Monday, June 30

Got thoroughly lost this morning in the "Discovered Star" system, searching for a replacement route to the recently logged Sky Hexagonal Trails. Harboring some resentment that perhaps there are certain otherwise environmentally minded folks who are not altogether unhappy mountain biking trails are being subject to logging. I hope I'm wrong, because the last thing the enviro movement needs right now is division based on what non-motorized contraption one chooses as their preferred method of getting around the hills. I wonder if the fact that mountain bikers led the recent media push regarding the Winegar Fire Mitigation Project has made certain folks sit on their hands and watch the forest get cut, rather than ally with mountain bikers. If so, it's silly and tragic.

Update from the 24 Hours of Light and 12 Hours of Humboldt. Josh & Megan won their respective categories at the Yukon freak race, and even rode naked. Back-to-back championships for the Intergalactic Federation! Who's the next set of representatives for '04? Meanwhile, Meriweather dominated the pro category at the Bigfoot race, and even had a conversation with Bigfoot himself! He and Bigfoot sat down and had a nice chat by the campfire...BF is kinda sad at all the Elvis type sightings that are reported. He and his clan just want to be left alone. They correspond via PeeMail with the LochNess monster and Tessie, the Lake Tahoe monster on a regular basis...they all feel the same. They are thinking of starting a support group. "I'm okay, the monster's okay." Poor guy. He was crying into his beer all night (BF, not Whit).

Sunday, June 29

Came to the conclusion yesterday that it is ridiculously easy to scare yourself to the beejezuz mountaineering. King Nimby, misplaced beach girl and myself embarked on an adventure up Mount Neva, a 12,814 foot summit on the Continental Divide. We got going bright and early - 5 a.m. to be exact. When I awoke at 4:30 it was pitch black out, and for a moment I wondered what strange dimension I had strayed into. A little groggy for sure (or fo' shizzle as Snoop Dogg would say), but stoked to beat the crowds. There were already a handful of folks who beat us to the punch, snowboards and skis strapped to the back. DK and Shenna both brought snowboards, while I decided to travel sans slidding contraption, buzzing from the joy of glissading a week earlier. In retrospect, a dubious choice.

Stoked to give Neva a go, since I was thwarted on this peak last fall. That go around, I tried to climb the Western ridgeline woefully under equipped. I wasn't particularly stoked about the exposure of that route. Our plan this time was to head straight up one of the couloirs to the summit ridge. The good thing about this approach was that it was relatively direct and, assuming you didn't slip, a fairly benign way to the top. The negative: if you slipped, you'd likely go careening into rocks on a less-than-enjoyable tumble.

Made our way to the bowl underneath the awesome Neva cirque. A super cool area that feels more like Greenland or Antarctica than a playground for bored Denverites. Lots of options depending on what you're in the mood for. While Shenna, who was on her first backcountry boarding adventure, stayed in the lower bowl and took laps snowboarding and hiking, DK and I made our way up the 35-40 degree Northeast Slope, which consists of a mixed rock and snow route to the summit. A few sketchy moments, including one section of snow traversing where if you fell you'd definitely be fucked, but all in all not too bad.

After enjoying the summit for a few minutes while DK fiddled with his snowboard binding, we made our way west to one of the couloirs for our descent. Pretty damned nervous about this, since I've never glissaded down something this steep and the snow was still fairly solid underneath. We eventually ended up on the top of something called "Phoebe"coulour (although we didn't know this at the time), which, according to the guidebook is a 45-50 snow slope. We were both experiencing Vin Diesel-like adrenaline levels, and after a quick high five and words of encouragement, DK gracefully descended down the very steep snowslope.

Now that I was alone to dwell in my own prediciment, it took me all of about .2 seconds to figure out that glissading was a poor option. Began to down climb very slowly and carefully, synching ice ax placement and deep kick steps to prevent a long and high consequence tumble. Such it was for the next 15 minutes, although it seemed like hours. Working hard to focus, make no mistakes and keep as relaxed as was relatively possible. Sweating like a pig, adrenaline racing. About midway through, the snow became harder making a deep, secure ice axe belay impossible, so I had to use the hatchet method and pray it held. It did.

Eventually the slope "leveled" out to about 40 degrees, and the strain of the focus was wearing on me, so I turned around and did the ugliest glissade of all time down the last 100 feet or so. Once I came to the bottom, I just layed back and breathed, psyched to be alive and in one piece, and thoroughly worked from one of the most intense 15 minutes of my life. Hiked back to the trailhead, got home by noon, and slept in my hammock all afternoon long.

Stoked to hear from the various galactic parties how this weekends adventures went around planet earth. Josh and Megan were our representatives at the Yukon 24 Hours of Light this year and, assuming all went well, got done riding just a few hours ago. Meanwhile, Meriweather spend all day Saturday racing at the 12 Hours of Humboldt.

Friday, June 27

The power of many (gears). Truth be told, I'm having a fucking blast riding my geared bike lately. A Moots YBB. Nothing particularly special on rolling terrain or flats, but point the slope straight uphill or straight downhill and the thing shines.

I was particularly pleased to have the gears this morning. For some reason - probably because I did jack shit in terms of exercise yesterday - I woke up this morning at 5 a.m., tired but wide awake. Slightly agitated. Decided the best thing to get myself leveled would be to ride the local climb, 1,600 feet up in 3.5 miles to Moose, and down Redneck Ravine to the Nederland bus depot. Well anyway you slice it, climbing straight up at 5:45 a.m. is going to hurt, but it hurts a lot less spinning in a lower gear than it would pushing the old 34x18 at 10 RPM's. Bikes of all types rule.

A gorgeous morning. Saw 6 deer, 3 elk and a fawn. The grace and power of Elk is phenomenal. I've seen Elk leap 8 feet fences like they were not there. When Elk run, the whole ground rumbles slightly. My other thought was that if the wolf ever makes its way down to Colorado - and it will - it's going to have a lot to eat.

Wednesday, June 25

The power of one (by one). Some may claim single speeding is an artificial crutch, a unnecessary means to make life harder, a foolish pursuit as bike technology keeps advancing. More suspension, better shifting, disc brakes are the future you fool, give up the ghost.

Yet by the same theory, a number of other sports are silly and frivolous as well. Long board surfing. C1 paddling. Rock climbing without bolts. Basically, any element in any activity which shuns the most practical route

I suspect these critics (Jason Thorpe) have likely never felt the zen like simplicity of pedaling a single speed up a mountain side in a foggy dew, silent to the world, oblivious to the mental strain of the shift. The sweetness of going on a ride, putting the bike in the shed, doing zero maintanence, and repeating the drill over and over. The confident feeling of rolling over terrain, using the natural forces of gravity and momentum to roll up and over small hills and objects, oblivious to loud, clumsy and "necessary" shifts.

Basically, single speeding is straight injection into the soul of our sport – being in the hills, feeling the pain and joy of working hard and reaching the outerwordly zone that we ever so rarely achieve. Gears and such frivolous technology remove us from the soul...just a bit...but the effect is real. Their bike industry is working in the wrong direction, away from soul, and towards a silly goal to make our sport as easy as is fucking possible. Me thinks they won't stop until they reivent the motorcycle.

Monday, June 23

Monday morning and thoroughly worked over from the weekend. Tired legs, slightly sun and windburned face, basically ready to sleep in a hamock for a couple of hours. A day off before another week of the ride, work, ride, eat, sleep routine resumes. Satisfaction in simplicity. Some more observations from yesterdays Indian Peaks adventure:

- Backcountry skiing is sort of like an etch-a-sketch. You carve your turns into the snow, look back and appreciate them, and in a couple of days, they are gone, replaced by a blank canvas for someone else's pleasure.

- The town of Ward – the closest settlement to the Brainard Lake Trailhead - has it figured out. By portraying themselves as home to wierdos, wackos and gun-totters, they've created a certain fear factor that keeps the real riff-raff (Anyone who lives below 7,000 feet) OUT. Geographically, Ward should be as appealing as Nederland or Estes Park to tourists, but they've done an excellent job making their town as inhospitable to the masses as possible. Learn from Ward.

- Two federally designated areas that are, in theory, designed to protect nature - Wilderness and National Parks - actually attract more people than some random tract of forest that doesn't benefit from the publicity. Likewise, a 14,000-foot peak gets far more visitors than a peak that is 13,999-feet high. Our society is so goal oriented that we focus on simply getting to the high-caveat areas, with little regard to whether or not these places are actually more enjoyable.

- Speaking of Wilderness, why does it seem like the areas that receive the most attention from Wilderness advocates are some of the most inhospitable areas on the planet, home to very few species and little vegetation? Yes, these areas should be protected, but so to should the forests, riparian areas and praries that are being bulldozed, logged, mined, paved and subdivided at an alarming rate.

- A day in the mountains beats a day in the office any day. Here's a few more photos and video from yesterday.

Sunday, June 22

The packed-tabulous weekend. Lots of riding, lots of playing around in the mountains. Yesterday, after revamping my miniscule room/office in my home in Happy Valley, went on a mini-Montezuma ride, up over Moose, down to the Neverlands and back up Confederate Hill, eventually looping up a route that, in just 24 miles, climbs about 4,500 feet. Moose is awesome right now - the gates are closed keeping the 4-wheel fucks out, and the drifts from three weeks back are all but gone. Nice tacky soil to boot. Redneck Gully was a different story - wet to the gills. Of course, on Confederate Hill, gates closing access to motos and SUVs are a mere dream, as the peace and quiet of an otherwise pleasant solstice was blasted out by the drone and smell of the 2-stroke phenomenon.

In the evening, I hiked with my wonderful girlfriend and the pups up and over Spencer. Pleasant, but the enjoyment was cut short by two frat boy assholes who drove up the private land hill in their brand spanking new Range Rover. Exchanged a few words - working on becoming a good mountain crumugeoun - and debated the rest of the hike ways to ruin their day. My favorite idea was to unhook the e-brake and roll the SUV down the side of the mountain, but my girlfriend reminded me that the environmental damage of the ensuing explosion/effort to get the vehicle out would outweigh the benefits. A wise girl indeed. Next time, carry an exacto.

Today, Meriweather and I went on backcountry hike/ski/glissade that started out with the goal of simply climbing Mount Toll and descending. As often happens with these things, however, we ended up on an epic 8-hour plus adventure, climbing 45-degree snow gullys, traversing dizzying ridges and glissading (me) and skiing (Meriweather) numerous snowfields. All in all a bitching day in a most beautiful place.

Friday, June 20

Thank god Meriweather cancelled his cell phone, or little old me feeling sorry for myself would have bailed on the ride. Felt exhausted yesterday afternoon from the slow drain of the nine-hour LCD screen office email glaze, and was not exactly leaping with enthusiasm at the route Meriweather had proposed, up and over Flagstaff and then keep going via various heinous climbing routes to Happy Valley, hours later if all went well. Called him up, tried to cancel, but the phone was disconnected. Had to meet him, and had to ride to save face.

Kept making bargains with myself...well, I'll just go up to the Amphitheter and see how I feel, I could bail at the top, and so on and so on. In the end, I eventually woke up and it was stellar ride...humid, tons of green, mellow climbing pace and wildflowers that would make the cover of the Crested Butte Chamber of Commerce brochure. Arrived home just before dark, psyched and feeling the afterglow buzz of a good ride.

Today is Friday and I am very happy about this.

Wednesday, June 18

The games of the modern day work place. Subtle positioning, hints here, hints there, everyone covering their own ass, watching their back and brown nosing at the same time. We graduate from junior high, but do we really?

Salvation comes in the form of letting go, letting the chips fall where they will. It's all small potatoes in the big scheme of thing. We're all even once we're dead...take that sucker. In the mean time, fuck with 'em all by playing in the mountains, climbing big hills in a rainstorm and ripping down rocky decents at 9,000 feet above sea level while they sit at home growing fat and flacid, figuring out how to get on top of the career ladder, aging and dying quicker than you or me.

Tuesday, June 17

Feeling downright drained after a tough day at the office. What better remedy than to climb 4,000 feet and 20-plus miles home? The beauty of a bicycle. It clears the minds, and makes the little troubles of the day go away.

Sunday, June 15

I'm on red alert in regards to illegal trailbuilding and such these days, and as such had a bit of an embarrassing episode yesterday. Saw the car of a passionate rider I know who, at times, has built trails in these parts. Well, upon seeing the vehicle, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that this person was constructing trails in a rather sensitive ecological area in our neighborhood. Well, after searching and waiting for this person to return for three-plus hours, it turns out said person was not building trails, but was actually just up in the mountains journaling and enjoying this amazing place. My bad, and I apologize. Sort of funny in retrospect, but the lesson of the day is to definitely not assume anything.

There is another trail in our neck of the woods that has recently been built illegally by mountain bikers. Actually, this one goes down the throat of one of the most environmentally sensitive areas in the county, as the builders obviously didn't give a rats ass about anything but their personal selfish reasons.

Illegal trailbuilders bum me out a lot, because they often build trails in the last uninhabited nooks and crannies of the mountains. These areas are important habitats for many creatures that don't like to associate with humans – mountain lions, fox and hawks to name a few – and by encroaching into these areas these animals are stressed that much more. It's not like Alaska or Canada here, where there are infinite amounts of wilderness away from humans that animals can enter. Colorado is stressed to the max in terms of natural space. We're reaching a critical point in terms of too many humans actually driving many species completely out of our region. The safe zones - steep hill sides and north facing slopes - have been a relative safe zone. Now, with trailbuilders encroaching on these areas, the creatures that call this area home are that much less likely to survive.

An honorary pilot and mountain rat with a healthy amount of grouchiness, Mike Ferrentino, summed up the situation well with this article.

Thursday, June 12

Managed to bust out a long lunch time ride today up to Gold Hill, an eclectic town sitting at 8,200 feet on a hill overlooking Boulder. Above it all, both literally and attitude wise. It's a ride I rarely do, since it's not on my direct path home to Happy Valley, but it's a great climb. It's one of those ascents that sort of ramps up in intensity as you progress, has a fair amount of dirt and not much traffic.

Gold Hill is a cool town - I actually almost moved there a few years back - that reminds me a lot of Happy Valley. Like Happy Valley residents, Gold Hillers are fiercely protective of their environment and anything that threatens to change it. Right now they are fighting a big battle with downhillers, who have used a nearby mountain as their popular shuttle-training area. Gold Hill residents are pissed off, and have resorted to some fairly drastic measures to stop the downhillers.

Some people might call this behavior NIMBYism, (NOT IN MY BACKYARD) but I don't agree. Well, maybe I do agree, but I don't think it's a bad thing. I've come to realize that not all people are respectful of the environment and of the creatures and people who decide to make a place home. Whenever this situation arises, both in the animal and human world, the natural reaction is going to be to prevent these elements from encroching. To sit do nothing – let the motos over-run the terrain, let the loggers clearcut without a fuss, and the myriad of other issues that deserve to be fought – is simply acting flacid and spineless.

So let the battles resume.

Tuesday, June 10

Not much to say today. Heading up the hill tonight, although still debating the big ride home or a Tennessee Mountain assault up from Nederland. The logging continues on the Blue Hexagonal trail. RIP whoops.

Monday, June 9

Feeling thrashed to the gills today after tromping around the hills with Meriweather and Joshua in search of turns at 12,000 feet. A very good day, but then any day above timberline is a good day. Highlights included kick stepping up a fairly steep snow slope to peak out, snowboarding off the top of that said peak and just enjoying the massive expansiveness of the Rocky Mountains. As Timmy once said - there's just so much to do!

The only downer of the day was a couple dudes firing off a rifle just a couple feet from the trail. Nothing like coming home from a good day in the hills and having Johnny Von Shotgun blasting away next to hikers, bird watchers and pets. The gun lobby in the country has always perplexed me, but I suppose the unendowed need something to boost the ego with.

Saturday, June 7

Zipping along at 455 miles per hour at 35,530 feet a bit east of Des Moines Iowa, listening to the Bjork song Karvels ethereal techno beat through a damn nice set of headphone. Heading home, after a suare into the heartland. A good time to be sure, but super stoked to be heading home, back to the mountains, seeing my girlfriend and pups, the routine of commuting to and from work via various serpentine routes, etc, etc, etc.

Highlights of the last few days. A QBP staffed death metal band energizing a Minneapolis club - the band members all rode bikes to the gig. An Amtrak train ride from Minneapolis to Chicago, flashing back to an era where things went a little slower, and folks were a lot friendlier. Getting out of the train at Union Station in Chicago, surrounded by skyscrapers and the energy and buzz of a major city. Riding an Ewok Village stunt riddled trail in Minneapolis that we just built, and seeing that it actually worked. The W Hotel, our lodging in Chicago for the past few days, with it's super swank atmosphere and red and black lit bathrooms.

It's good to know that even near the biggest cities in the U.S., there are still some relics of wilderness available. For example, the area we were working in today has been condemned as unsuitable for housing because the remnants of the Manhattan Project nuclear tests are buried nearby. As such, the city has deemed it a perfect place for folks to go hiking and mountain biking, since they can't really do anything else with it. A strange world we live in, but the adaptability of humans is quite amazing. We ride in the nuclear wasteland, and we enjoy it.

Tuesday, June 3

On the road for work today, but the hotel has high-speed internet, so I'm taking advantage of this technological breakthrough to download gobs of music and update the site. I'm in Minneapolis tonight, working to build trails and improve MTB opportunities in the Twin Cities. Despite Minneapolis having a strong history of outdoor recreation - nordic skiing, running, fruit booting - mountain bike trails are apparentely lacking here. Hopefully we can help improve this.

Anyhow, it's been a bit of a whirlwind getting here, as it often is travelling. After a great ride up Magnolia last night, woke up bright and early this morning and hopped a DC-12 SARS canister to Minneapolis/St. Paul. A relatively smooth flight, but good god, this is an unnatural way to travel. I'm liking air travel less and less each time I do it. Got to Minneapolis, and took a cab to my hotel. Pretty comical actually, since the cabbie seemed to be the least directionally inclined individual on the planet, making lot's of wrong turns and taking a rather round about way to the hotel. Hey stupid tourist, watch the fare box go round-and-round as I drive you round-and-round the Twin Cities. Whatever.

Grabbed a quick bite, and took another cab to meet the posse. This cab driver was even less map savy then the first guy, taking me close to Duluth before the thirty-fucking-dollar fare was tabbed. A nice enough guy, from Ethiopia with six kids and a healthy disdain for the American consumerism lifestyle, so I paid him without argument.

My first job duty was to go ride singletrack with the locals. Rode on something called the River Bottom Trail, which, as the name states, follows the banks of the Minnesota River for 30 kilometers (we were riding with Canadians, hence the kilometer reading). The pace was chill for a change. Normally, when you go to visit a place the first thing the locals usually try to do is put you in the hurt locker by mimicking Lance Armstrong on Alpe De Huez. If I had a dollar for every fucking local who leads off a ride at a brutal pace a mere 45 minutes after I've staggered off an airplane after travelling all day...well...I'd be a few bucks richer than I am today. Anyway, today was mellow for a change, and the trail flat as a pancake, which was nice because I'm worked to the gills after the last few weeks of training.

The highlight of the ride was a stellar contraption for fording the river (photo), a sort of pull raft that accommodates four cyclists (or so the locals tell me). This is a necessity out here since this is the land of 10,000 Lakes, and apparentely a fair amount of rivers too. Anyhow, we rode for about 2 hours, opening up the pace near the end a bit, which felt good. After the ride, I ate some pizza (oh the excitement!) and took a tour of the QBP headquarters. QBP is a biking outsource company that basically sells the goods to bike shops around the U.S. A tough day at the office for sure!

Another day here, and then I take the Amtrak train to Chicago on Thursday for more urban mountain bike advocacy work before returning to the 80466-area code Saturday night. A couple side notes. Timmy got jilted on the whole Bike to Work thing. Eight miles of flat trails each way? Big whoopy doo shit. Timmy rides through the bloody snow, rain, sleet, tears and blood (upon proof reading I see I have two blood references here, which was not my original intent but I kind of like it) 3,000 vertical feet and at least 20 miles every day. The judges must have been paid off by the Russians. Anyhow, Timmy, thanks for the plethora of BJORK songs. Crazy, talented shit that has made this i-pod enhanced voyage much more enjoyable.

Sunday, June 1

Oh-for-two with South Arapahoe Peak this weekend. This morning I actually got hiking relatively early but caught a rather interesting day weather-wise. A steady drizzle greeted me as I drove up the rough dirt road to 4th of July Campground. Began hiking, and the rain eventually turned to sleet, and then to a full fledged numbing snowstorm. Turned off the main trail up the route to South Arapahoe Peak, but it just didn't feel very smart. Visibility was down to a few feet, the wind was blowing at gale force strength, and I was a good 1,000 feet below where I wanted to be.

Decided to bag it and headed to the top of Arapahoe Pass instead. Not exactly mellow, as the snowstorm continued, but there was little chance of much going wrong on this route, so I was able to sort of enjoy the discomfort of being out in the elements. The storm broke momentarily near the pass to unveil the peaks surrounding the Continental Divide, creating a sort of ethereal effect. Saw a White Tailed Ptarmigan, one of the few animals that calls the harsh above timberline landscape home.

Despite not summiting this weekend, I really enjoyed these two days of tromping around in the high mountains. I like the uncertainty of it all, and the power that mother nature has. Basically, your chances of reaching whatever peak is the goal for the day is largely dictated by the weather. A nice sublement to riding around the hills all week long. Click here to check out some snowy images from today.