The mountains call, and I must go.

Soon to the north

Not as much writing lately, as the pace of life has increased. Obviously, if it comes to a choice between riding or writing, 9 times out of 10 I'm going to ride. Did a nice big ride on Saturday. Actually, I was kind of pissy in the beginning of it - it was hot and dry and I was bored with the route - but once I got to some new terrain my minds shifted in that long adventure mode. Going new places, keep going new place...that's the key.

Heading off to Alaska tomorrow evening for the Soggy Bottom. I'm excited for this adventure...not so much for the sense of accomplishment part, but for the actual ride itself, the 100-and-some-odd miles of Alaskan wilderness that I will get to spend about 12 hous of my life in. Sure I want to do well, but at this point in the game I know pretty much how I ride, how to prepare and how to eat, so that's nothing to stress over. What I don't know is what's around the next bend, over the next ridgeline, and that will be the pull of the day.

It's supposed to rain too...Cool temps, new terrain, rain and my singlespeed. I can't really think of anything I'd rather be doing. I supect that's probably a pretty good mindset to have. I guess my real goal is to simply have the time of my life up there.

First snow of the year...

...up high at least.

Here's a shot looking northwest from the high school towards Bald Mountain. Four days earlier than last year.

Wanderlust

Big week in Intergalactic Pilot land. Adventures abound. Meriwether is embarking on an epic off-road journey this morning to the land of Dunes. Along the way, he'll encounter mountain passes high, deserts dry and untold beauty. Meanwhile, the Mad Scientist and the Redneck are heading across the North Atlantic to Braveheart country, Scotland, for the Single Speed World Championships. And next week I head up to the north country, land of volcanoes and the Soggy Bottom. Their wanderings inspire mine as well, and perhaps visa versa. The aliens are coming!

If travel is searching
And home has been found
I'm not stopping
I'm going hunting
I'm the hunter
I'll bring back the goods
But I don't know when

- Bjork

Fall is here

39°, cloudy and calm. I won't be stunned if on my ride into school this morning I see a dusting of snow up on Bald Mountain. Last nights ride was full on fall-like...foggy, wool jersey conditions, a few yellow leaves scattered on sections of brown, wet singletrack and still more speckled clusters of gold on the aspen trees. Last night, you could see your breathe in the air. The sun is now setting before 8 pm, and seems to be losing minutes by the day. Good times, full of an energy driven by anticipation of what is to come. But gosh, my woodpile outside is looking mighty small. It's getting near time to remedy that.

Golden silence and moose

53°, clear and calm. Moths dancing outside the window, a last hurrah before autumns cold sets in. I think this is the last blast of real heat before the cooler, glorious days of fall. Bring it on I say.

One of the most enjoyable rides of the entire year this evening. The route was nothing special - it was a standard climb and descent I do quite often - but there was a magical, golden quality to the ride. The late August evening sun turns angles horizontal and long, and basks the dimming green leaves. A quiet to the ride that I had not sensed since Yellowstone. After the long climb, the 10,000 foot plateau felt empty and wild. Just a slight breeze whisking through grasses, between the scarecrow contorted pine bushels.

Down the narrow elk singletrack when I happened upon - appropriately enough - two of the most majestic bull elk I've even seen. Massive, strong from a summer of eating, most impressive antlers...in perfect condition. I felt bad for spooking them on this serene evening, but then thought their world is going to get a whole heck of a lot more stressful in a month when ugly fat men come to the neighborhood to shoot and kill them. I hope these elk drop deep into the hidden places of the forest, and make it. Based on their reaction to me, they've got a fighting chance.

Arrived in the bigger town to the east at dusk, so headed west and pedaled back home under the half moon, silhouetted against the narrowing valley walls. Just as I rounded the corner before heading into Happy Valley, two dark shapes less than 30 feet ahead. A mother moose and her calf, towering on the edge of the road, my side. I stopped and sized up the situation. They did the same. A moose is not something to mess with, not to mention a mother moose with a calf. They gave off an air of intent calm. I backed off, headed the opposite direction, and the moose started trotting down the road towards me. Crossed to the other side (this was getting ridiculous) and spoke in soft tones to the moose mom..."ok, I'm just going to go past you on this side of the road. It's OK." No problem. The lanky mom and calf shimmied a few steps off the road and we went our separate ways. A few minutes later, a hundred feet from home, a fox went darting across a field of remnant wildflowers with what appeared to be a small rodent, checking over it's shoulder to size me up, determining I was no threat, and ambling off into the forest.

All the ingredients for a great ride. A challenging climb up a mountain. Total silence. Solitude. A cornucopia of wildlife. A bit of rowdy singletrack. A ride home under a waxing moon. That's why we choose to rise up from the couch on an evening after a hard day of work and climb a mountain.

Back to school, woods salvation, races

67°, clear and calm. I'm sure I won't get much sympathy from folks, but the transition from a summer spent riding in the woods to a classroom with thirty hyped 8th graders is a bit drastic. Friday and Saturday were easily the most tired I've been in a long time. As anyone who has ever started a new job can attest, those first few days can be brutal on the system. It'll come around - probably this week, thankfully.

Regardless, I managed to get some decent rides in this week - five days altogether with two nice roller skis tossed in. I think, sometimes, when stress increases, I get more stubborn about maintaining a healthy lifestyle, to...in some bizarre sense...rage against the pull to sleep, to be lazy, to do nothing. Because I think that's what most people do, and I'm not sure I like that path and the sacrifices it requires. So I slog up and over singletrack climbs, between lodgepole forests, over summits high, through crashing thunderstorms and rain in an attempt to climb from something (and in no way is this unique - most people who read this do the same).

Maybe it's a fight from the mundaneness of life I saw when, as a child, I visited relatives in Connecticut. The perfectly manicured lawns with sprinklers, the idle fish tanks in the standards 50's and 60's built homes, cookie-cutter, tame...the opposite of wild. I think at a very young age I identified something about this place as stifling, and have been waging a silent war against it ever since. Bike riding, skiing, making a point to sense something a little wild everyday is an extension of that fight.

Thank goodness my parents were free-thinkers. Vermont, while being in New England, is so jagged and non-linear that it makes parts of Colorado seem staid. Vermont, the mountain enclave of rebels surrounded by a sea of green lawns, schnauzer dogs and people driving to their corpses in Cadillac's along something - ironically enough - called Parkways. Fitting the the best "park" ways in certain sections of New England would be along a six-lane interstate.

Interesting things in the woods. Mushrooms like those found in Alice in Wonderland. Yellow underbrush. Oddly slow moving chipmunks...one such critter I think I could have picked up with my bare hands had I so desired. A half dozen items of trash dumped by folks along the trail per ride. And I have to admit, the onset of autumn this year seems, sadly, stalled. I'm sure it will hit soon, but damn, I want to see it go off!

Hung at the races a bit this weekend, slicing fruit, offering encouragement to friends and kids, pretending I was Tom Moran by trying to shoot non "race" racing photos. Asked more than once why I wasn't racing. An honest reply - I don't want to. Racing is great - it really is - but it doesn't bring me that much joy or fulfillment, at least not riding around a loop four times with a hundred other folks. Riding 100 miles over new terrain in the Soggy Bottom with about dozen nuts...now that's a different story. Less than two weeks till that adventure begins.

Speaking of loop races, I've been thinking about the 24 Hours of Moab and how it could be a cool opportunity to take advantage of lots of people driving there (and being able to easily secure a ride to and from) to do a three to four day adventure, far from the race but ending at the race. Thinking something like Fruita to the race course. Combo Kokopelli Trail and the Colorado River. Utilizing the standard singlespeed and a new weapon. It probably won't happen this year, as fund are a bit tight and I want to save for winter skiing stuff, not a spring-time boat, but someday sooner than later.

Keeping things on an even keel

53°, clear as a bell and calm. School starts tomorrow, so things have been a bit hectic the past couple of days. In a way, getting ready for the first day of school is a lot like hitting a magazine deadline date. Only the most mature avoid procrastination...certainly not me. Finished up my lesson plans about an hour ago, less than t-minus twelve hours. That said, I feel worlds better about this years start than last years. Last year was my first year teaching, and I was scared shitless for day one. I wasn't even sure if I was cut out to talk in front of a group, or if I would lose it five minutes in. No such fear this year, and more confidence in what I'm doing, where I'm going. Certainly not arrogance...I'm still just a pup in this game...but it's a better feeling overall.

A clear example of this. Managed to get a nice ride in yesterday and a solid roller ski today. And, I'm going to ride to work and then home on trails tomorrow, the first day. Last year, I was up till 2 am and had to drive because I was so stressed and tired. Anyway, a nice ski tonight, and it got me thinking that regular attendance at the place photographed below (only white instead of green) isn't too far away.

Searching for leaves, found mushrooms

57°, layered clouds and thunder, calm. There is a cool moisture in the air as thunderstorms beckoned, but never hit. Two signs that autumn is coming:

1. Patagonia started selling their fall line of gear today.
2. Eldora is selling passes for the upcoming ski season.

My mission today was to find a more natural indicator of fall - a changed color aspen leaf. Last year I found a few on August 13th. There are actually a few on the ranch heading into town, but I was searching for one on the ride. Headed up to near 10,000 feet, through some prime aspen groves, along creeks and valleys (normally these get colder first), but did not find one. Another week or so I suspect. The underground plants ARE changing color, rapidly, creating islands of brightness in a sea of green. Thanks to the recent moisture there are also some HUGE mushrooms out there too.

A nice, subtle sunset tonight. Saw some scat of the canine variety...probably coyote...heading home over the pass. All and all a great ride...even with work starting, I will ride in the woods, as always. An added bonus...the knee felt good.

Johnny Rotten is back in service again after its first summer off since 1999. For now, a commuter, but soon a much more glamorous and wilderness-worthy build-up as a snow bike. The first component...the massive Pugsley front fork. Fatties certainly fit fine, and skinnies look plain silly!

Finally, it looks like Matt Chester is back in business. Nice to see.

Last day of summer

54°, clear and calm. Managed to get out for a nice evening roller ski. Even if I developed a massive, agonizing, bulbous tumor in my knee, I could always double pole roller ski, as it doesn't stress it whatsoever and give me a hella fine workout. Skiing makes me dream of the months to comes...soft snow dancing on pines, moose tracks on Zarlengo, bitter full moon classic skis. Leg feels better today, getting a massage tomorrow and looking ahead.

A bit melancholy this evening. Alas, my sumer break is over in nine hours. Kick things off with a 8 am pep rally in Broomfield with 3,000 other BVSD employees. Ouch. What a crazed transition from the lazy days on the hammock, the long rides at sunset in the woods, that foggy morning on Shoshone Lake. I remember that last evening on the lake...I stepped away from camp for ten minutes or so and just embraced the utter silence. It was bizarre, and took a concerted effort by me to eliminate the inner noise from my head. Total silence, no ambient noise, no planes, no music is so very rare. Most of us don't experience more than a handful of times a year. But I remember it well, and will try to come back to that place as often as possible in the crazy nine months to come.

Melancholy isn't a way to live though. No point in it. There is a lot to look forward to. It's not necessarily peaceful, but the energy of teaching, of the kids, is infectious if you let it be and stay happy. I find my salvation everyday too, in the form of a nice two to three hour ride entirely on dirt home from school. Up and over a hill, endorphin central. The next month and a half will be the best too. Autumn's arrival, a sea of yellow, a carpet of leaves, an early season snowy ride home, the howl of coyotes as darkness settles in with winter. These are all good things. Hell, I'll bet on my next ride home I'll see my first yellow leaf of the summer, in some cool valley where the steam keeps things chill in the morning.

Still, my mind and soul are still up in those northwoods, wondering what is going on at this very moment. The joy of the wolf pack, the perpetual motion, the exploration through the forest, searching for food, for something, A single howl over a foggy lake, that silences everything to a dead calm. These are places to be. If you can, load up a pack, strap some gear on the bike, and simply get OUT THERE. Find that place on the map you've never been, that captures the imagination, and immerse yourself in it, however briefly. Feel the discomfort of absolute silence, and then allow your mind and body to melt into it, and be completely content. Then come back, and fight to make this place a little bit more like that one.

Leadville Pull

57°, cloudy and calm. Well, I pulled out of the Leadville 100. It was a good race, I felt strong physically and mentally and climbed well, but near the top of the Columbine Climb I started to feel fairly sharp twangs of tendonitis knee pain in my right knee. Rubbed it for awhile, got a massage at the top and popped two ibuprofin, but the pain stayed the same. So I shut it down, rolled back down the mountain and called it a day.

I think...a smart decision. The Soggy Bottom is a big adventure in three weeks that I'd like to feel physically good for, and I've seen tendonitis in folks who push through it last for months, even years. One of the best female racers in the country today actually lost two seasons because of it, so for me it's not something I mess with. Too many battles to fight down the line. I suspect the culprit of today's issue was the week of backpacking and paddling (kneeling in a canoe is hard on the joints). Singlespeeding up steep hills is a combination of three things...leg strength, lungs and joints. The legs and lungs loved the time off...the joints not so much. So some rest and some controlled stressing to get it back up to speed. Bottom line: there are a lot of adventures I want to do in this lifetime, and I need the knees to do them, so I'm pretty conservative with 'em. Strangely pleased though - a nice, fun ride, feeling pretty spry out there and stoked to fine tune things for AK. Inspired lately...not so much by the bike itself but by nature, wild places and a personal promise to bring more wild places to the hood.

Leadville 100

64°, clear and breezy this morning. Well, after a little hemming and hawing (the transition from Yellowstone relative solitude to 900 testosterone fueled racers, pep talks and the like will do that) I've decided to head down to Leadville and give the 100 a stab. Signed up for the damned thing...might as well give it an honest effort. The plan...go to registration, get some groceries and then practice crowd avoidance techniques by riding a bit in the woods and hanging out at my campsite by the lake. And then hurt like a mofo tomorrow.

293F

55°, clear and calm. The mountains have a crispness to them. This made today's ride, my first in quite awhile actually, pleasant despite the predicted warmth. A hint of autumn creeping into a hot summer's day, the chink in the armor. Went on a distant jaunt to a route 293F. Strange name for a route, you say. I like the ambiguity and the stealthy nature of it. It's the call name for the wolf that made its way down from Yellowstone and then was hit and killed on I-70. I name the trail that, in honor of something and in hopes for a wilder future, but also because it seems like it lies in perfect hidden country for wolves to live and dissapear. And, in reality, it's not impossible that Miss 293F roamed in this very area...afterall, she was killed near Idaho Springs...not so far away. It's secluded. I go there to hide too, sort of pilgrimage from whatever stresses and concerns there are. Something about the deep trees, the silence of the loamy dirt, the green and brown and rocks and stumps. It's a church, a cathedral to the dwindling wild. It's one of the few places where I feel like humans have not laid a massive print, and I recognize the honor of being there.

Wadsworth said," What you have loved, others will love, and you will teach them how." I've been thinking about this quote a lot. It's not something I've gravitated towards really...my tactic has been more to point out the flaws and work in silent rage to fix them. But perhaps this is the wrong strategy. It's something to mull over in the woods, because lord knows the woods are on the firing line and can use all the help they can get.

Do something good today. Join the National Arbor Day Foundation. I signed up - for a mere $10 - and in return they are sending me ten Colorado Blue Spruce trees for planting this autumn. If everyone who reads this in a day joins and plants trees, that's more than 5,000 trees!

Back to the (civilized?)

90-some-odd degrees in a strip mall in Fort Collins. Killing time while Yeti is at the vet. A stark contrast, here versus the past week in the Yellowstone backcountry. Words to convey some thoughts about the trip soon, but for now, a slideshow will have to suffice.