author.

On Tuesday afternoon I was lucky enough to hook up with an amazing crew of Yukon folks to ride something that used to have a much more dramatic name, but from here on out will be called the "Blue Trail." (See intro to trail obsfuction for reasoning). The group included my host for the trip, Chris, who is one of the most unassuming, strongest riders I've ever met. Amazingly unassuming, till he drops you on each and every climb. Then we have Derek, a professional photographer by trade, although I found him more of a riddle weaver than anything else. Among Derek's many qualities are a steel trap for a mind when it comes to topography, making a map unnecessary. Then there was Deven, also amazingly strong. A wrench at the local shop by day, but I found out later he hangs with the likes of Conrad Anker and such climbing 8,000 meter peaks. And finally, a Frenchman, whose name for some reason slips my mind at this very second. I hear we Americans are supposed to hate the French, but I found him to be one of the most likable people I've ever met. He's living in the Yukon, trying desperately to emigrate to the country. Drawn, undoubtedly, by the wide open spaces.

The ride reminded me of an old, now closed ride here affectionately known as Hairy Elephant. Long, ancient jeep road climbs to timberline, which is much lower in the Yukon because of the higher latitude. Climbing forever, but not altogether uncomfortable on the single speed (apparently this was the first ever singlespeed attempt of this route, with everyone riding one-by-ones but the Frenchman). Soon we were above timberline, into a dream landscape, caused by smoke from the omnipresent forest fires throughout the area. No matter. The peaks looked almost more ominous and the sun was a bright red orange.

After the initial climb, things chilled out significantly, as we explored old mining sites, abandoned railroad lines, snowfields and took lots of photos. The skeletons of an old cable car route used by miners remained, rusted and dilapidated but intact enough to stoke the imagination.

After walking across an open plain, used as a grazing area by Caribou (we saw a huge rack of antlers) it was down an amazingly impossible to find, hidden treasure of a singletrack. Overgrown, green and ridiculously fun. We're this ride in Colorado, it simply wouldn't fly. The sheer impact from having hundreds of cyclists cross the open tundra, and the steepness of the trail would have too much environmental impact. And truth be told, I was having problems with certain elements of this ride. But we discussed it - I explained my position, which is valid for sure.

But then the realities. Ten people (maybe) ride this trail per year. Humans are not even close to the main users of the area - that would be 10,000 grazing Caribou. The Yukon is a funny place, with different issues than the lower 48. I feel good, however, knowing that there is a solid posse of folks like Chris, Derek, Deven and the Frenchman who are very nervous and cautious about exploiting the area. They are environmentalists, but their thinking is also molded to the realities of the Yukon Territory. But just in case the hordes do show up, you can be sure the Blue Trail will be a distant memory, like the old miners who spent so much time tromping around the hills.