Thursday, September 30

Good versus evil? Who will win? Stay tuned.

Yes the ride will go on in rain and snow. Are we pilots or are we pussies?

God, grant me the strength to sell my car.

Wednesday, September 29

A cold rain pitter patters outside, as Happy Valley is socked in. Sort of like me. Came down with a wicked case of Cascade Crud, and have cooped myself up. Relaxing, refreshing. Even before this cold, I've been feeling tired lately, like I needed a good rest. So now I'm forced to take one, and not feel guilty about it. In fact, if it were not for the TDD and IGSSC I'd actually be happy to have this cold...what better time, more natural time to have a cold than fall, as the days shorten and the world prepares for winter.

An amazing weekend in the Pacific Northwest. Attended the epic weekend on the Skookum Flats Trail on the slopes of Mount Rainier in Washington. The good Washington, not the shit hole of corruption to the east. On Saturday, trailwork, a reroute around an old eroded section. And then, Sunday, a ride. A stellar serpentine singletrack winding through a cathedral of towering trees and deep green moss. Majestic. Rode with some good folks too - Jeff from Java Sport and I climbed on singles and chatted the entire way up the initial climb.

When not riding, we – 45 or so folks – had massive bonfires, told jokes and reveled in being in such a beautiful place. About 60 miles south. Mount Saint Helens is rumbling again. Volcano? I hope so. We need a good volcano, to take the worlds attention away from the Bushes and Bin Ladens and offer a reminder that mother nature still rules the roost. Karma for our destruction of the planet would be a good volcano.

On Monday, the initial stages of this cold were moving in, but I had a plan to follow. Off to Orcas Island, way up yonder in the Puget Sound, to ride trails in Moran Park. A one hour ferry boat ride - it is an island after all. The main town, East Sound, reminds me a tad bit of Carmel-by-the-Sea without the BMW's and Benz's. It's also about 1/8 the size. A cool bohemian island community where I doubt Bush will get a dozen votes. And yes skater friends, the park on Orcas Island is world class. You must go!

The ride involved a climb to the top of the highest peak in the San Juan Islands, overlooking the Sound, numerous snowcapped volcanoes, more islands, the North Cascades, Canada, Victoria, Vancouver. Brisk and chilly, so continued on, riding dark, smooth rolling singletrack through old growth forests. And the moss! Green moss everywhere, the trail a brown path through a sea of green, like the yellow brick road in the Wizard of Oz. One of the best rides anywhere. Must return to Orcas Island.

Now, it's back home, listening to the rain move in, winter's continuous push. And healing up before the weekends festivities. For Friday night, let it snow, let it snow. A reminder to all pilots: charge your lights!

Thursday, September 23

Up the hill last night (up the hill, down the hill, who the hell reads this stuff?). Low-40's in Boulder, which meant for a crisp climb. Leg Warmers, an undershirt and a jersey for the climb up Sugarloaf. It gets dark quite early these days - a fact that I figured out when I hit the dirt on Sugarloaf at 7:10 pm and it was almost pitch dark out. A massive cloud bank over the Continental Divide loomed ahead. Breathe visible, hands slightly chilled, toes inkling towards numb. Stopped at the top to regroup, put on a wool jersey, booties, over mitts, a ski cap.

Onward up the dirt. Feeling good in the light, but odd to be riding up Sugarloaf in the dark. Three months ago, it was broad daylight at this time. Turn on the blinkie light, a lone red shimmer on a lonely road to nowhere. Onto Peak to Peak, past the ranch, up a long, dark climb, interspersed with an occasional car (I hope they see the blinkie). The moon, dancing in and out of the clouds. Who knows what is out there in the dark - half expect to see a coyote, an entire herd of elk, a lone wolf entering from Wyoming. What would I do if I got caught in a herd of elk. Stand still and hope I suppose.

Past the elementary school turn off. The lights of Nederland shimmer below. As do the first few flakes of a snow squal. A decision to make. Suz is driving up the canyon in one hour. I could ride the last few miles into the wind and snow to Happy Valley, or go to Kathmandu for some dumpling, naan bread and five cups of Chai and get a ride home from her. I choose the latter. A good book, the finishing touches on the read about grizzlies in Colorado, to accompany me. Meanwhile the snow pelts down outside, on the Moots, blanketing the mountains. For the first day of fall, this feels a lot like winter.

A crisp, fall climb under a half moon in the Colorado Mountains, with a finishing snow storm and a good meal and book. What could be better? A nice ride home from dinner from my girlfriend in a toasty warm car, that's what!

Wednesday, September 22

The first day of fall. Yesterdays commute was epic. A full-on death soup mixture of snow, sleet, rain and half of Magnolia Roads dirt and mud kicked up in my face. But it had to be done. First snowfall of the year is a ritual ride, and while I won't exactly say it was fun, it was a nice, raw, immersion following a 16 hour work day until 2 am the night before. The biggest problem was sight – My glasses were either perpetually fogged or coated with mud. But without them, the eyes would take exceptionally painful pellet shots every 30 seconds or so. Have not really found a solution to that yet.

A gorgeous morning in the hills today. The clouds have lifted, revealing a blanket of white, clinging to the yellow hew of the aspens. Slept in, since I've been lacking in that department of late, but plan to ride home. Back into the rhythms of autumn following a rather chaotic spell.

Monday, September 20

11:10 p.m., at work. A mellower moment. Actually listening to Bruce Hornsby after a creative juggernaut of Trance, Techno, Bjork, Hip Hop and everything in between. Black light blazing, music thumping. Kind of like the old days. You see, working here is more of a labor of love than anything else. Has been since February 1999, when I basically put my Master's degree in journalism on hold to work for pennies for the largest mountain bike advocacy group in the world. A dream job, at least for those of us without the talent to play for the Boston Red Sox. Mountain biking, day in, and day out.

I've sort of grown up here. Hell, I've worked exactly 22% of my days on earth at this place. It's been my only real job (dishwashing, delivering bagels and coaching ski teams aside). And while I work late tonight, I definitely sense the end of something is nearing. Back in 1999, a whole slew of us were hired, by the captain, the god of mountain bike advocacy, TB. We had no idea what sort of ride we were in for. We were younger then: we'd work 10 hour plus days as the norm, ride our bikes -usually singlespeeds -till we dropped, and many of us would go to SOMA and dance our asses off until 2 a.m. Week nights included. Rewind and repeat.

Our HQ was located at the hub of it all, the University Hill. Basically, it was like being in school with none of the studying. Our office was a cramped space, sort of like a back alley, Ebbet's Field type home. On top of a Chinese restaurant. Across from college housing where more than once the entire staff was enraptured by a little, ahem, public display of affection. In 1999, when I was hired, a whole slew of folks who happened to be amazingly like minded we're also signed on. Young, with lots of attitude and enthusiasm. HS...a burst of energy who was more like a sister than a girl. JDV, international man of mystery, world traveler, ladies man and damned good friend. Oz, the book keeper. Oz wasn't exactly a biker at the time (although he now rides more than anyone on staff...your's truly included.) He was, however, the funniest fucking cat I've ever met in my life, with enough imitations to make Dana Carvey jealous. And last but not least, the life of the group, the pulse, the Surly MoFo, who we'll simply call MOPE. Kid turned out to be one of my best friends in the world. Some damn good bosses too: PW, the enforcer, Mr. Charm School himself and JL, a heaven sent angel of a boss. Best damned boss in the world.

The early days rocked. We went on ridiculous spur of the moment trips to the desert, to Texas, to Fruita (almost ran over the boss on that one), to Italy, etc, etc, etc. For a punk ass kid, they had me giving presentations that I basically had no business giving – in one session I represented the National Park Service in the absence of a real NPS presenter. More than the trips, the work, and fancy presentations were the relations built with my coworkers. These people basically became my best friends. We'd hang out together well after work, and enjoy it. I could write a book on all the stories: getting busted for hanging off the walls in a board meeting in Vegas comes to mind at this moment (long story). It don't know what it's like in other work places, but I will say that for me this was the absolute ideal.

But life is about change. People change, situations change. And the place where I work is still great. But it's also different. A little more professional. We have a new headquarters, a state of the art facility that is more like Coors Field than Ebbets Field. More significant though, is the people. The class of 99 in almost gone. (There are lot's of new people, great people, who are turning into friends as well...the world moves and adapts). First to go was JL. I cried that day, but she was just the first of many. Next, JDV, to pursue a DH racing career. HS also moved on at the beginning of the year.

The last two blows have hit the hardest. First, el capitan, TB. A mentor, moving onto new challenges. Good for him too. There's no doubt he'll soar with a new spark. But then, a more recent blow. My best broh, MOPE, announced this week he's taking a new job. More money, which is good cause he deserves it. But it's sad too. Times change, people move on. MOPE and I will always be great friends, but it won't be the same.

So tonight I work late for the memories of days gone by. Cause who knows how much longer this ride will continue?

Friday, September 17

Warmer today - mid-40's at the house when I left, and quite comfortable throughout the ride. Not a cloud in the sky, and the leaves are nearing their peak. Especially cool is how the undergrowth in the forest is turning a yellow and amber hew. Brilliant and beautiful.

Saw an American Black Bear – Ursus Americanus – and her cub on my ride in today. Riding a trail through a typical lodge pole pine Rocky Mountain forest when I saw something black lumbering along ahead. My brakes are not perfectly tuned, so a little squeal sent the bear running. Then I noticed that there was more than one bear, a smaller bear, running behind the bigger bear. When the bigger bear - which I assume was the mother – ran, there was a definite rumble on the ground. The bear also made a sort of panting sound as it ran – almost a desperate and childlike sound.

And then, after a short burst, the bear stopped behind a downed tree and just looked at me. The cub joined the mother. The two were probably 50 yards away. The cub – which was probably 3/5 the size of the mother, stood up on its hind legs to get a better look. And I looked back. While the mother seemed wary, the cub seemed curious what this strange, hairless creature was with a blue shiny head riding some sort of bizarre orange contraption.

After about a minute or so of this, I determined these bears needed to be left alone, to get back to the business of preparing for winter. Slowly pedaled ahead. The mother started to move like she was going to run again, but then stopped, and just watched as I pedaled away. Be safe bear, and for readers, if you see a bear, leave it in peace.

Thursday, September 16

Sitting here in my office, rotting away. Not really, but the temptation to be outside when it's 66 degrees and sunny, in the midst of autumn, is a bit overwhelming. My salvation - music - in the form of trance on www.di.fm. Been riding some – fairly direct into work this week – but a strained knee as a result of softball (damn dangerous sport) has forced me to reel it in a bit the past few days. Almost back to 100% though, hopefully ready for an early AM ride with the crew (if I'm there, I'm there, if not, head out.) Put up a Chinese flag in my office. Why? Not really sure, other than I like the stark red off-set with the stars. I'm not a communist, although socialism seems like a splendid idea.

Been working on the newsletter, trying to spark a bit of life into a product that seems devoid of it. Professionalism versus passion? Give me the latter any day of the week. Professionalism will make you good - good enough to make $60,000 a year, have a nice car, a house, a pension plan, a nice coffin upon death. Passion will take you to the other world, the next dimension of success. Perhaps even bring about invincibility of the soul.

Creativity with limits. Man, how cool would it be to do something without those limits? I need a project, my own, to exercise that right.

Wednesday, September 15

"I don’t know what to say, really. Three minutes till the biggest battle of our professional lives all comes down to today. Now either we heal as a team or we’re gonna crumble, inch by inch, play by play, 'til we’re finished.

We’re in hell right now, gentlemen, believe me. And, we can stay here -- get the shit kicked out of us -- or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell one inch at a time.

Now, I can’t do it for you. I’m too old. I look around. I see these young faces, and I think -- I mean -- I made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. I, uh, I pissed away all my money, believe it or not. I chased off anyone who’s ever loved me. And lately, I can’t even stand the face I see in the mirror.

You know, when you get old in life things get taken from you. I mean that's...part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losing stuff. You find out life’s this game of inches. So is football. Because in either game, life or football, the margin for error is so small -- I mean one-half a step too late, or too early, and you don’t quite make it. One-half second too slow, too fast, you don’t quite catch it.

The inches we need are everywhere around us.

They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second.

On this team, we fight for that inch. On this team, we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch, because we know when we add up all those inches that’s gonna make the fuckin' difference between winning and losing! Between livin' and dyin'!

I’ll tell you this: In any fight, it’s the guy who’s willing to die who’s gonna win that inch. And I know if I’m gonna have any life anymore, it’s because I’m still willin' to fight and die for that inch. Because that’s what livin' is! The six inches in front of your face!!

Now I can’t make you do it. You got to look at the guy next to you. Look into his eyes! Now I think you’re gonna see a guy who will go that inch with you. You're gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team because he knows, when it comes down to it, you’re gonna do the same for him!

That’s a team, gentleman!

And, either we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals.

That’s football guys.

That's all it is.

Now, what are you gonna do?"

- Al Pacino, Any Given Sunday.

Sunday, September 12

A quick, late-night report before hitting the sack. A good weekend - yet again too damned short - but that's life...for now at least. Spent 911 in the perfect way...hiking up Gray's Peak with the youth group. The kids totally rocked it, which was a little surprising seeing as how a couple of the kids showed up with gear that wouldn't exactly make the North Face catalog profile - Sketchers and punk rock t-shirts to be exact. No matter - it was super cool to see the looks on the Boulder, hard-core mountain-poster-child types as the kids went blasting by them, barely breathing. Kids are cool - way, way more interesting to talk to than the artificial conversations of adults – new houses, health bills, new cars...yadda, yadda, yadda who freaking cares. Kids see something, or even imagine something (adults have no imagination) and focus on it, unencumbered. And that's cool.

Today, an experimental exploration mission of a trail rumored to exist. Somewhat successful – the said route exists, but it ain't exactly "all that." And that will be the last we'll discuss that topic on this website.

The hunters are out in force. Gunshots in the woods. A bizarre game, hunting. Doesn't really seem all that sporting, given that there are zero predators in Colorado resulting in a severe influx of elk and deer. Actually hunting, tromping through the woods, moving stealth-like, careful of every twig moved or rock nudged, can be a total immersion into the natural cycles, of which humans were once a part. But driving up to a field of elk in an ATV and blasting away seems more like shooting than hunting.

Yet another reason why we need predators. If hunters are true sportsmen – and environmentalists (as many claim to be) – they should be first in line to lobby for the reintroduction of predators like the wolf and grizzly to Colorado. To bring a little "sport" back in to sport hunting.

Thursday, September 9

Back on the bike in earnest yesterday, with a ride up for the first time since 'zumas. Up Sugarloaf on an iPod driven ride – Bjork, to Kanye West to Tiesto – sort of a tweaked order but it worked (by the way, Bjork's new album, Medulla, is one of the best I've heard in sometime). The ride ended in pitch darkness – oh yeah...it gets dark at 7:45 now, but it was pretty cool to be riding under the stars with the trance music winding melodic notes into the brain. Cool stuff, and a good way to get back in that good place after a rather stress induced day.

This morning, back on the single, and a treat. Happened to see the Rollinsville Redneck at the intersection of Freak to Freak and Mag, and we spun in together, catching up on life, liberty and all that jazz. It's always cool to see one of the crew, especially when it's an unexpected rendezvous like today. Passed by the overlook and noticed a Baja parked. The ants march continues.

Been reading a stellar book of late – "The Lost Girzzlies" by Rick Bass. It's about a crew who is searching for an existing, remnant population of Grizzly Bears in the San Juan Mountains. Apparently, the last "official" grizzly was killed by hunters in the San Juans in 1979, but there have been numerous, but unconfirmed, sightings since then. The book has an Edward Abbeyesque feel to it – in fact the main character is the actual real life person that Hayduke in the "Monkey Wrench Gang" was based on.

I remember a few years back, conversing with Meriweather and the Rollinsville Redhead while riding the Switzerland Trail how riding in Colorado didn't compare to riding in Alaska because we've basically eliminated all predators, and in turn, eliminated the awe in nature. Sort of turned Colorado into a Disneyland, with cuddly elk, deer and other Bambi-type creatures. Nothing against these animals, but it's exceptionally artificial. So check out and support Sinapu, a group dedicated to restoring predators to the southern Rocky Mountains, and in turn bringing back some of that awe.

Oh, there seems to be a bit of confusion out there. The IGSSC will not be a night ride meeting at the top of Molas Pass. Well, actually, it will be a night ride, but we don't know where the hell it will start. More on that soon.

Just got done reading Timmy's blog from yesterday. One of the best yet. Good motivation too, since Saturday, October 2 has officially been deemed "Take a Kid Mountain Biking Day."

Got a nice email today from a reader...cool...it's the kind of thing that keeps you stoked to keep at it. By the way, if anyone knows that technical jazz about how to get a website more prominent on google searches, let me know:

You have one of the best MTB oriented sites on the Internet. Your description of the artistic simplicity of a SS vs. the right side brain analytical view of the Full Suspension technical advances in mountain biking appealed to my right side/left side Product Design Management dilemma. Keep up the good work. Attached is my latest build (photo above) after numerous hard tail and full-suss builds, my Edge SS. Best bike I've ever ridden! - thebikeguy

Tuesday, September 7

The end of a long holiday weekend, but not without a very cool ride that exemplified fall in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

Friday, September 3

What's your favorite ride? When asked this question, I always find myself thinking about far off places, epic adventures, stellar singletrack. The high alpine traverse from Lake City to Silverton. The immense, peaceful rain forests of the Skookum Trail on the slopes of Mount Rainier. Pollock Bench at sunset (pre-closure). Yet the ride I need the most – and thus could qualify as my favorite ride – is nothing more than a rough, loose jeep road climb called five-oh-five.

Of course, what make five-oh-five so special is that it's literally out the back door. It's a 45 minute climb, or there bout's, from Happy Valley to a pseudo, above-timberline open plain at 10,200 feet. This is a key number – it breaks the magical 10,000 foot barrier, which mentally is when mountain biking really starts here in Colorado. The air is thinner, crisper, the sun more vibrant. To be able to ride out my front door and be above 10 grand in 45 minutes is truly a treasure.

The climb benches up the northern ridge of my valley, offering outstanding views of the foothills and urban metroplex to the east, and the Continental Divide to the west. After the initial bench, it climbs in a series of steps through pine forests to it's high alpine perch. It's not a classic singletrack. It's a jeep road, plain and simple. Relentless. Most people hate it, or just get through it to get to the "better stuff" to the north.

For me, this ride provides salvation when little seems available. It's a great ride when time is short and I'm on deadline with the newsletter. Or nights like tonight, when I get home late after a hard week of work and just want to blow it out. These rides inevitably end up with me picking my way down in near pitch darkness. Light shades equal a big rock: avoid at all costs. I've also been known to squeeze in a dawn climb of five-oh-five on those days where a noon DIA flight and an extended trip to some pit in the east looms. It provides salvation, and relaxes.

A climb out my front door is something I'll always need. I'll always live in the mountains - I'd go crazy in the flats, and if I'm going to be relegated to a short ride I'd just as well want it to go straight up into the sky.

Wednesday, September 1

Why write up the Colorado Trail trip when DK did such an exceptional job, offering a detailed, accurate and honest account of the adventure? Check it out.

I would like to tackle the project of writing an accurate, mountain biker specific, web-based guide to the Colorado Trail, however. The existing guides, for lack of a better word, suck, and are rife with inaccuracies, or, more frequently complete omissions of critical sections. The elevation profiles are a joke, and the books are really not all that biker friendly. So I'll invest my energy into this, starting with a detailed description of the Day 6 route. Any volunteers to write the other segments?

So the place I work for has a softball team in the Boulder City League this fall. A good time, and quite comical to see a bunch of cyclists relearn ball sports skills from 20 years prior. Last night, an accident to the original Intergalactic Pilot himself. A snapped collarbone! Amazing that the pilot raced pro for 15 years on a mountain bike with zero collarbone problems, but then snaps it diving for a ball in warm-ups. Heal quick pilot!