Thursday, November 27

Happy Thanksgiving all you singlespeed freaks out there. Hopefully a good day for all with lots of Turkey, tasty beverages and friends and family. I know we bitch a bit on these blogs, but truth be told, there's an awful lot (Hallmark card moment...drum roll please) to be thankful for. Good health for all those close to me, a warm house, awesome parents, a kick ass girlfriend, a fun job, a home in a place that is staggeringly beautiful and an outdoor playground to keep the masochist in all of us quenched.

A solid day of slopeside fun today. Showed up after roll call because I was up till 1 a.m. last night playing the SSX 3 snowboard game on Playstation 2, a game where 500 foot airs and minute long log rides are the norm. I think it played some roll in a sort of visualization though because, after a snapped binding on my first run, I felt a tiny bit like one of the rock star characters in the game riding today. Granted, riding Indian Peaks isn't quite as dramatic as pulling a 1080 Misty Inverted Mute Grab over a moving train, but it suffices. Plus, your toes get cold so you know it's real! Followed boarding up with the obligatory hour session of nordic skiing - just to keep it honest - which was, in typical Eldora style, windier than a Lance Armstrong aero tunnel and more painful than a stiff PDing, as Stein would say.

The definite highlight of the day was taking my pup Sasha on our backyard loop hike at the base of Spencer. No big deal normally, except this was her first walk of significance in more than 3 months, following surgery to repair a blown out knee. According to the vet, she's doing great, well ahead of schedule. It was such a thrill to see her happy again after months of rinky dink walks and lots of time spent in a crate. Not completely out of the woods yet, but full recovery should be reached by about February.

Was planning on going to West Yellowstone and Driggs, Idaho tomorrow for some nordic skiing and snowboarding, but the thought of driving 700 miles each way solo when the snow is about as good here just didn't make sense. Heading to a hostel in Winter Park instead for some long days out in the woods on various sliding contraptions. I have eight days of vacation left in 2003, and only about 20 days to actually take them so it's time to cash in.

Tuesday, November 25

Heard through the grapevine that the Eldora Nordic Center opened, so decided to check it out today. A surprise. It was relatively good. A few rocks here and there, but a fair amount of trail opened: about five kilometers (funny how when we discuss mountain biking we talk miles, but with skiing it all of the sudden becomes kilometers). The trickiest part of the whole affair was figuring out where the skiing was, since the normal route is a wind scoured, snow drifted field that resembes Lambeau Field in Green Bay. I decided to take the short cut, straight the fuck up the baby slope, avoiding rocks and angry, cold snow guns, all the time wondering what the heck I was doing out here. Once that was over, however, the trails in the wood were sweet. Not quite mid winter, but pretty good nonetheless.

I hope to do a bit more nordic skiing and racing this winter than I've done the past few years. A few years ago, I raced alot on the CU Development team but have not quite had the motivation since then to go full bore. This year I'm a bit more fired up, so we'll give it a go. I like skiing, the metronome pace, the glidding through the woods, the whole elvish feel of the whole thing. The only thing lacking with traditional skate or classic skiing is the lack of places to go. On a mountain bike, you can pretty much trek up, over and through any legit trail or road. On skate skis, however, you're limited to whats offered. At Eldora, this constitutes about 45 km, plenty to be sure, but it's limiting after the freedom experienced on a bike.

When I was very young - eight to ten years old - my family lived in Oslo, Norway, which was pretty much a nordic skiers dream. Right outside the city was a network of literally thousands of miles of trails - enough to easily keep you occupied for a decades worth of winters. It was convenient too. We'd catch the train from city center and take a 15 minute ride up the hill to the trailhead and the beginning of a days worth of adventure. There would be these huts every 10 km or so where you could get some food and refreshments, which made it super user friendly. Here in the states, nordic skiing is more or less like alpine skiing. You go to a resort, sample the offerings and head home. It requires driving, traffic and other assorted pains in the ass. Still fun, but different.

Sunday, November 23

Two degrees this morning in Tuk Tuk, with a 20-30 mph wind to boot. Not a particularly sensible day to head to the mountain, but it's hot wired into the system now, and besides, the left side would likely hold a few treasures. Old Hayduke, my rusted out but solid running 1987 4-Runner with 193,000 miles on it was less than thrilled to wake up this morning, moaning like a ghost upon ignition. Off to Eldora, wind gusting snow around, blurring sky from ground.

I first realized how cold it was when the Eldora parking Nazis, who are usually so diligent in their duties, almost seemed half assed about parking cars, like they'd rather be elsewhere. Slouched stances, almost a dazed look of stagnation, like corpses trying to park cars. I felt relatively prepped for the day: an extra layer, heating pads for the boots and my trusty Iditarod gloves to accompany me into the cold. Unfortunately, I forgot to rummage through my gear for a neck warmer, a brutal mistake on a day like this. Fuck it. Figured I could survive a few runs at least, and besides King Nimby and Meriweather were in attendance, the latter making his debut appearance of the season.

Poor choice grasshopper. By the bottom of run #1, it felt like someone had freeze dried lead to my cheeks, and the cold burned through my face to the point where my scull felt chilled. $16.95 to Eldora later, and the problem was rectified, thanks to a nice new fleece neckwarmer. My next mistake was trying to do some binding repair at the base of the run while waiting for DK and Lewis to finish their lap. A relatively simple operation, but in this sort of cold and wind, nearly impossible. The hands would literally seize up after 8-10 seconds, and the bulky Iditarod Gloves were less than ideal for screwdriver work.

Fortunately, I got a bit of assistance from DK (four frozen hands are better than two), and we were off for some bone chilling but surprisingly enjoyable laps. A good left side in places, a better right side in others (an oddity for Eldora) and a scorching surface in the middle. All in all good conditions for early season, and damn it feels good to have winter back in full force. The storm let out a bit less than predicted - maybe 6 inches, but it's a start.

I suspect the trails up high are done for biking for awhile, and even Outer Mongolia may be unpassable for some time. Debating the commute in tomorrow, but right now I'm cold, the wind is blowing, and the appeal of this endeavor is limited. Much more enticing is a fire, a few pancakes at Annies and maybe a small ski tour up Spencer this afternoon. Cold days are perfect for the lazy soul.

For some reason, I keep thinking about my commutes home this summer, and how much salvation they offer, and how much beauty they expose. I think about Pennsylvania Gulch, the endless hike-a-bike, green, lush and splendid. I remember a ride on the Switzerland Trail where I thought Meriweather was ahead of me, and I ended up chasing a phantom ghost for 2 hours. Then there was the time near the top of Magnolia where lightning struck so close I ended up bailing the ride and hitching to Ned. The evening light, the feeling of release from work with every pedal stroke up.

Read an interesting article the other day in the LA Times that a 100 foot high, 2000 foot wide, dome in brewing under Lake Yellowstone. Volcanic in nature. There are reports of geysers erupting in the park that have not done so this century. There are even theories that the entire park could erupt - it's basically a gigantic caldera - in an eruption that would be 5,000 times bigger than Mt. Saint Helens back in 1980, that would spew so much ash into the air that it would decimate everywhere within 500 miles of the park and possibly trigger a nuclear winter.

Friday, November 21

A near perfect day in the Happy Valley realm. Three plus hours of empty run snowboarding and tele-skiing, a hike up Spencer and a chill evening stoking the fire and watching the extended version of Lord of the Rings. Boring I know, but I'm relishing it. It's been a tough couple of months, and I'm psyched things are turning around. A snowstorm is forecast for this weekend - 10 to 16 inches in the hood. Life is good.

I noticed my photo in a recent edition of the Boulder Weekly regarding the logging on Magnolia. It's pure comedy, and I look thoroughly like a Earth First-er standing on top the massive log pile off sky hexagonal. The relief of winter - the woods get a six month respite from the onslaught of society.

Mildly debating signing up for the Iditabike this winter. Definitely want to do it, but the major issue is cost. The entry fee is a shade less than a grand, and it's basically a matter of being able to afford it or not. That doesn't even account for plane fare, living expenses, etc. Nevertheless, the thought of riding through the arctic abyss, northern lights shimmering and being a stones throw away from Denali is very appealing. We shall see.

Thursday, November 20

Heading home from the mistake on the Pacific, Los Angeles. A thoroughly unimpressive city. Not good, not bad, just nothing. LA did little to stir the emotions, seemed to have little character and was all around bust. Not sure what the hype is all about and why the rich and famous would choose this place to live over all others. Odd.

Thrilled for the upcoming days ahead - playing in the snow on various sliding contraptions, biking and all around holing up in the hills of Happy Valley. A respite from travel for awhile - a time to live it up and enjoy being young.

Tuesday, November 18

No, I'm not in hell, just Hollywood. On a biznaz trip for work to Los Angeles to attend a conference and play grown up for a few days. It's a conference for Federal Land Managers - don't all jump up at once in excitement. Have not seen much of LA, except for the massive LA convention center. From my hotel, I can look out and see the gargantuan Hollywood sign across the valley, blurred only by the orangish late day smog. Don't really know enough about this town yet to rip on it sufficiently, but give me a few days. Two things that stuck me so far: a propensity for helicopters circling around (big brother) and the fact that while the single person lanes on the freeway were jam packed, the HOV lane was absolutely empty.

BEFORE I got here, I had enjoyed three stellar early season days at Eldora, enjoying the guilty pleasure, lift service skiing and snowboarding. A guilty pleasure, because I hate catching the free ride up. Once we get enough snow, I'm going to ski up and over the hill from home to the mountain, but that will have to wait until the next big dump. Rode in Monday morning - a little sanity preservation before entering the storm of idleness. A blizzard in Happy Valley that progressively eased as I rode eastward. Hence the reason Tuk Tuk is always buried under a cover of scary looking clouds.

That's all for now. Back to the game for a bit, before returning home Thursday. In the meantime, take a pedal stroke or turn for me.

Thursday, November 13

A quick blog at 10:30 at night. A work day so long...11 hours or so...that my morning ride seems like two weeks ago. A day of computer work, computer mass mailings, computer repair, computer writing, computer emailing, computer surfing, computer sapping. Grim, I know, but this morning there was a magical moment. Ten minutes into my morning ride to Rock, upon entering Outer Mongolia, I hear, across the valley, a howling haunting cry of a pack of coyotes. Piercing shrill echoing off the canyon walls under a steely gray sky. A cry that may have signaled hard times ahead, winter, cold, survival. Or perhap a cry of existence. Vox Clamantis in Deserto. A voice clammering in the Wilderness.

The mountains to the west look initmidating. White, windy, shrouded in clouds, and uninviting. Stark and stunningly beautiful. Tomorrow, it begins. Eldora opens, the new routine starts. Perhaps this was why riding singletrack this morning was so enjoyable. I tend to enjoy things most right before the end, and it's doubtful the trails will be psuedo dry for much longer. 16 inches tonight in the San Juans, the Sangre De Cristos to the south. Next time, it could, it should, be us. And that will signal the end to another season, another phase, in this wonderful adventure of life.

Wednesday, November 12

The following was submitted by King Nimby

For Immediate Release: November 10, 2003

Dude, where's my power bill?

Eldora Pilot says: "Tuck That Fish" and jumps the grid

Gilpin County (AP) - Tired of the ever mounting power bills generated by spinning mad vinyl (or iPod trax) an Eldora resident has taken matters into his own hands - or wheels - as it were. Although positive ID has not been confirmed, it is rumored that someone representing the Intergalactic Space Federation -a fringe group of a fringe group - purportedly responsible for the IGSFSGSGFFF earlier this year as well as the MADLY attended Ullr Festival this past weekend - in perhaps a new wave of self reliance and a rogue move further away from the middle of the American Road - has pulled the plug on corporate America and is officially disconnected from the Grid.

This past weekend, Merle Eberle and his wife, Milna were hiking in the Eldora environs and came across ³this crazy orange haired guy ­ on a bright orange bike² spinning madly in what looked like a giant Habitrail or Gerbil wheel. They snapped the enclosed photo that was sold to The National Enquirer for a modest sum (a 12 pack of Keystone Light).

When asked about the prospect of so much pedaling, and the lack of actual distance covered in the traditional sense of the word - the pilot of the unusual craft said "It's really just taking single-speeding to the next level". A common response to the single speed addiction from the uninitiated is ­ You never go anywhere. Realizing with religious zealotry of a snowed in Mennonite that he needed to take it just a few steps further, this perspicacious cyclist rigged up one of the turn of the century enclosures directly to his home, and says "I can power everything - the PS2; tables; iPod charges - everything - in just about 9 hours of easy spinning". He went on: "It gets frickin dark at 2:30 up here in Tuk Tuk - so I am actually going to have a few hours extra each night - I am going to start brokering the power and get all Enron and shit on the establishment".

Insanity containment specialists have been sent into the mountains surrounding the area - but despite thermal imaging and SEAL teams - no one has been able to locate the device. The identity of the pilot - as well as details on his ties to these rogue events is unknown.

Monday, November 10

Feeling a bit under the weather today, so drove the metal canister into the office...no ride to speak of. Blew it all on Friday and Saturday, dancing four hours to Paul Van Dyk in a trance show of epic proportions, followed by the Ullr Festival where we had, count 'em, FOUR PEOPLE ATTEND! No Meriweather, no Timmy...but ahh well...King Nimby showed, as did some other intrepid singlespeeders. If three's a crowd, I guess four constitutes a group ride. If you missed it, you're bumming sooooo badly. The trails were silky smooth, fairly empty except for the random fro-rider tooling around in shorts, and snowy. We've decided this will be our annual gathering to ride these trails, since in the summer they are too bloody crowded and loud for our curmudgeon ways.

For some reason upon entering the office today, I felt a bit like Neo in the Matrix, wondering if this is all real. The deafening drown of the heater, mechanical, constant. Fluorescent green shimmers down, like a search light probing, sedating. 101 emails, 99 of which are junk mail. Rush is a Fat Fuck! Looking for Love and Fun? Term life insurance for smokers! Have $500 transferred to your account today!

Is this all a big plot, a conspiracy? It seems almost too dour to believe. I can't handle it. I open my window, letting the cold air rush in, fucking up our carefully manipulated temperature controlled world. NPR on the radio? FUCK THAT SHIT. You can still hear the drone of the heater with that on. Instead, I choose to crank up the speakers and blast some Tags Trance Trip from web radio, bass thumping. A revolution? Hardly. That'll have to wait until "Take your flame thrower and noose to work day," brought to you by new Boulder City Council member Dick Polk. This is merely resistance to preserve sanity on a Monday morning.

So where is that damned Zion place anyhow? In the woods, my friends, in the woods.

Friday, November 7

Good god, just realized I had the date wrong for the Ullr Fest. It's tomorrow, Saturday, not today. Hopefully there aren't a bunch of single speeders aimlessly wandering around Hippy Rock right now. Anyhow, the coordinates are exactly right, so bust out your GPS and maps, do a little treasure search and meet us tomorrow.

Today is a day dedicated to music. Foregoed riding this morning to relax and practice on the turntables. For lunch, a visit to the record store for some fresh new music to play this weekend at the cylcocross race. Finally, my favorite DJ, Paul Van Dyk is spinning in Denver this evening, so I should have nice and fresh legs tomorrow after dancing the night away.

My affair with electronic music the past four years can be termed as nothing short of an obsession. There's something about this music that is like an electric shock, a jump start and a journey to another world. It started in 1999, driving from Vegas to Denver, when a friend loaned me the CD Transport. I listened to it on max volume the whole way back, absolutely amped to the point where I got pulled over going 100 mph in some random town in Nevada. After that, it was a good three years of dancing at SOMA at least once a week. Not for the girls, and not for the well-publicized drug scene, but for the jump start buzz of the music.

I've been going out less lately, basically because SOMA closed and I hate driving to Denver, but Paul Van Dyk is a special occasion. The two sets I've previously been to of his easily topped my personal list for best shows. The energy, the crescendos, the way he puts together his songs and builds the dance floors energy is phenomenal. The show is at the Fillmore in Denver tonight.

Thursday, November 6

Another crazy day at work, so not too much time to write today. Commuted in again – had a great time on the trails to the west, froze my ass off in yet another inversion descent down Magnolia, aka the "Iditabike Test Track." I'm beginning to fall in love with the cold though, the tingling in the extremities, the feel of being alive. More one this someday soon.

In the meantime, check out Meriweathers stellar review of forks - all rigid of course. If your still running an antiquated sus fork, it's time to see the light and come over from the dark side. Finally, we've compiled some interesting photos from the last few days of riding in the woods. Enjoy

Wednesday, November 5

I mentioned in my last entry that this was the "golden season" of the mountain biking year. That was a poor description. More appropriately, this is the Crystalline season. Crystalline, because everything is white and sparkly. The ground is coated with a few inches of snow, and it seems like the whole neighborhood has been blanketed in a misty white fog for the last two weeks. One almost expects a ship of Viking warriors to emerge from the mist with torches, shields and such.

Today I broke out of my hermit style riding and met up with Meriweather and the mad scientist. A cold one - 16 in Happy Valley, and it didn't warm up much as the ride progressed. Started off with my Pearl Izumi Lobster gloves, but they only made the cut for about 5 minutes before my hands were frozen, requiring that I garner the Nanouk of the North Ididarod gloves. These things are toasty, and while negotiating tight singletrack can be a bit unresponsive in them, the pay back is worth it.

Big time inversion today, but it was a dry inversion, so while cold, it wasn't deadly. Rode various trails and dirt roads, following tracks of all humans and animals that had arrived before us. Riding in snow is sort of like riding in a short history book, because the tracks tell the story of who was there before. For example, we were able to discern tracks of a man (based on large foot tracks), running (pointed shoe tracks) who had been in the area where we were less than an hour before (lack of deterioration of the track). Indeed, our course is firmly imprinted on the ground now as well, at least until the next snowfall or melt.

The descent down the big mountain was manageable. Not pleasant, by any stretch, but not nearly as bad as it could be. Toes got a little tingly, core a bit cold, but my hands were downright sweating thanks to the Nanouk of the North gloves. All in all, an enjoyable trek through the early winter hills with friends.

For this weekend we've slated a new gathering of the tribe, the Intergalactic Single Speed Ullr Festival, named after the Norse god of snow. This was originally the IGSSC Mountain Edition, but that got too confusing, so we're giving it its own name. Come one, come all, in your favorite arctic costume, bearing spirits to donate to the winter gods.

Tuesday, November 4

Peaceful, silent, solo and white. Ventured onto the hood trails this morning, in the full on Jack Frost get-up: Lake Winter Shoes, booties, tights, waterproof wind pants, mid-weight long top, Spot Wooly, Swix jacket, hat, helmet and...to cap it off...a pair of mittens used by dog sled mushers in the Iditarod. These things look more like gorilla mits than goves, but I'm sick of cold hands.

The woods were perfect this morning. Three inches of light fluff on top of solid ground following a mini-snowstorm last night. Fresh tracks on the I-70 trail that is thoroughly empty this time of year. Trees covered with white, not anywhere close to melting because the temperature is a chilled 22. The is the golden season, and the shortest season of the mountain biking year. Another three inches, and it will almost be unpassable, but on this day, conditions were just right.

You have to be loose riding in the snow, The rocks are still there, and while their impact is dulled, the hidden devils are still enough to kick your front wheel into oblivion and you onto the ground. You also have to be quiet, out of respect for the silence cast over woods blanketed with fresh snow. The only sound is the thudded roll of the wheel, broken up occassionally when the tire hits a patch of crusty ice. Then it's a short but soothing zipping sound.

Tracks abound. I wish I knew more about animal tracks - perhaps I'll get a book - but from the looks of things it looks like squirrels, rabbits and an occassional deer. Busy at work, staying warm, surviving. The hunters are out too - I know this from the tracks of their trucks heading up the Forest Service roads - who else would be out this time of year?

This weekend will be the snow event, the first ever Intergalactic Url Fest, named after the Norwegian snow god. More details tonight...stay tuned.

Sunday, November 2

A lack of snow, and low motivation in the troops to freeze, led to a cancellation of this weekends pre-scheduled snow ride event, so our apologies to those who trekked up the hillside to the designated meeting place. If any of you were there, hats off to you and hope you enjoyed an adventure in splendid solitude.

Splendid solitude was NOT on the agenda today, as I made the choice -since I have a seasons pass anyhow - to venture to Arapahoe Basin and begin work on this winter's quest: a telemark turn solid enough so when the backcountry adventures begin, I won't be totally flailing. One run, machine blown, surrounded by total brown-ness and a throng of people. Fortunately, the lifts at A-Basin are slower than sin, which meant for long lift lines, but slightly less crowded slopes. I didn't care so much, as I was deeply immersed in the process of learning, not to mention the book, "109 Amazing Tips to Improve Your Tele-Skiing," stuffed in my jacket pocket and read during the lift rides up. It's a thrill to be beginner again, learn the basics. Beginners Mind, Empty Mind. Ohhhhmmm.