Monday, September 29

I've actually been sort of delaying writing up the IGSSC and the Tour de Dewey, because I'm a bit at loss about what to say. So I'll wait until my thoughts are a bit clearer. I will say this though. The wisdom of ghost riding a bicycle down 9th Street, even when it's deserted at 1 a.m., is questionable. More later...

Friday, September 26

T-minus 24 hours and 50 minutes until IGSSC '03 commences. A couple last minute items. First, the bus situation. Since there might be quite a few folks trying to hitch up on the 8:10 a.m. bus, it might be a good idea to get up bright and early and catch the 7:10 a.m bus to Nederland, grab some breakfast and then make your way to the start on a puke inducing full stomach. Yum. Second thing - bring a few bucks since we'll be stopping in a few mountain country stores along the way. And finally, tomorrow night is the Tour de Dewey. Shotgun Prolouge kicks off at 8:30 pm. at Eben G Fine Park.

Nederland is not the official meeting place of the IGSSC. To figure out where that is click here.

This morning was a warm, gusty tailwind ride in. The Aspen's are near peaking, and the trails are as dry as I've seen them all year. We get these pockets of Indian Summer weather here that can last for weeks. This inevitably ends, dramatically, with an upslope and the first big snow storm of the season. A few years back, we happened to schedule the IGSSC smack dab on that day, and it made for an epic jaunt. No snow this year though...they're predicting a blue bird day in the high country.

Got a couple kick ass records last night: a Sander Kleinenberg sort of funkified trance jaunt. and a BJORK! remix called "Kindess Kind" which takes her song Undo to a higher level. Having a lot of fun playing music lately, and I might even be spinning at the Boulder cyclocross season coming up. Yeah!

Wednesday, September 24

Life ebbs and life flows. Do I have the patience to wait out this latest short ebb? Absolutely, yes. But let me whine a bit and get it out of the system. Between getting ill, my dog possibly blowing out her ACL and my significant other going through pure hell in her mechanical engineering job, things have been less than ideal in the last 14 days. But oblidioblidah.

I read in National Geographic the other day that 20 million people around the world are slaves. Not slaves as in, "boy my boss is an asshole, we're slaves to the system." No, that would be real deal slaves, 1770 Georgia style, only the modern day slave serves as an indentured farmer, a prostitute, and factory worker. Numbing truth, and I feel so removed from it here in my enclave in the peaks that it's nothing more than a sentimental dinner conversation.

A short, but beautiful and energized ride this evening with 2/3rds of the Magnolia Posse. Investigated a new stucture - very solid craftsmanship but not exactly the most hidden location in the world. The leaves and the cool air feel so good. The leaves, because the cornocopia of colors offers a visual feast for the eyes. The cool, because it feels like the sickness that has permeated the breath for the past week is being blasted out with each inhale.

Three days until IGSSC and excitement is brewing.

Tuesday, September 23

Ah sweet relief. My first day back on the bike, and it felt like it. Rode in direct on Mag Road, and while the breathing was more labored than normal I suspect this was more a case of getting the body going after such a long stint off. Oddly warm this morning, 52 degrees, but extremely breezy. An ill wind as it turned out.

My girlfirend quit her job today. Basically, decided that the things I've often mentioned on this website - sitting in wall to wall traffic, dealing with insecure bosses, silly policy and a work environment that exploits the human spirit - were simply not worth dealing with anymore. It was a bold decision, well thought out, and I'm proud of her for making it. A clean cut. It's a bit scary right now, but there is a certain calm, a relief. All will turn out fine...it always does.

Heard a report of people barbed wiring trails on West Magnolia. Apparently some motoheads nearly became moto-decapitation victims. While I don't like motos, I also don't condone this sort of violent act. Rule 1 is you never try to inflict bodily harm. It could have just as easily been a mountain biker, a friend. So be careful out there folks.

Monday, September 22

Finally got out yesterday after this extended cold. Not on a ride, but on a hike. It was amazing, the feeling of blood actually flowing through the legs, the sensation of actually breathing deep, of being alive at 9,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies. And what a timne of year it is. The leaves are just perfect, the mornings chilled, the days perfect, and the evenings rich with the aroma of folks firing up their wood burning stoves for the first time in a few months. This is the golden season.

The effects of the cold linger. My voice, having been ravaged by coughing fits for the last week, sounds like a mix between a pre-pubescent boy and Snoop Doggy Dogg. But who cares, energy is back to normal. Just have to careful in the next few days not to have a relapse, especially since the Intergalactic Single Speed Championships are just around the corner. Rumor has it this year's crew will be smaller, which will certainly be welcome. I wonder if it has something to do with the 2,000 foot climb before the real event even begins?

Tomorrow, I ride in, my first time on a bike in 10 days. I'm downright giddy with excitement.

Thursday, September 18

It's beginning to get a bit agonizing, this time of inactivity. It's completely irrational, and never comes to fruition, but I'm starting to wonder if I'll even have the fitness to make it to the start of this years IGSSC, what with all this downtime. Fears of lost fitness, of suffering more than normal. Honestly, I don't really like being out of shape, ever. It's just too bloody painful to get it all back again. Too many memories of being the skinny 110-pound kid in Junior High, out of shape and weak. Still running from the memory of that, part of a routine that is called by some masochistic or crazy.

To me, crazy isn't pedaling a single speed up 505, doing Montezuma's Revenge or skating up Beaver's Revenge at 6 a.m. on a -5 degree day in January. Much more masochistic would be sitting in wall to wall traffic every day, not working out and slowly watching life go by. I wonder if those people still have the ability to be passionate about anything, to actually get angry?

Stayed home today, and ended up watching a bit of coverage from Hurricane Isabel. The reporters were chastising a guy who was out swimming in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of North Carolina, as irresponsible and reckless. And while I agree with this assessment, I can understand the appeal. For me, epic mountain bike rides and playing in the woods on various slidding contraptions in the winter are my release. I suspect if I didn't have this, swimming in the Atlantic Ocean in a category 2 hurricane would be appealing, and even necessary to avoid going nuts and turning heavily to various artificially induced highs.

Don't kid yourself: mountain biking is a drug just as addictive as heroine, but with better side effects.

Wednesday, September 17

A cold front has moved in this evening, and with it sheets of rain and clouds blanket the front range view from my office perch on the western edge of town. The colors on the trees have sharpened noticably in just the past couple of days. I noticed when looking up at the divide today that while the main dusting that coated the peaks has melted, it appears a few wind lip cornices have formed from the snow we received that will probably be around until June of next year.

Feeling better, but not quite well enough to hit the bike...yet. Channeling energy doing creative design work, spinning records in the evening and watching too much T.V. Had a bit of a crisis last night when one of my pups, Sasha, the psycho one, was running around the house and came up lame on her left rear leg. It hadn't healed by morning so I took her to the vet. Evidently, she did some damage to her knee, although the vet didn't think it was a total tear that would require surgery. Basically, a lot of R&R and medicine and she'll hopefully be back in shape in a week or two. Until then, Sasha is officially on the Disabled List, much like her owner come to think of it.

Tuesday, September 16

An absolutely uneventful day sitting at home trying to get healthy. Being sick is borderline torture, but I'm dealing as well as I can, doing a bit of work, bonking, lying in the hammock, napping, repeat process. As much as I hate being sick, I've come to realize it's a necessary process to being physically and mentally fresh when it matters. We all tend to go non-stop, and with such a beautiful backyard, why not. Nevertheless, a little down time can make getting back on a bike the equivilant of the first time you make out with someone.

With the mental and physical atrophy, I've been killing time devising a route for the 03 IGSSC, which you can learn more about by clicking the link above. Should be a good event this year, although the hardest part will be simply carting your ass up a 1,800 foot climb to the start at eight-something-or-other in the morning.

For some unknown reason, we're having a power outage right now (praise be to laptop batteries) even though there isn't a cloud in the sky. The only sound has been the occassional moto fuck blasting up Spencer Mountain, the sound echoing across the entire valley. It's a shame I don't have a clear view of the route from my bedroom window - otherwise I'd practice my marksmanship with a biathlon rifle blasting out their tires. Ah well. It's probably best I'm unarmed angry pacificist.

Saw an unbelievable movie a couple nights ago - Dancer in the Dark - featuring none other the the impish Bjork herself. At first, the movie was just bizarre, filmed with nothing but handheld cameras and featuring somewhat off-center musical pieces. By the end, it turned into perhaps the most intense film I've ever seen, with an ending that rocks your world. So I recommend it highly.

Monday, September 15

Back in the 80466 hood, and wouldn't you know it, I've caught a cold. Not surprising after this Friday, where I spent 7 hours in Washington D.C. in a downpoor marking a course, leading a ride and getting chilled, followed by raving and dancing till 4 a.m., followed by one hour of sleep, followed by a flight in a germ canister back to Colorado. So now I'm sick. Just as well, I haven't been ill for more than a year, and it's best to get it out of the way now.

Anyhow, we've got some new capitalistic features for you on Off Camber. First off, the new Classifieds section, where we'll be selling hoopty singlespeed stuff. For now this section is free for you to sell stuff, but I might add a fee sometime just to cover the expense of me posting the thing on the site. If you've got something you want to sell email me a brief but clear description, price and, if you want, a picture and I'll link it up as soon as possible.

Also, due to popular uproar, Discos are back! Check 'em out and buy a set today by clicking here.

Finally, some more photos from the recent Manhatten assault have been posted

Thursday, September 11

As this is 911 I'll use this entry as an ode to NYC, motivated by a recent ride Dubba and I completed a few days ago in the borough of Manhatten.

Monday night in Manhatten. Deep and dark, but in a musty, tepid sort of way. Smells eminate everywhere, suffocating and invigorating at the same time. Urban assault for Johnny Rotten, a new environment for my orange steed. Off 48th street, alternating between the frogger style dodge ball on the sidewalk, and the suicidal bullet trance of the road, dodging pissed off cabbies and clueless tourists.

Drawn by a massive beacon of colored lights, flashing red, white, blue, green and every other color in the spectrum of light. Times Square. Street urchins sell everything from massive bratwursts to gold cheesy watches to spray painted murals of 50 Cent. I'm tempted to purchase one of the iconoclastic 50 Cent murals for my office door. Overwhelmed by the maze of light, the excitement of toursits , the ethnicity, the buzz, the fucking pure energy of the place. Bored looking cops observe from a distance.

Where to go now? I toss out the idea that we ride south, to Ground Zero, although we have no idea where it is actually. OK, let's do it. On the sidewalk, on the streets, pilots on a mission. The blocks tick off as we dodge pedestrians, the yellow locust of cabs and rats the size of a grown man's head. All under the incandecent light of the night city. Some flacid fucker curses at us, "Get off the sidewalk." We laugh, like arrogant teens, and continue on our way.

Through what we suppose is Grenich Village, happy people sitting outside enjoying dinner under the night city sky. Lovers converse, families laugh, food gets consumed, money is exchanged. The pulse of the neighborhood. We pedal onward, towards our destination, Ground Zero. We're getting closer now, as the streets of the financial district are deserted. Ask a few folks where GZ is, trying to be humble and somber. The point us on our way, begrudginly.

We spot a beam shining through the sky, straight up, ending only where a light cloud canopy reflects the light. I've heard about this symbolic spot, and we pedal towards it. Finally, we come to the plaza where the lights are shining, and I'm surprised how small the area was. Shocked even more that there was a parking lot and baseball field already laid down. Then I realized this was not the actual Ground Zero sight...that would be one city block to the east.

Ground Zero is not small. In fact, it's 20 acres wide, a big pit in the earth, a void amongst the giants of the NYC financial district. Other than a few rusted beams left for commemorative purposes, and a foundation, there are no signs of the disaster, of the humanity that was lost at this spot. Basically, nothingness.

Did a circle of the area on the singlespeed, and decided it was high time to get out of there. Headed north, and quickly got disoriented by the angled streets breaking up the north-south-east-west gridline. We arrived in Chinatown, distinguished by the sharp fowl odor of rotting chicken and the Asian characters highlighting various stores. Onward still until we suddenly left Chinatown and just as promptly entered Little Italy. Hungry now, so we stopped at a casual Italian place, grabbed some pasta and observed the fascinating sights of the city...the chaos, the diversity, the sheer humanity.

Bellies full, we proceed uptown, through the trendy club district, in synch now with the traffic, the ebbs and flows of the sidewalk, the fucking energy of the whole place. Arrive back at the 47th Street Raddison, stinky from smog, overloaded from a sensory feast and stoked as hell to have seen more of the big apple in 3 hours than most tourists see in a week.

Sunday, September 7

Live Free or Die. The motto of New Hampshire. A beautiful motto at that, certainly better than sentiments like "You've Got a Friend in Pennsylvania" or even "The Columbine State." I mention New Hampshire because this is where I spent the first weekend of our east coast tour, helping host an epic mountain bike ride for the organization I work for. A good time to be sure, and if I were feeling more eloquent tonight I'd expand on that though more. The basic story though: We ate, we rode through fire, we slept, we built trails, we ate more, we rode, we ate, we rode through fire again, we slept, we rode, we ate.

We rode alot: 45 miles today and 15 miles yesterday on the slippiest slimiest, bike wrecking terrain in the land. Pure sweetness, and I even managed to break, as far as I know, the first Disco in the history of the world. Prep 'em up Meriweather: I'll be ordering more soon. Johnny Rotten carried me true and far, and while the rigid fork was a bit, ummm...rigid, she worked like a dream. Again.

Outside Boston tonight at a co-workers parents house before it's off down the coast line to New York City tomorrow night and Washington D.C. after that for three days. Stoked for the sights and sounds of the Big Apple tomorrow, Ground Zero and all. Sorry I don't have more to say tonight...tired as hell.

Thursday, September 4

Last day in the Happy Valley realm before departing for eight days on a trip spanning the east coast tommorrow, that will cross Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut , Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland and finally Washington D.C. before returning back to Colorado. Johnny Rotten sinlge will accompany me throughout, so there should be some good adventures and tales of escaping gangs in the south Bronx pedaling like a maniac in a 32x18 gear.

Spent the last few days soaking up the hills, hiking up Spencer early this morning, catching a brilliant bloody sunrise, and commuting in via the standard route the past few days. Actually, it's not really the standard route for anyone but me. Another friend who lives up in the hills used to do it on a regular basis, but he now works on the far eastern plains, requiring a more direct, road-intensive commute. Even the crew on Hyper-Active A Road don't commute in on this route much, since there are other more appealing trails that offer a more direct line of attack.

It's interesting how the travel patterns of those not using a vehicle can be affected by very small changes in where you live and where you need to be. A mile here or a mile there makes a HUGE difference when travelling by bicycle, but is irrelevant when travelling by car.

Anyhow, I love my commute. I've never actually clocked how far it is, but it takes about 2 hours, is about 20 miles, has approximately 2,000 feet of climbing, 4,000 feet of descending and at least half on singletrack. The trails have a myriad of names, but I've begun calling it the Tapanzee Bridge Route, named after some steel structure in New York City. So named, because, while pedaling through some lush meadow at 7 a.m. I'll say to myself, "This sure as fuck beats sitting in traffic on the Tapanzee Bridge."

Tuesday, September 2

A bit on edge lately, anticipating a busy couple of weeks ahead. Lots of travel and some deadlines to hit. Sort of feeling like Pluto when its orbit comes inside Neptune for a brief span of time before resuming its proper place as the outermost planet. Perhaps Pluto has an identity crisis when its orbit is inside Neptune. Well, anyhow, that's how I feel now. So I continue to ride in, and will also make an effort to write on a daily basis, to sort of ground myself.

An uneventful Labor Day weekend. Went for a ride in the Confederate Hill area yesterday, and enjoyed it but, jeez, the motos are really tearing the fuck out of the area. Not really sure what to do, other than continue our standard trail practices of repairing and obscuring trails. The good news: many of the summer people who head to the hills to recreate will stay away now that Labor Day weekend has passed, giving the mountains, creatures and even us human residents a bit of a respite. Well, at least until hunting season begins. I'm sure we'll have some rants on that later.

Made a purchase this weekend. Picked up some Scarpa T2 telemark boots, in hopes of adding this activity to my winter sports repitoire, combined with frustration with my split decision snow board equipment on backcountry days last year. An added bonus: it's possible to ski from my house to the ski area, so it makes sense to have a contraption that allows you to easily go uphill as well as down. I always tend to have buyers remorse after purchasing something like this, but not in this case. First, it was a good deal, second it will be a fun new challenge and finally, this gear makes it likely that I can drastically cut down on my driving days this winter, always a good this.