Friday, October 31

Happy Halloween! Different days are associated with different colors, and when I think of Halloween orange and black come to mind. Orange pumpkins, black goth witches, shit like that. Odd then that today is thoroughly a world of white in our neck of the woods. Not snow so much as a very deep and thick frost, that has engulfed every tree, branch and blade of grass from 80466 to 80302.

Day one of my new plan worked. Rose bright and early and spent nearly two hours playing in the trails up high. Deserted trails now, the way I like them. Many of these routes I have not ridden since April. In the summer, I avoid them at all costs, for fear of actually seeing another human being. This morning, though, it was just me, Johnny Rotten and the frost. It was nippy - 18 degrees in Happy Valley - and sadly neither my Lake Winter Shoes or my lobster gloves were quite up to the task of keeping me totally warm. Warm enough, to the point that I could dismount and run around for a few minutes and be fine, but dammit, I want perfection! Warm hands, warm feet!

An odd sensation riding in the cold. For one thing, I never sweat - a tell tale that this was chilly one. Also, every now and then I'd enter this borderline trance state, almost like the body is on the verge of shutting down, and the mind is shutting down because it can't believe how stupid this is. Truth be told, biking is not really the ideal sport when the temps drop below 20. You don't move enough, staying warm is a thin balancing act and the extremities almost always get cold. I guess thats why the Norwegians and such invented cross country skiing, and not mountain biking, for getting around in the bitter chill.

Someday I wish to figure out what it is what I want to be when I grow up, but as of today, I have zero clue. A revelation on the bus today. Maybe, it's not all that important what your job is. It's unlikely we'll ever be recognized as brilliant as we really are in a workplace environment. That's where other outlets come into play, things you do on your own to fuel the creative and spiritual juice. I'm beginning to realize that perfection in a job environment may be nearly unattainable. More important may be to make that job work to fuel - to accommodate - the other aspects of your life. Seems like a much lower stress way to go about life. Rambling on, but thinking too.

Thursday, October 30

For all intensive purposes, today was the first day of winter. A good 40 degrees cooler than yesterday, and while the snow has held off thus far, it won't be long now (although come to think of it, I've been riding singletrack for the last three years on bone dry trails almost up till Thanksgiving). While emails trickled in from compadres who endured...err...make that survived... the commute down the mountain, I stayed in my mountain enclave today, dabbling on my computer, hiking up Spencer and enjoying the cocoonish fog that has engulfed the mountains. Actually meant to go down, but the 1:20 was stuck due to black ice on Hell Canyon.

The first few days of winter are rough. Right now, I almost can't fathom riding down Magnolia on a day like today. The bodies not used to it. Now come January, after a month of severely sub-zero nordic skiing, sitting on the wind blasted Corona lift and such, you adapt...the cold feels normal. Right now, however, after months of warmth, the cold feels like hopping in a bath tub full of ice cubes. As such, I'm making a vow to ride early, early in the morning on the high country trails, and catch the bus down to Boulder. It's not the cold that kills. It's that bloody 3,000 foot descent, just sitting there, that makes me cringe.

Blogs from the Mag Chroncles and 29 inch Tim roll in, telling tales of the days ride. I can honestly say, I'm not envious. Well, save every part of the ride BUT the damned commute down that bloody hill. No, this year, I'm going to be smart! Early rise, avoid the descent, ride more trail. A worthy vow, but in the end, it will prove futile. I will be a quivering mass on the hill, running uphill trying to stay warm, for god knows what reason. Fuck.

What a change 24 hours makes. Yesterday, it was literally burn baby burn in Boulder County. The hills north of town looked like a bomb blew, as a downed powerline started a massive forest fire near Jamestown. 80 mile per hour winds stoked the flames, and when all was said and done, 6,000 acres of forest and nine houses got charred. The luck of the draw was friendly though. The cold moved in, and the fire has, apparently, been doused. Got some decent photos of the episode during an afternoon drive yesterday.

So assuming we get some snow, 9 a.m. at Hippy Rock it is. Otherwise, we wait.

Tuesday evening, October 28

I'm going to start making it a habit to get up here to Prufrocks on the Hill, and work from here on a regular basis. Why? Unlike a standard work place, this establishment is full of dreamers, people who think they can change the world. Idealism - something I've been missing lately - is alive and well here. Why does the standard work place insist on squashing idealism, eliminating dreams, in favor of all out all-the-time efficiency? The conversations here at Prufs may seem a bit pie in the sky at times, but why the fuck not. Taking the safe route, the standard course, certainly doesn't have our planet in an ideal place. We need to dream it up again, to change the world.

Some of my most brilliant work, my most inspiration was as a student, in a free thinking environment. I need that again, to do what I want, what I need, to do. Just sitting here, I feel more motivated to work, out of the sapping, greenish flourescent, sick hew of our air conditioned, climate controlled 9-5 office drain. Nothing against my job per se - I like what I do and enjoy the folks I work with - but the jump start of being in a different, colorful, free environment is invigorating. I refuse to be complacent, to do things a certain way simply because that's the way they've always been done. To lose your idealism is to basically lose your life, your soul.

Thank god for laptops - a utilitarian invention of creation.

Tuesday, October 28

A bizarre affair on todays commute. First off, the weather. It was a good deal warmer today at 8,700 feet than at 5,400 heat, a result of that phenomenon that all 80466 commuters fear: inversion. While the 75% of the ride in the high country was comfortably crisp, the final descent down Mag and hell bitch canyon were humid and raw. On the flip side, the arm like tentacles of the clouds extending up the valleys from the Great Plains were beautfiul in a sort of ethereal way, like a Sarah McLachlan tune.

The bad: moto tracks on the Sky Hexagonal Trail. It's inviable - you see them every year a couple of times, but it does get the blood boiling a bit. Sort of wishing I had been here when they came through, to vent a hell fury, but sort of glad I didn't have to witness it either. Keeps the stress levels down.

All in all, these last couple of commutes have been thoroughly enjoyable. The end of the trail season feels like it's near, and it's time to savor and enjoy what's left of it. I always have this idea around this time of year to get a set of Snow Cat Rims (Now available in 29 inches!) and test out the trails in a sweet serenity of silent white. Maybe this is the year. Better get 'em soon: check out this weather forecast.

Monday, October 27

A fun, happy commute to work today, aided by a stiff tail wind, a new Paul Van Dyk album loaded into the iPod, and the time change which allows me to start my ride in daylight. It really feels like winter is going to smack us upside the head soon. The clouds have been building over the divide for the past three days, and there's a steely gray in the air, despite the warmish temperatures. There's even a trace of artificial whiteness at Eldora, as the crews work diligently to open the mountain in the next few weeks.

Based on the weather forecast, there's a damned good chance the Intergalactic Singlespeed Championships Mountain Version will take place this Saturday, November 1. Stay tuned for more.

Saturday, October 25

Laundry day, and here I sit, at Prufrocks on the University Hill, blogging away while my dry cycle goes round and round. Just had to endure an exceptionally pretentious conversation between four 30-something men chatting away about exostential lesbianism, or some sort of bullshit like that a few tables away. I'm not a big fan of the psuedo student who massages their ego waxing poetically about inane topics. No, much more interesting are the drunk girls, stumbing across the Hill, apparently bored with the ensuing football game taking place at Folsom Stadium a few thousand yards away. Either that, or the Buffs are losing.

Today was VeloSwap day, the big commerce affair in the local bicycling world. I worked a booth today, schlepping shit to folks with money to spend. Sold everything from sweet Timbuk2 bags to heavily used Nema baggy shorts. Five dollars here, twenty dollars there and I now have lunch money for awhile.

This morning was cold and there was about an inch and a half of snow on the ground in Happy Valley!!! Apparently we got the brunt of it, because upon driving half a mile east the snow was basically a dusting. I want more. I love commuting on the trails with a dusting of snow, and of course nordic season is close at hand.

Thursday, October 23

The last few mornings have been brutal. I'm not sure if it's the fact that it's pitch black when I wake up, the knowledge that the standard dirt road route in has one of the worst, washboarded, loose, sandy new surfaces in the history of modern roads, or I'm just slightly burnt out, but either way it's been a battle to get on the bike in the early mornings. So today I skipped it, and enjoyed option #2...bus ride in. Have not ridden the morning bus in who knows how long, so enjoyed kicking back and reading an article in National Geographic about wintertime in Yellowstone. Thank goodness for daylights saving time this week. That should make the early A.M. commute to work significantly less painful.

I'm ready for winter. Brought all my snowboards in for base grindage yesterday, and mounted bindings on my new telemark skis last night. Despite the fact that no areas are anywhere close to open, and the mountains are brown, I'll be packing my duffel bag, pulling out the winter clothes and getting ready for the white season. Hope to get a cord of firewood this weekend and stack it - a sensible workout. The the only necessary steps then will be to winterize the car - my tires are bald - and we'll be set to go. Of course, there are other toys that have me salivating for the winter season: snowcat rims from the bike, a pair of old wooden skis for some retro backcountry fun and a biathlon rifle, but we'll see about all that.

Monday, October 20

Indian Summer .

It's been ridiculously warm lately, this morning's ride no exception. Rode in my normal fall gear and cooked much of the time, until Boulder Canyon, which was oddly chilled. A minor inversion. They say record warmth will set in the next few days. It's bizarre in the woods. Oddly temperate, like a spring day in early June, but everything is dead. The aspens have shed their leaves, the grass is brown, and there's a stillness about the earth. The only thing alive in abundance, besides humans, are a plethora of bugs which are having their last hurrah. The higher they rise, the deeper they fall, however, which makes me think this years transition into winter will have all the subtelty of a Mike Tyson punch in the gut.

The misery of being a Boston Red Sox fan hit hard Thursday night, as the Sox blew a 5-2 lead in the bottom of the 8th inning to the damn New York Yankees, successfully avoiding the World Series for the 85th straight year. I mean, jeez, would it really destroy some grandious scheme for the cosmos if they actually won one of these things just once? My favorite sign: a Yankee fan held up sign that simply proclaimed "destiny." Yeah, it's destiny alright. I'm sure a $180 million payroll (double any other team in the league) had nothing to do with it.

I know it's uncool to like ball sports as a cyclist, but I think baseball in October, or any other time, is sweet. There's a vibe to the game, the smells, the atmosphere, that's only palatable if you've played the game. And besides, just how uncool is it? In Crested Butte, a town known for its cool factor, it seems like the whole town is signed up in the local community softball league, undoubtable enjoying a community roust following a good session riding singletrack. We need that in Ned.

Another cold, long winter for the Red Sox fans, who cheer for a team that hasn't won since 1918. But who cares. They play in a stadium that was built in 1912, Fenway Park, that was built into the knooks and crannies of the neighborhood, not like the Invesco megaplex arenas so common in todays sporting realm. A bleacher seat in Fenway on a warm summer night in June? There are few places I'd rather be...a sweet singletrack at 10,000 feet in a bed of wildflowers excepted.

Thursday, October 16

Wind.

Today was one windy fucking morning. A restless night of sleep, as the gusts of wind in Happy Valley howled all night, blowing over chair, plants and other assorted items on the deck behind my house. Happy Valley is a windy place generally, but this was significantly worse than normal. The dogs were freaked, and I was mildly concerned a tree would drop on our roof, killing us all. Woke up and the wind was still gusting like mad. Of all the elements, wind is my least favorite - it puts me in a irritable mood. It's a bit hard to motivate when it sounds like a tornado outside, so I was less than enthused about the jaunt into work today. Made more so because the wind blew out our power, and I over slept because my alarm died with the electricity. But what the hell. There was nothing else to do, so I dressed in pitch blackness, got on my bike and took about 3 pedal strokes between my house and the middle of Magnolia Road as the tail wind whipped me to work.

Wednesday, October 15

Winter is harsh. Not so much for the snow, the cold, the wind and the short days. No winter's harshness comes from the fact that if YOU make a mistake, if you are the least bit ill prepared, you will pay. Case in point, yesterdays ride into work. Lulled into a sloth from our warm fall, I sort of assummed that the neoprene gloves that I've been wearing all fall for the decent down Swagnolia Road would suffice. Poor choice grasshopper. Fast forward 30 minutes, as I'm in my office, bent over in the fetal position as the blood rushes back to the fingers of my near frostbitten hands. 25 degrees will do that to you. From now on, until next spring, the lobster gloves will be a constant companion. And I'll undoubtably make the same mistake fall. We learn quickly, we forget even quicker.

I'm working today to improve my situation. We'll see what happens. A leap of faith. One way or the other, I've got to get to the other side.

Monday, October 13

As my workplace is probably the only one that actually still observes Columbus Day, I have a day OFF. Practicing the art of doing nothing really. Slept in late, watched a brief but beautiful snow flurry, surfed the web looking for info on 29 inch bikes, reading up on the Red Sox. Basically nothing. Probably will take the healthy dog, Yeti, up the hill later on but right now just enjoying the silence, the breeze of the wind through the crack in the door and the ring of the chimes.

On Sunday, one of my co-workers, Erik, and I decided to venture into some new terrain, so we investigated a "Front Range Colorado Mountain Bike Rides" book and settled on a jaunt that went from the town of Silver Plume to the summit of Argentine Pass, which, at 13,207 feet was the highest pass ever built in North America. Like many things, the motive for this high road was money.

In 1871 a guy named Stephen Decatur decided that it was altogether too inconvenient to have to trek miles out of the way to haul gold and silver from the deposits near Montezuma back to Georgetown, which at the time was a mining mecca. By the way the crow flies, Montezuma and Georgetown are about 10 miles apart...however, they are separated by a 13,000 foot ridge that encompasses the Continental Divide. Long story short: Decatur built the road up over Argentine Pass that connected Georgetown to Montezuma. Unfortunately for him, however, the route was not overly popular due to snow, wind, rock fall and an absolutely vertigo inducing shelf road down the western side of the divide.

During Montezuma's Revenge, you can see the western shelf road of Argentine Pass when descending Grays Peak, and I've always been fascinated and curious about this seemingly ridiculous route. As such, I managed to convince Erik to forego some classic Colorado singletrack for a little lesson in Colorado mountain history.

Actually, the first 4 miles of the 12 mile climb (4,500 vertical feet) were some of the sweetest singletrack I've ever laid tire to. Back in the day, a narrow gauge railroad ran up this part of the route, but after 100 years of abandonment the route has regrown into a mellow graded, narrow path through Aspen trees. Part way up is something called Pavillion Point, which used to be a dance hall for hard working miners. Today, all that remains is a chimmney. Maybe someday I'll set up 2 turntables at Pavillion Point and we'll have a modern day shindig at this historical site.

Onward and upward we rode, up a jeep road, into the shrill October mountain air. Stumbled upon the ghost town of Waldorf. Back in the 1870's, Waldorf was a mining mecca, and had a boardinghouse, hotel, fifty ton ore mill and the highest post office in the nation at 11,666 feet above sea level. Today all that remains are a few boards, shrapneled and rusted metal pieces, and an outhouse shaped building that covers some odd geared pulley contraption.

From here, the route became thouroughly Montezuma's Revenge-esque, with the last two miles being barely negotiable rocky jeep roads. Like Montezuma, these went on for ever, and were relentless. While I plodded on, with the experience that the best strategy in these situations is to keep moving, Erik, had a nice mental battle with the relentless mountains. But he kept moving, and eventually we both made it to the windy but awesome summit of Argentine Pass. Incredible sights, including a direct shot of Grays Peak and lots of rusted out turn of the century sardine canisters!

Peering over the western side of the divide, I was amazed at the fortitude and sheer masochism of Decaturs Road into the Montezuma Basin. It would be a super sketchy mountain bike ride, much less take a wagon down this route! It's not surprising that it fell into disrepair. Today, this bench cut into the mountain is less a practical route over the continental divide and much more a trigger into the imagination of a bizarre but in some ways, beautiful, time 125 years ago when people endured amazing physical hardships all in search of silver and gold.

Friday, October 10

Today was a good day. A ride with friends, on new trails, in one of the most beautiful places in the universe. Rose quite a bit earlier this morning than usual, for we had a meeting time. It's bad form to miss meeting times, so despite the initial anguish of having to get up at Oh-dark-thirty, the anticipation of riding with the posse outweighed this heavy nauseous feeling. Left the house at 5:55 a.m., for our meeting time of 6:30 a.m. It was dark. Very dark in fact, with no illusion of a sunrise anywhere on the horizon.

Brailed my way through Outer Mongolia, across West Mag and such, until finally, around 6:20, an orangish hew lit up the eastern sky, while a full moon illuminated the west. Not bad. Onward to the meeting place, still quite dark, and off we went. Onto a ridgeline singletrack, blood red, and I do mean red, sky extending across the horizon, wave after wave, endless and absolutely gorgeous. Red sky in morning, sailor take warning, but we're not sailors, so we kept riding.

Onward, downward and upward, over the top of the rock formations, eerie, almost holy like. A strange aura about the place, like there was some bizarre history, haunted me a bit. But whatever. We traded funny stories and proceeded on. Summited peak 8,566 and discovered that indeed Bruce had free soloed it. We knew this because he wrote it on a piece of paper and left it under a cairn. Not particularly impressed, because a lame fish could probably have climbed this same peak as well. More humor, more bizarreness.

Where we went next, I don't really know, but it was hidden, non-existent at times and absolutely fabulous. Came out on the top of some mountain, proceeded down down down, and followed an alley (almost hitting a psychotic squirrel) right back to the empire.

As I type this, I've let our resident Hampster out of his cage. He (or she...I can't really tell) is running around like a madman (or woman) on my desk. The hampster keeps perching himself on the edge of my desk and hucking itself off a solid three foot drop from my desk to the floor. Seeing as how the hampster is only about 2 inches tall, this would be the equivilant of a six foot human jumping off a 106 foot platform, all for the sake of freedom. Jihad of the hampsters.

It's the weekend, made longer by the Indian slaughtered himself Christopher Columbus. Does make one wonder what this continent would be like if he, and his multitude of followers had never found it.

An adventure is brewing! Up over Argentine Pass, the highest pass in North America, Sunday.

Thursday, October 9

I have not been writing so much lately, basically because life has been a bitch and I'd rather not bore people about it. The thing is, this is exactly the time when I probably should be writing. I'm generally a happy go person, but I've been stuck in a funk lately. Sort of feeling like part suffocated and part like Mt. Saint Helens in April 1980, one month before it spewed death and destruction with a cataclysmic eruption. Politics at the empire combined with a combination of general life happenings have made life a challenge. I've learned in the last few weeks that taking the high road doesn't necessarily always work, because the sharks are too bloody egocentric to do the right thing. Sometimes you gotta fight for your right to party, as they say.

Now, more than ever, the bike is my salvation. In thirty minutes, I know I'll be departing for what will likely be the two most enjoyable and sane hours of my day. Me and my singlespeed, alone, silent, on a mountain raging like a mother fucker. Don't let the bastards grind you down.

Fighting for the way that's right. Can be free.

Monday, October 6

A beautiful morning in Happy Valley. Following a breezy evening, leaves are strewn about the road and trails, making riding akin to motoring down a ticker tape parade. From Outer Mongolia I was able to see a light dusting of snow on Niwot Ridge all the way up to South Arapahoe. It was a low snowline - around 11,000 feet, and they're predicting snow in our neck of the woods later this week. Decided I'm sick of being out of shape, so I'm seeking hills to ride on the singlespeed. This morning I worked my way to the bottom of the backside of Kite Rod Road, via various trails, nooks and crannies, and slogged my way to the top. Five days a week of this, combined with a bit of lifting and yoga should have me relatively prepared for the winter activities ahead.

Made my Djing debut at the Boulder Cyclocross Race Series on Sunday. Four hours of non-stop trance for your riding pleasure. It was cool - people seemed stoked and although I made a lot of mistakes, including having a gust of wind blow the needle off the record, nobody seemed to notice or care. So come on out to the next race on October 26, ride some cyclocross and listen to me butcher the beats. Full details are available at the Boulder Racing Website.

Finally, go Red Sox! The most cursed team in the history of sports will undoubtable find some way to blow it either today or in the next few weeks, but the last few games were as riviting as they come.

Wednesday, October 1

My favorite month of the year, October, started well. Upon leaving my home for my commute down to work, a startled fox darted off our walkway ten feet in front of me and b-lined it across a field into the woods. A good omen, needed after some of the more trying times I've yet experienced in my 29 years. A combination of dogs getting injured, loved ones making tough (but necessary) career changes, illness, too much time spent east of the Mississippi and some poor judgement made me quite excited for the September jinx to end. My goal this October: have fun, hole up in the woods as much as possible, ride my bike, prepare for the winter season and spend more time with the people and things that really matter.

This morning was stellar. 31 degrees at the house and a frosty coating on my wooden walkway and vegetation in Happy Valley. Still no snow on the high peaks, but any day now I expect to wake up and see Neva, South Arapahoe and Audobon blanketed in white. Not feeling particularly spry on the bike these days – I dare say I'm a bit out of shape – but I don't really care. Now it's simply about getting out and just enjoying the waning season. Generally I've found riding in 3-4 days a week and going for some good adventures on the weekends makes to first few days of nordic skiing not too terribly painful.

I notice the colder it is, the more I rely on music to get the body going. For example, when nordic skiing or snowboarding, I almost always use my i-Pod. Conversely, during the dog days of July I rarely use music as a companion. Today, music was a necessity to move. A little life, a little soul in a frozen world.