FRACTURELINE

2011-04-29T09:43:00.001-07:00

Reflections on a Fall well spent

2010-11-18T22:44:00.000-07:00

30˚ and steady snow.

Today had an air of significance for me, for no reason other than I can say it truly feels like winter. Bozeman has had snow on the ground for well over a week, I've hit the double digits in ski days, and there is well over 3 feet of snow in the bridgers at this point, so it might seem silly that my eyes have only opened today, but up until now, there feeling of the past two weeks has been nothing short of surreal. I suppose it was a fairly rapid transition from riding bikes to skiing, 6 days after my (unbeknownst to me) last ride of the season, the Bridger range was completely blanketed in snow, and my bike has not left its corner since. While riding my bike to class this morning though, I was hit with a deja vu: something about the piles of melting snow and dead leaves, something about the wind - a stiff headwind is not something that occurs quite as often (and while I do not miss it in the least, pedaling in a stiff breeze does bring a pang or two of nostalgia), and something about the crisp dry air, was the exact feeling that I would used to have riding down fourth street to spend the day sitting in desks thinking about skiing. Funny how, a couple years later and 800 miles away, not much has changed.

I walked into my last class of the day at 3:30, the sky was no longer spotted with the high lenticular clouds of the morning, but was rather smothered in a sloppy grey blanket, hovering a thousand feet up. When I walked out of the lecture hall, two things struck almost instantaneously. One, it was very dark - class did not get out late - no it was 5:00, but the sky had practically no light left, and... it was snowing. Ah, thats what winter is like. By my estimates, winter is four inches deep on the ground outside, and I would reckon there is a good deal more in the hills. And for me, its not a bad deal that there's more a coming.

Super

2010-11-14T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days that makes me infinitely grateful for the life I live. Eggs and biscuits and bacon, skiing with friends and family, soft snow and smiles. A day that leaves you legs up on the couch with a cup of tea and a smile, because days like these - no matter how often they happen - do not happen often enough.

On a side note, there is a plus side to having a poorly organized computer, in that every now and again you come across a little nugget of something that you thought was there but previously overlooked. Here's a multi-photo stitch of CJ skinning up the ramp from a few weeks ago:

Of skiing and food

2010-11-12T09:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I imagine life as a box of cereal. Everyday, you open a box, and everyday, you choose what bowls you get to pour that cereal into. Everyone has a different set of bowls, but for me, there is a bowl for activities that occur out of doors, there is a bowl for the necessary chores in life, and there is a bowl for work. For other people, there may exist other bowls, bowls for relationships, bowls for dealing with stress, and bowls for anger, negativity, or hatred - its all about where you choose to invest your consciousness - but for me, there are only three. In the ideal life, one would be able to eat cereal out of each bowl every day. The outdoors; to keep one happy and healthy, the chores; maybe not the most spectacular activities, but honorable for their practicality, and the work; so one might buy more cereal.

Last week, I ate exclusively from the bowl of work, perhaps school is a better label for this bowl, for me, school is a job - one that will hopefully pay off down the road, one of these days, in the future - at least, thats what I keep telling myself. Long story short, it was a horrendous week. An exceptionally good reminder that if you eat exclusively out of one cereal bowl, you get a sick feeling in the bottom of your stomach. This week, hours were made for the other bowls, cooking good food, painting, family time, going to yoga, running, and yes, the granddaddy of them all - skiing. Believe it or not, yes this was a damn good week. So with that, we learn life's weekly lesson: that when you work hard to make the daylight for the things that count - chicken curry and skiing powder come to mind - those are the moments of satisfaction.

2010-11-07T14:07:00.000-07:00

Its been a helluva week folks, no doubt about that. working overtime on the school front, and doing my best to stay sane on the outside. The best victories are sometimes the smallest ones, the ones that you appreciate the most. Simple things, like a good run, or a hefty plate of homemade enchiladas. Or sometimes its hiking in the dirt and the mud to make 10 turns on a foot of mushy snow. Sometimes being able to say that you went skiing, thats enough.

2010-10-29T17:51:00.000-07:00

The last few days have been the kinds of days that make me feel like I need a pinch. Somebody to reassure me that this is not just a dream. But deep down, I don't really care if its a dream or not, I just want it to keep going. Wednesday morning was a whirlwind re-introduction to the winter life: shocker of a memory jog as to what it means to be skinning, and more importantly, to be skiing powder. A solo mission to reacquaint myself with the frosted peaks now bordering town, with two runs of hooting, hollering knee to thigh deep snow - giggling to myself like a lunatic. Yesterday was a warm mid day jaunt - one run of blissful bouncy turns through brilliantly soft shaded north facing snow. Sam s and I, covered head to toe in snow from faceshots, were reduced to giggling with sheer joy like a pair of crazies. Today, myself and (I feel like I can safely speak for them) my companions, were on the borderline of criminal insanity.

It started last night, with a phone call (reenacted to the best of my recollection).

"hey sam, were going skiin' tomorrow, wanna come?"

"oh jeez, sounds like a blast, but I've got 8 oclock math, I should probably stick around."

"are you sure you can't learn math while we're skiing? we can teach you?"

"pretty sure, have a good time though. :("

....

Five minutes later, I was looking at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth, and I found myself thinking, "hey, hang on a sec. If skiing is your favorite thing to do, why would you bail on a perfectly good opportunity to make some turns to sit through an hour 99.99% utterly useless crap?" So all it took was a groveling message proclaiming my rearrangement of priorities, and a 0400 wake up call it was.

Skins on in the dark, breath billowing white under cold headlamps, and under clear skies we were left to place one foot in front of the other marveling at the stars and the snow covered peaks. Our ascent to the ridge line was followed by the exponential growth of a band of color over the easterly horizon - really one of the best sunrises I've witnessed in a long time - and it was timed to a t, as we arrived on the top, the pink glow turned orange, and the great ball of fire was lifted above the distant absaroka mountain range.

The descent was a thready drop through steep trees followed by a beautiful 35-40˚ slope that was empty save for one rock (which my ski mercilessly encountered). I guess you can only ski so many days in october before you get a core shot...

But for two of our group, it was the first day on skis in a year, for one, it was the first day of the season, and for two more, the third day in a row of turns. And for these reasons, along with many more, these turns were incredible.

A trip back to the top of the ridge, a well vegetated traverse, and we were standing at the mouth of a good lookin 'cooler' that choked down and out of sight around a great big fin of rock. Definitely a line I would give serious consideration to with a big spring snowpack, but here we were in october, with an incredibly dense 3 ft of creamy delish, so there wasnt much more to do than let the cameras roll and give'r.

As we rounded the choke, a 6 foot tall boulder was blocking the narrowest point in the chute, and the broad apron below. After a bit of hemming and hawing, Ned stomped the small leap of faith and the grand hero turns all the way to the bottom. After following and nearly collapsing at the bottom from sheer unadulterated joy, I regained enough composure to watch the smiles on the rest of everyones faces tearing up the snow on the way down.

Now thats something to smile about.

Majik

2010-10-27T14:56:00.002-07:00

Wintery thoughts have been floating around for a little while now, with talk of snow in Colorado, Utah, Washington, Wyoming, even Loveland has opened the white carpet of death for the season. It seemed to be snowing everywhere but south west montana.

And then there was sunday night.

And then there was monday, monday night, tuesday, and tuesday night.

And then there was today.

Some days skinning, you start out slow, down in the trees, the world is you, the trees, and the snow. Everything is quiet, peaceful, gentle and serene.

And some days you just have to drift your subaru into the parking lot, bumping heavy techno beats, and toss your skins on to start the day with a bit of fire and fury. These days are those such as the first day of the season, and powder days, and days when the lot is full, and its your turn to get to the top first - but only if you want to work for it. When all three of these things happen at once, theres only one word for it - majik.

But then you get to the top of the mountain, dripping, pouring with sweat, lungs burning, damp hair frozen in the breeze, and the sun lifts above the horizon - lighting up the ground below your feet, turning the world from shades of blue and grey to rich hues of orange, yellow, and gold, and mother nature slaps you in the face and tells you to calm down. Because there is plenty of powder to share, and there is enough time to skin up and take another lap, and everyone out there is after a little bit of the same thing you are. And then the skins are stripped, and the skis begin to slide, and everything that could have been wrong in the world is at once right again amid a cloud of frozen water and smiles.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Snow Dance

2010-10-23T19:26:00.000-07:00

After too many biscuits and gravy for breakfast, and too little time out of doors, it was damn good time to get out for a bit. Cruised up the local ski hill with the hiking boots for a poke around the slopes. It was a fun change of perspective that ended up jogging a lot of memories from the multitude of smiles that were had last season. Interesting how one can consider themselves completely familiar with an area, but if you take away one element - snow, for example - and you might as well be halfway across the world. The mellow bunny slopes suddenly become wind sucking hills, and the steeps with which winter gives the most smiles are not slopes at all, but sheer rock faces. Standing on the ridge, it was impossible not to smile with recollections of last winter playing on repeat in my head, but unfortunately the trip down this time was much slower, rockier, and less powder filled than before. It was agreed on by all parties that the next time we hiked up, it would be skis. But the snow dance has been completed, and hopefully the weather gods will grace us with all that is good, white, wet, and cold.

2010-10-21T19:08:00.001-07:00

There are not many things in this world I am sure of, but this is one of them:

I would much rather cook and eat chicken momos and go ride my bike, than spend my life learning about interneuronal signaling pathways in the hippocampus. It may seem trivial, but for me, this victory is significant, It is checking one off the list.

Now thats more like it

2010-10-21T06:46:00.001-07:00

GALLATIN-
 INCLUDING THE CITIES OF...BOZEMAN...WEST YELLOWSTONE
 350 AM MDT THU OCT 21 2010

.SATURDAY...MOSTLY CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF RAIN AND SNOW SHOWERS.
 HIGHS 45 TO 55. CHANCE OF PRECIPITATION 40 PERCENT. 
 .SATURDAY NIGHT...PARTLY CLOUDY WITH A 20 PERCENT CHANCE OF RAIN
 AND SNOW SHOWERS. LOWS 25 TO 35. 
 .SUNDAY AND SUNDAY NIGHT...MOSTLY CLOUDY WITH A 50 PERCENT CHANCE
 OF RAIN AND SNOW SHOWERS. HIGHS 45 TO 55. LOWS 25 TO 35. 
 .MONDAY...MOSTLY CLOUDY WITH A 50 PERCENT CHANCE OF RAIN AND SNOW
 SHOWERS. HIGHS 35 TO 45. 
 .MONDAY NIGHT AND TUESDAY...MOSTLY CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF RAIN
 AND SNOW SHOWERS. LOWS 20 TO 30. HIGHS 35 TO 45. CHANCE OF
 PRECIPITATION 40 PERCENT.

Wrapped

2010-10-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

And almost as soon as it had begun, a small crowd dressed in black sat beside the grave bearing good grace to a world better than this. It was short, hectic, wild, and messy, bringing giggles of joy, and breath taking awe, but it died in a cloud or two of dust out west, leaving little more than a pit of slight humiliation and a will for revenge. That can wait now. Time for the pain to start, the lunges, intervals, hill climbs, vomit-inducing double pole rollerski workouts. Time to be fit and strong so when the snow does fly, I can too.

2010-10-10T21:42:00.004-07:00

Post Script: Adventure partner in crime LT toted along a GoPro, took some sweet footy, and edited a rad little motion picture that I think captures a lot of what this ride is about. I highly recommend you go check it out.

There's something inherently different when your adventure starts in the dark. Something a little more serious, and a little more intimidating about kitting up in the pre-dawn light of your headlamp. Its been longer than I can remember since the last time I woke up that early to go do something, but early morning grogginess broken swiftly by hard physical effort is not a feeling anyone forgets, and quickly things were underway.

The forecast was for highs 55-60˚ and partly cloudy. As we trundled up the first 5 miles of heavily forested, technical, rooty trail, we reassured ourselves that the low-lying clouds would burn off as soon as the sun rose. And despite the fact it was October 10th in Montana, everyone was expecting the same beautiful weather we've had for the last three weeks. Luckily, everyone also packed clothes for an emergency situation.

As trail got steeper, the clouds chose not to burn off, and quite to the contrary, they began to thicken and precipitate. Mostly just a drizzle, but as we reached the top of the pass the water turned to ice and the snow on the ground made sure our feet did not become too warm, while the freezing mist made sure our hands stayed cool as well. And there, from the top of the pass, this intrepid group of explorers set out to conquer the rest of the 20 miles of alpine singletrack ahead of them.

A steady pattern developed amid the swirling white, of bouncing along the tundra and scree fields, punctuated occasionally by a drop in elevation below the cloud ceiling, which was followed by the inevitable hike-a-bike back to the top of the ridge where we were once again greeted by a steady mix of wind and rain. Here the emergency gear was applied in full force and we soldiered on towards the gates of mordor.

Around 4 hours into the ride, while stopped to consume some well earned calories, I made the discovery that the lunch I had packed - a turkey and cheese bagel, two pb&js and a bag of gold fish - was sitting in the suby at the trail head, and the total ingestible contents of my backpack consisted of 3 chewy bars and a gatorade. It was a rookie mistake - and a stupid one at that - but luckily I was riding with good friends who were happy to share their calories. It did stop me though, and it forced me to think. We were 4 hours of difficult riding at the very least from any car. It was october, and this was montana. And while I have been in worse situations, there was a lot of potential for things to go wrong.

Luckily, nothing went (that) wrong, so we kept riding, and hiking, and riding, and hiking, and, well, you get the picture.

We thought we got to the top of the last climb, but it wasn't. We climbed some more, but that wasn't the last one either. As it turns out, spending several hours moving through remote wilderness with zero visual cues is not a good way to maintain a good grasp on your exact location. Somewhere between point a and this point, I entered the suffer stage. I was still having fun, but I hit the wall where even in the littlest of little rings, I had to walk any thing that reached a gradient steeper than a wheel chair ramp.

We pushed, pulled, and carried our mud covered steeds through the fog, at times walking right along the edge of cliff bands that dropped sheer for an untold distance below us (editor's note: topo shows these cliffs as 500+ ft), below which a band of orcs could easily could have made camp. The thing about 20ft visibility is that a thirty foot cliff looks the same as a three hundred foot cliff - so erring on the side of caution, much of this portion of the ride/hike was a no fall zone. After cresting the rise, we saddled up and dropped across the rocky tundra once more. This time the clouds had lifted enough to provide a view of the final shoulder we had to traverse before we reached the exit drainage, and my legs found their last wind. As we rounded the corner the clouds began to part, and for the first time that day we had sunshine. Views and sunshine, and it was fantastic.

And on that grand open piece of tundra, the vision quest reached its pinnacle. If there was any point of the ride that took a smile off someone's face, it was rectified then and there in the afternoon sun. With a whoop and a holler we were off, flying through the grass.

A handful of thousands of feet and countless grins later, and we hit subaru dos, followed shortly by a massive intake of gas station junk food and some car time. Rarely have I ever been more ready for a shower and a nap, but it was glorious I tell you, glorious.

2010-10-09T18:27:00.000-07:00

A year and a month ago today, I walked into a bike shop in bozeman for the first time. After the requisite introductions between staff and patron, I started looking at a map and asking about rides. There was one ride that jumped out right away. Somewhere in the 30-40 mile range, easy over 7k of climbing. But when I pointed the route out, straight up, the immediate answer was a rejection on all grounds. No way, no how, even our strongest riders here would never do that, blah, blah, blah. As it turns out its a point to point affair, and last year I didn't have the motivation to put it together anyways, so it just never happened. But one thing stuck with me. I immensely disliked being told immediately that I should not even consider something like that, with no consideration of my experience or abilities. Now I'm not someone who holds lots of grudges, and I am not usually motivated by revenge, but something inside me has, since that day, wanted to do that ride. So tonight, shuttles are being lined up, pasta is being cooked, and bikes are being prepped for what is heralded to be a truly epic ride. Can't wait.

2010-10-05T17:08:00.000-07:00

I wont say that up until this year I've been a slouch in the kitchen, but I certainly was not much of a cook. However, and I'm not laying vast claims to greatness or eternal fame, the chicken enchiladas I made last night were very tasty. And the peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from this afternoon were not bad either. Healthy? no, but, I sure as hell ain't starvin', thats for certain.

Cooking is something that I do take a bit of pride in. Much like any other tangible forms of creation, such as knitting, there is something compelling about taking a bunch of items that would have no use otherwise, and using a bit of skill to create something that can bring comfort, joy, or simply contentedness. Cooking in this sense is still an operative word, because as much as I do not raise my own sheep to shear their coats and dye and spin their wool, I do not grow, harvest, and grind my own wheat to bake with. I don't even have an herb garden with which I can spice my own cooking. But, those are the final steps. When eating local is eating your food. It has to start somewhere though, and I say consciousness is where its at. Watch what comes home from the grocery, and watch what gets eaten. The next step is to cook each meal. Not adding milk to cereal, but taking the time to produce something of value. Something that makes you glad - or even proud - you are not wearing a loin cloth chasing squirrels. Thats where the recognition of food kicks in. That its not always the most efficient route, to take time to fry up some chicken, mix it up with corn tortillas, beans, green chili, jalapeños, and grated cheese, and bake it for an hour, but what good things in life arise from simplicity or laziness? Not these enchiladas, thats for sure.

indian summer

2010-10-04T21:27:00.000-07:00

Call me crazy, but with every passing beautiful day here, I am finding myself less and less excited for winter. What ho?! This is sacrilege! you must live for powder skiing and powder skiing only! Typically, yes, this is true, that by the first week in October the only word that comes close to describing my relations with the weather would be antsy. Usually I am beyond sick and tired of blue skies and warm temperatures - saying prayers at night - really yearning for snowflakes in the sky and skis on my feet. Maybe its some byproduct of spending too much time indoors this summer, maybe its a phycological response to my recent reclamation of bicycle riding, but I am really enjoying the beautiful weather.

Last year, on september 30th, I woke up to snow covering the ground. Not just a few flakes falling, but a legitimate coating. Turned stuff white for about 2 days, and eventually killed all greenery, but it foreshadowed what last fall in Bozeman was all about: Cold, with shades of white, grey and brown. Aha! you may think that sounds shitty (it was to a degree) but at last, here was a place that enjoyed winter as much as I did. Where the weather gods agreed that summer was long enough already, and that from october to may, the temperature should not exceed 60˚. And that was a good winter, 80 days of skiing was very good.

This fall could not be more different. Today was the first day with notable cloud cover in almost two weeks, and the live-blood of autumn is raging away. A coincidence this morning as I woke up with a stuffy nose and a sore throat. The room was filled up with the sort of grey light that filters in on a cloudy morning, and I had a hard time swallowing. Nothing quite like it to remind one how much it means to be in good health and riding bikes in the sunny tundra a day prior. So today was a day to rest, drink lots of tea, hydrate, catch up on work and take care of the body. Tomorrow is supposed to be rainy, but a string of days 70˚ and sunny are expected to follow. Darnit if there aren't mountains to be climbed and bikes to be ridden, and I want to be in the best shape possible to enjoy the here and now.

Just what the doctor ordered

2010-10-02T12:29:00.000-07:00

bicycle (racing)

2010-09-26T20:51:00.001-07:00

For a long time I was a bike racer. For me it was the end all be all, the dream and the path, the guts and the glory. Everyone I looked up to was a bike racer, and all of my friends were bike racers. It was, quite literally the life blood that ran through my veins. Then, a little while ago, I stopped bike racing. Instead of another summer of intervals and traveling, bicycle racing was dropped on the side of the road. There wasn't a straw that broke the camel's back, but two summers ago, I lost all motivation to train or race. I went to school, locked my bike in the basement, and there it stayed untouched for the better part of six months. Bike racing was all but dead to me and the thought of riding rollers through the short cold snowy bozeman days - while it might appeal to some folks - was not high on my agenda.

Then I got a job at a bike shop this summer. I was excited to spend time around bikes, learning, working, and sharing these machines that got me so far. I thought that the atmosphere would take me back to a place where I was truly excited about biking: where I could spend hours on mtbr and velonews, geeking out on parts and races and pros. But it didn't. Working in the store a handful of hours a week was, contrary to my expectations, one of the worst blows to my cycling enthusiasm I've ever encountered. As it turns it out, bike shops are not the right place to fall (back) in love with bikes.

I did do a bit of riding this summer. It was not a chore, it was not stressful. It was full of dead-ends, turn-arounds, and hike-a-bikes. Still though, it was not care free and easy going. More of getting lost, high in the hills, served to chase some demons from the rest of the world, a place to be turned around but still comfortable, where the new was really old, really old. It was shit that got rediscovered, redeemed in the most valiant of fashions, but still shit that was there all along, and it just took a while to find it. Like how you can get out of bed in your former house - without living there for years - and still find the light switch in the middle of the night. That was last summer, finding the light switch.

Just over a month ago I again packed my material possessions into the subie and headed north. Things this time around were a little more under control than a year ago the same time, and whoever that wise man is, he's right in saying that you can sleep when you're dead. Or at least when you're done with college. In all seriousness, this fall has been an eye opener. Pushing the boundaries of my riding, my fitness, and my psyche, long rides, short rides, hard rides and easy rides. But all in the name of fun, not stress or goals or anything like that. This weekend in particular, was something of a revolution. I've done a handful of races in the past year and a half, maybe two handfuls, but definitely no more than I have fingers, but there has not a race that - and this may sound stupid - I have really raced. I love to ride my bike, and I won't pass up an opportunity to pedal, but it takes a lot of commitment to suffer through a bike race. Commitment I didn't have any interest in until yesterday. The bangtail ball buster was not a spectacular race in any sense, in fact, for all intensive purposes I got the shit kicked out of me, but darnit if it wasn't fun.

It really is the best place to be right now. Fall is beautiful, trails are rideable for now (knock on wood). And while I am excited for winter (always will be) the riding is stellar. There are not many months of training and stressing ahead of me, only a few short weeks to be savored until the snow starts falling, so until then, the indian summer will be fully embraced, and biking will be fun. And for lack of any better way to put it, I feel blessed that bike riding has returned to that.

Nope, No fun here

2010-09-21T17:14:00.002-07:00

None at all

Don't even bother

Fine and Dandy

2010-09-19T21:07:00.000-07:00

There is not a moment I could imagine here where I would hesitate to say I have fallen head over heels for the montucky fall. Except when you are at risk of taking a number 4 buck shot through the woods. Where's my hunter's orange?

2010-09-19T12:51:00.000-07:00

Whilst meeting some folks this weekend, I was introduced as Sam, he should be an art major, he just doesn't know it yet. I still smiled but it caught me a bit off guard, not going to lie. You see, I really love art. Pretty much all of it actually, but the act of being an art major has never really been an option for me. The one advice everyone says, I mean everyone, is to do what you love. Follow your heart, thats the yellowbrick road. Hand me a paint brush and hand me a science textbook, and its not a hard choice which one will be dropped to the floor. Why then am I charging headstrong towards another 10+ years of studying and working for science. Yes, I suppose I do enjoy learning, and science is captivating, but I feel no deep soul bound connection with it, but I don't think thats it. Somewhere buried deep in my head is the notion that art is frivolous, not to me, no most certainly not, but to the people who brought me up, who worked to put me where I am today, that is not the 'noble' pursuit in life. The noble pursuit is a well paying job with lots of toys and stuff. Thats the life I've lived... indeed it is still the life I am living, but it is the secure life, where with a medical degree I have the security of money and societal superiority. These are things that hold worth, no doubt, but how much is it worth to me? On the other hand, there is the unknown, making a living at something that brings sheer joy. Every minute of it, not a compromise of stress and comfort, but pure joy... hard work yes, but real enjoyment. That is the passion I need to find, sometimes it just looks like a long ways to jump.

Magnifique

2010-09-18T18:09:00.001-07:00

Trés Bon, when you can do ze sport climb in ze scotteesh highlands right out ze back door. when you can camp, soak in water of the gods, and eat the food of gods. Trés Bon i say.

2010-09-16T11:56:00.001-07:00

60˚ and partly sunny, 10 mile run up and back bozeman creek in a little over 1:05, now thats what I'm talking about.

Funny how when my list of things to do looks like this:

bank

read

lab report

grocery store

clean room

My list of things accomplished looks like:

coffee

run

stretch

eat

I'd say I've got priorities in line.

Transition

2010-09-16T08:47:00.001-07:00

43˚ and raining. So I guess this is what fall means when you live in someplace other than the colorado rockies, someplace where the sun does not shine 365 days per annum. I wont lie, the last few weeks of montana weather have worn a little heavy. But, it has also been good exercise for staying positive, because fall is, after all, a season of transition.

It seems strange to me that so much can come out of the grey area between two things, I suppose though, that between summer and winter, there is really very little grey. Instead, the changing aspens, the reddening scrub oak, even the grasses and pine trees, are all swept up in the chilled northerly winds in the rush for winter with very little that is left grey (except when its raining). More so than sight, fall is a vast collection of stimulation to the senses, not just colors, but smells, thoughts, sounds. Memories of relaxing after summers of traveling to races, grinding up argentine pass in the snow, with cold soggy feet. The long singlespeed rides with omv after school, up lefthand and fourmile in the afternoon light with dried up leaves clattering in the breeze and pushing down the canyons to make it home before dusk with noses running and eyes bleary from the stinging cold inversions along the creek. The smell, ah the smell, when the yellow leaves reach the ground and begin their decomposition - or is it recomposition, of life, to death, to life again, when the damp earth swallows all, the smell of that is the greatest herald of fun I could ever ask for.

As with life, however, fall can not be seen only in past light, he who dwells in the past... well yeah, you get it. Its about the future too though. The anticipation, the adrenaline rush, every time the clouds clear, and the caps of white donning the high peaks have grown, because winter is right around the corner. The autumnal equinox is in 6 days. and this, this is a victory. For those who live everyday with dreams of snow, the summer solstice is the turning point. When we pass that barrier and turn towards longer nights and cooler temperatures. But for me, living ever in the future is just as much of a waste, because summer has many great things to offer as well, and to spend summer brooding, waiting, is plain stupid. Never the less, all things come to an end, and as with summer, so has my lust for riding. Already, hours in the gym have been checked away with crunches, lunges, leg presses, pull ups, bounding, and running, general fitness is the key hear. A strong body is the necessary solid base for long days in the snowy peaks. For the majik of gliding over carpeted tracks on rails, each huff and puff right now makes the huffing and puffing over skin tracks that much better.

So with a solid grasp on past, present, and future, I say fucking live. Adventure and enjoy, because this world - this life - is damn good.

Solstice

2010-06-21T22:52:00.000-07:00

means long days and longer nights

Make it count

Redemption

2010-06-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

it feels good

2010-06-10T15:40:00.002-07:00

You say what we ride is shit and what you ride is pure gold.

I say fuck that noise.

2010-06-05T20:18:00.001-07:00

Its been a relatively good spring when you consider waking up at 4:30 not too bad, and 5 hours from car to car a good day of skinning and skiing. Sleeping in is a luxury with this weather that we've had, since the snow doesn't freeze overnight anyway, and the dirt makes it difficult to ski anything steep or far away. But its a great time of year, when, say, on a day like friday, you can ride your bike for four hours on trails that are completely dry, then the very next day, find yourself skiing off the top of a nice peak. The drawbacks to this climate would have to be boulder between the hours of noon and four pm, which I escape in the basement, and the number of people who have also figured out that the weather is fantastic (although, that does make for some excellent heckling at the long line of riders coming up lefthand canyon). But those are fair trades for good times.

And a happy Memorial Day to you

2010-06-04T10:33:00.001-07:00

Sunrise with bikes and skis on the roof.

Riding to Brainard

Dropping zee knees

View from Pawnee Pass, very dirty snow

Camping at Hartman Rocks

And then the wheels rolled on fine dirt among the sage and the sand and smiles were had by all.

Pilot Log: Stardate 5/26/2010

2010-05-26T22:35:00.003-07:00

Upon the realization that vast quantities of solar radiation had produced adequate conditions for space craft travel in the upper reaches of the galaxy, this pilot in training set out on a reconnaissance mission to explore portions of the boulder and gilpin nebulas.

After disembarking from the Rtd intergalactic shuttle, a cursory visitation of the western magnolia empire was conducted to investigate the location of a possibly newly erected route, and also to investigate the locations of the snow army's strong holds (pilot note: the front line is located around 9000+ feet of elevation) where, above which, winter is succeeding in holding ground. Then, in accordance with pilot behavior, west mag was left behind.

The trail of the Orcs was found, followed shortly by the blair witch warp tunnel, where this pilot was momentarily concerned by the clearance of his handlebars.

Luckily, all obstacles were successfully avoided.

After reaching the intergalactic freeway, time was quickly traveled back to the eastern mongolian galaxy for the observation of various travel routes.

It was found that an unknown entity was determined to close this and many other routes by manner of obfuscation and obstruction. Not wanting to encounter the chainsaw wielder responsible for such damage, this pilot spent a great deal of time maneuvering his spaceship above ground by foot a good distance from the trail.

The enemy warlord has been hard at work destroying the habitat of this area in the name of forestry. And upon viewing the scene above, several remarks of frustration were issued, such as c*cksucker, goddamnmotherf*cker, and c*ntf*ckingsonofab*tch. But there is little a lone pilot can do to protect his forest from such ruthless violence, so I continued in search of the remains of other pilots, forced to hide by the BCOS's bullsh*t.

After visits to the blair bitch bridge (king nimby couldn't have been there more than an hour away) and other landmarks, and nearly four hours of travel, this pilot regained the mongolian intergalactic freeway, and headed for home. It was deemed a successful exploratory mission, and further evidence was discovered to mount the resistance and take back the mongolian empire.

Signing out

-P.i.t.

Prime Time

2010-05-25T18:26:00.003-07:00

A saturday dawn patrol was a good reconnaissance mission. Alarm at 3 is still a shocker, but the world would have a lot more people out there if alpine starts weren't in order. Having to be back in the flat lands by nine ay em puts the kaybosh on a little early for my taste, but hell, we sitting at the gates to at least a month and a half - by my reckoning - of top shelf quality conditions for early morning climbing and mid morning corn descending. A week of warm days and a few solid freezes will have put the snow in fine form ( Check it out for yourself over in the link bar). And that, in the words of the veritable Chingy, right thurr, make me say ooh ooh yeah ooh.

Not to mention ridin the trails up high. the snow is melting as we speak, and the ribbons of lost world and the vortex, and others will, with the good grace of the nimby god be rideable.

bring it

2010-05-18T21:29:00.017-07:00

When things really start to go sour on an adventure, I tend to sink into some ocd behaviors. For instance, counting the milage up canyons by looking at mailboxes, tallying switchbacks up flagstaff, or counting how many trees you pass when hiking. When things really get rough though, I will count my steps. I think it started as a way to prevent my self from taking an excessive number of breaks while climbing fourteeners with my parents, where I would walk for 200 or 100 or 50 steps, then stop and breath five or ten breaths, then keep going. Its a bit ridiculous, but it can really help to keep your mind off of suffering, which is not good to focus on when distance needs to be covered. This past weekend I must have counted over 50,000 steps.

My dad has been wanting to take a trip to the Wind Rivers up in Wyoming for a long time, I can remember a least a few years back. Gannett Peak is the most remote high point of any state in the union (including Denali) and the terrain is truly spectacular. So, we got to talking more and more this winter, and things started shaping up a little bit more and more, and when I got back from Montana on the first weekend of May, we were looking at a week to prepare for the trip. A big storm cycle moved across northern Wyoming as we mixed gorp, fitted boots, sorted gear, and packed freeze dried dinners, delaying our departure from Tuesday, to Wednesday, and finally to Thursday morning.

The low pressure was breaking up and moving south as we cruised along the great barren motorway of I-80, but even still, driving from Rock Springs to Pinedale, there were showers all across the plains, with some puffier, blacker clouds floating over the mountains. We weren't sure how far up the road past White Pines Ski Area we could get, but with a little bit of 4Low-ing, we were pleasantly surprised to get to the overlook a quarter mile or so from the Elkhart Park by a little after 2pm.

Map of day one, Elkhart park (lower left) to Hobbes lake (upper right)

The weather gods had left a heavy bank of clouds hanging around the High peaks, so there wasn't much to be had in the view department, but we shouldered out packs and set off following the trail of somebody who was towing a sled along the trail that became progressively more and more difficult to recognize with the rising levels of new snow. The travel was pretty quick and easy, and we crossed the first 7 miles in about 3 hours. The next hour was used to navigate the final mile of the day (our Garmin GPS was super helpful to have) as daylight faded and snow started to fall harder. We ended up camping on the North West shore of Hobbs lake, a little more than 8 miles from the car, and cooked water for some freeze-dried pad thai.

Breakfast the next day was granola and we packed up the tent and broke camp around 9, heading up towards Seneca Lakes. It doesn't really matter where you are, or where you are heading, but maps really can't prepare you for the scale of anything. Rolling over the inlet onto South Seneca Lake, we finally got a good look at the Winds, and our destination along the skyline, Bonney Pass.

After a good hour, we had traversed the nearly 2 miles of Seneca, and started the climb/descent/climb/descent (going in a straight line anywhere in the Winds involves a lot of up and down) to Island Lake, where we stopped to eat lunch and melt more snow. While you are basically around treeline when looking down on Island lake, its still a long ways up the Titcomb Basin to the bottom of Bonney Pass, where we wanted to camp. In fact it was close to four miles of mostly flat and rolling travel to our camp. It actually reminded me quite a bit of the glacier travel I did last summer up in the Waddington.

We rolled into camp around 6, pretty beat, but glad to enjoy an hour of sunshine to dry boots before climbing into the tent for some lasagna with meat sauce followed up by some hot drink. The plan for day three was an early alpine start, then climbing to from our camp at 11,100 to the top of Bonney Pass at 12,800, then ski down to the Dinwoody Glacier at 11,600, traverse over to the Gooseneck Glacier, and climb to the Summit of Wyoming's Highest at 13,804. From there we were hoping to return to camp by noon to avoid rapidly warming weather, then break camp and get a couple of miles back down the valley before dark.

Alarms went off at 3:00 am sharp, the warm granola was slow to wake me from the groggy hold of sleep, and the cold freeze from the clear night was all the more reason to claw deeper back into the warmth of my sleeping bag, but we were skinning up the pass by 4:30. Warm weather from the day before, combined with heavy new snow made for a lot of loose snow slides and sluffs from the day before, as well as cementing a 3" sun crust on top of the feet of new. So when it became too steep to skin up the pass, travel suddenly became very slow, working up through post holing crust and avalanche debris, then post holing through debris to gain a rock rib that we could take to the top. The effort took about twice as long as we had hoped, and we arrived at the saddle to see gannett fully bathed in morning light. Skis were re-applied, and we made some turns down the north face of the pass, grappling towards the bottom with the sun crust mentioned before.

By the time we reached the moat at the base of the dinwoody, the sun had fully risen, and as we stepped out of our skis to begin the climb up to the gooseneck, well... you could say that shit hit the fan. The sun crust was too steep and icy to skin up, but had zero ability to hold the weight of a person bootpacking, and the unconsolidated powder snow underneath offered the support of an inflated balloon on a bed of nails. It took 45 minutes to gain maybe 75 vertical feet, and the effort of climbing out of thigh to knee deep holes in crusty snow had left both of us exhausted.

With too little time, and still deteriorating conditions, we made the call to turn tail and head out. What we had hoped would be solid alpine climbing conditions ended up being the mud season equivalent for the snowpack, and this was not the right day to try and summit. From there it was skins on and counting steps for the death march all the way back up Bonney Pass. We picked our way back down the debris, and enjoyed a couple of handfuls of nice spring skiing back to the tent where we had a nice lunch of bagels and cream cheese.

As wet-snow slides began to pour out of the peaks under the midday sun, the tent was folded up, and we made our way out of Titcomb Basin. We left skins off for the first 3 miles, kicking and double poling and shuffling our way along the lakes, and reapplied skins in the rolling terrain right before Island lake. I had entered slog mode quite a ways back, but it hit hard coming across the flats. Sweaty sunscreen was dripping into eyes, water was low, and still had two pretty major climbs before we could drop into the Seneca lake valley, where we would set up camp. But, as is often the case, theres nothing you can do but put one foot in front of the other, and remind yourself that you are doing this for fun. Adventuring is fun right. Right.

Luckily we were able to find a suitable camp site on the edge of Little Seneca Lake as the sun dropped behind evening clouds down country. Its funny how, it doesn't matter how far you go really, when you drop your pack, it will make you feel better by at least a factor of ten. Having to work harden your tent spot lessens that effect, but when your body weight suddenly drops by 50 to 60 pounds, energy levels are bound to rise. Also there is definitely something joyous about knowing that you wont have to put that pack back on for at least 10 hours or so. Cooked a hearty freeze dried shepherds pie, and settled in for another short night of sleeping.

I don't think waking up at 3 in the morning is ever 'fun' in the traditional sense, but once you're up, you can get an awful lot done before the sun rises. In this case, we got breakfast and hot drinks made, filled water bottles, packed up camp, and crossed 3 miles down to Hobbes lake before we saw any sun. Travel was pretty smooth and easy with firm snow, and the skin from Hobbes lake up to Photographer's Point didn't take too much time at all. For a little while, we watched as the prints of a small/medium black bear joined our skin track, but apparently our scent failed to capture his interest, and he wandered off after a half mile or so.

After Photographer's Point, we shed skins for the 5 or so miles of rolling descending back to Elkhart Park, and with only a couple of short-ish skates up hill, we were flying down the bobsled track of the trail towards the car. Moving at 8-10 miles per hour with skis on is, in my opinion, much more fun than moving at 1-2 miles per hour, and before long, we were signing out of the trail register, and enjoying cokes and chips back at the car.

Its a little bit of a bummer not to make it to the top, especially after making the long trip, but, any day above treeline is still a wonderful day, and exploring in new mountains is never a bad thing. We took a gamble on snow conditions and we got shot down, but that happens. A couple of days earlier, and the snow would have been nice and soft, but the weather would have been significant, and a couple of days later, the snowpack at higher elevations could have become isothermal, especially in the flats, and made travel next to impossible. A couple of weeks later, and the lakes would start opening up, making route finding longer and more difficult. We gave it a good shot though, and the summit of Gannett will, for me, remain an adventure for another day.

Just about all the photo cred goes out to my Dad, thanks for carrying the big camera.

2010-05-03T00:31:00.004-07:00

Well I'll be damned, but adventuring and black coffee is good for the soul. Don't let anyone try to tell you otherwise.

But you already knew that didn't you.

2010-04-21T10:06:00.001-07:00

Finally some sound scientific proof that America is full of stupid fat people.

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/04/100419162308.htm

2010-04-17T12:07:00.002-07:00

Good food and fresh air should never be underestimated in their ability to make a man feel good as new. The last couple of weeks have been a bit hectic, a little more than a fortnight ago, I got the stomach flu pretty bad, took me down to the floor for about 3 days in total. Took about a week before I could stomach more than toast and cereal not really the breakfast of champions, and I basically had no energy to do much of anything. Lots of schooling has been taking place, and little motivation to fill the spaces in between with quality engagement of life. I think some of it had to do with ski season ending and biking season still a ways away, at least up here. We all know that piss poor weather and stress isn't the best combination for good moods, but in short, I found myself metaphorically and literally stuck in mud season. Its definitely the easy way out to settle into a routine of apathy and depression in this lifestyle, but luckily, thats not really my style. I've got a friend who dragged my sorry moping ass out of the chair and worked me in the gym for a few days. I'm not really a gym rat, lots of testosterone and sweat, and the whole idea of it generally doesn't appeal to me that much, but working out the body, no matter how you do it, will make you feel better. Quickly I was sleeping well, enjoying consuming calories once again, and then the sun started shining. It's terribly difficult to stay inside with the with the prospect of endorphins and vitamin D just out the door. So this past week, I have ran, ridden, climbed, lifted, and gone to yoga, nine times in seven days, and it feels good. This morning, I had a nice breakfast(i.e. not dining hall food), french toast, two eggs over easy, bacon, an order of biscuits and gravy, and a side of hash browns and a nice cup of black coffee. Hell, i say, thats about all a fellow could ask for. Just pass me a some of that high alpine single track. Mmm.

Try this at home:

2010-04-08T09:08:00.002-07:00

Well, since everyone reading this is, by definition, on a computer, give this a shot.

Ok, so pick something you do on your computer a lot, maybe the most. For me, I choose opening a window with facebook in it. I probably do that an average of 2-3 times I sit down at my computer(shit, thats pretty disgusting, but well, maybe thats the point of this) for you, it might be checking your email, even every time you sit down in your chair to look at a computer screen, or every time you look at... well, shit, you get the idea.
Ok, now get on the ground and do as many pushups as you can without stopping. I'm serious. right now. do it.

ok. how many? I did forty, a nice round number. cool. you now have your magic number.

Now, listen up. heres where the shit hits the fan. Every time you do whatever it was you decided on doing earlier with your computer, you get your ass up off the chair and do the magic number of pushups. You will be buff soon. I promise.

2010-03-06T17:05:00.000-07:00

Spring = Mud

Word.

2010-03-01T14:39:00.001-07:00

2010-02-08T21:34:00.002-07:00

The desert of the Colorado Plateau has, and always will hold a special place in my heart. Mountains come first, and I cant see that ever changing, but the southwest is a close second. Up here in Montana, there are plenty of wide open spaces, but for much of the foreseeable future, the means of passing through such places are not friendly to two wheeled transportation. I am finding myself missing the single track more and more.
It must have been four summers ago that a ratty old toyota 4runner rolled into the parking lot at the SMBA headquarters in Boulder, CO, and some dude rolled out a johnny rotten with a bell and a sticker reading 'huck that fish'. Turns out that dude rode Montezuma's, and did a bunch of other cool stuff. Probably the best summer I have ever had. We rolled 5+ days a week, exploring and cruising the magik of nimby and other secret trails. That summer I hobbled together my first, bright green, single speed for the grand total of about $25. It broke just about every other ride, but damnit that was a fucking awesome bike. At the end of the summer, I got a piece of tree trunk with the words Meriweather and OFSYFP branded into it. That summer pissed off some people, and some relationships were ended, but in my mind, the most important one was made: Me and my bike. It might sound cliche, but if it wasn't for that dude with the johnny rotten and his impeccable sense of fun and adventure, I would certainly not be where I am today, and honestly, I'd hate to think about where I might have ended up. And I've still got that bit of pine tree, and to it's creator, I owe a hearty thanks, he knows whats up.
I took a big break from the bike this summer, basically stopped riding right before the NOLS course, rode a couple of times in the fall, but I really haven't ridden since June. And i'll be damned, but I miss it. I am thinking that a spring break trip to the fruita region will definitely be in order. I'll also be damned, but I wouldn't mind a single speed to rip around on. The bass is a beautiful machine, but it is straight up too small for my frame these days, so a new whip might be under the gun. Not sure what I want right now, but I am leaning towards a clean and simple 29er. OFSYFP.

2010-02-01T23:59:00.002-07:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skiing

the full moon majik

2010-01-31T23:07:00.003-07:00

When you step out onto the concrete, your shadow belongs only to the dull orange streetlamps, at times it is stretched in front of and behind you as the glare of one bright filament casts itself into the glare of another. These shadows seem week and cowardly, growing feebly, then suddenly shrinking to a point as the bulb passes overhead. Even further on, where the lamps are more sparse, only on corners rather than every twenty feet, the shadow will at times disappear all together into the dark of the night air.
During those dark spaces, another presence makes itself known, filtering through the dry, hibernating limbs of the oak trees above. Filtering down onto the concrete, the light seems almost blue, but then that hint fades as the next streetlight or the next car approaches. At some point, the lamps overhead cease to reappear, and the lofty ancient oaks are replaced by scraggly willows that grow thick, almost to the point of creating a tunnel over the packed snow that has replaced the pavement. Suddenly, the mellow grade of the land rises steeply ahead, and the willows are no more. In this immediate absence of artificial light or other impedance, the moon's beams shine with full force onto the snow covered ground. Transformed by the distant lunar surface, the sun's energy is less harsh, but equally stunning in my opinion. Colors are subdued, details are revealed only to those who choose to look, the world is held under the sleepy spell of night, but for those whose eyes are open, there arrives a heightened, vibrating energy along with the abnormal abundance of light on these nights. It is not to be wasted.

2010-01-29T00:03:00.004-07:00

As seems fairly common place these days, the empty moments of my time allow my mind to drift off towards some semblance of teenage angst, what am I to do with this life in this rotten world, what does it even matter, etcetera... However, most lately, the feelings do not come as worry, or even angst to say so much. Thinking about the practice of yoga, the tao philosophy, it is all quite relaxing really.
With patience and acceptance, it seems like many things work out. Hard work comes first, no doubt, along with kindness and awareness, but the stress that people surround themselves with, the barriers people erect on the mental facade, it is something I want no part of. Ironic yes, it may seem, that the most "advanced" and "developed" cultures in the world still manage to suffer from plagues of depression, stress, anxiety, any range of psychiatric disorders. We all have something to learn from those cultures who have not spent time pursuing financial greatness, world domination, or a fabricated web of religious prominence. Compassion, sight, and connection to the natural world, I think these are what will point you in the right direction. Not to be mistaken for apathy, this relaxation finds energy from the world around. There are more than enough reasons to make any commitment if you are in tune with the forces surrounding it. Like the Sigur Ros song, Samskyeti, whose Icelandic meaning is that of gaining strength by joining, letting objects come to rest on each other, and grow in strength from the foundation that is formed.

2010-01-27T23:50:00.003-07:00

"I find myself in Big City prison,
arisen from the vision of man kind.
Designed, to keep me discreetly neatly in the corner,
you'll find me with the flora and the fauna and the hardship.
Back a yard is where my heart is still I find it hard to depart this."
-Mattafix Big City Life

Thats got to be the goal, break the fuck out of the Big City Life. Bust your ass out of that prison. Shit-Lets just go skiing

All I Need

2010-01-18T01:52:00.002-07:00

Spurred somewhat by the superfluous nature of the lives lead by those around me, I have collected a bit of a new years resolution to begin living on less. Now, just to be clear, I am no aesthetic living alone in the woods, far from it: in fact my quality of living would be considered more opulent than not by a majority of the world's population. But, once again - its the thought that counts. Baby steps. Right?
Thinking along these lines, somewhat of a list is beginning to form, guidance one might say, for later in life. when things get rocky, or murky, or dark in any way. I think of it as a pyramid. Start from the bottom, a solid grounding is key, and from there- you can build skywards. I realize that this is highly idealized, assuming the most optimum of conditions and financial comfort, but I dont see anything wrong with setting your sights high. So I continue:
At the base of the pyramid: El Barrio and the Abode. The Locale, the refuge, shelter, the hearth and the home is where it starts. Home is made by hand. It will be warm, a place to rest and recover from the cold, with ample calories to feed the weary bones of those who travel through. For me, preferred neighbors are the high peaks, snow covered with wide tundra and clean open air, and pine forest will be the only fence to my yard.
Again stepping up, A collection of bomber equipment allowing for efficient and safe exploration of the mountains. A pair of skis or two for the winter, and a smooth running singlespeed for the trails in the summer. Also a four legged friend to come along on my adventures. happy and free spirited.
After that comes the creature comforts of books, my camera, a pen and paper, and music. All of which are pieces of myself I dont think I could live without.
My hope is that If all this comes together, there will be an attitude of home that develops itself in the presence of simplistic happiness and comfort. Friends may come and go, without oppressive company or loneliness, and, as always, things remain fun. Thats all I need.

2009-12-29T20:56:00.006-07:00

I say that it doesnt really matter what you do or how you get there. in the end, i say, its all about the skis on the snow. its all about the exploration and the beauty and the wild, the wind and the weather and the sky. it sucks when it takes a day of traveling, fighting crowds, and general urban assaulting to get there. it can even suck when you have to sit in line with the string of luxury vehicles and two wheel drive sedans to find a spot to park, but when you take your skis off to hike a ridge above one of canada's longest lift serviced ski-able glaciers with the afternoon light pouring through the clouds and the high peaks. that doesnt matter. that is why i like to ski i say. that is what its about.

the good life

2009-12-27T13:46:00.005-07:00

Its been a long time since i've found a whole album that i really enjoy listening to, for the whole thing. Kid Cudi's Man on the Moon has been spinning in my head for the last weeks, and what a fine bit of lyrical artistry it is. Lots of energy in there, lots of feeling. Especially Heart of a Lion and Up Up and Away, two awesome songs.
Winter break is running its course, skied almost every day, rockin a new pair of fischer skate skis, like a flashy majik carpet to carry me through the snowy woods. so fast, i find myself anaerobic at the top of hills, head thrown down because these skis really fly, and my sorry carcass has a hard time keeping up.

great tracks up at eldo, almost sad to be leaving the country for a week, i will certainly miss the rails through the woods, the white magik flowing. antelope and zarlengos, deadmans and sawmill, breathing that energy of skiing that provides my light in the dark, i will miss you

third, i knit my own mittens, and its good stuff: satisfactory production. I'm not gloating about skills here, i'm saying that its damn cool to make your own shit. from a ball of string and a few pointy sticks. sure, these aren't no hestra guide mitts, they dont have any thinsulate, no gortex, no fleece, just straight up hand spun wool. and, while i would not take these on an everest expedition, they work just as well, if not better than the two pairs pairs of OR, and one pair of swix, nordic gloves that probably fetched over $40, and they are more comfortable, plus the half a ball of yarn that it took probably only cost around $8. If you are going to knit your own mittens, dont pay attention to books or the internet, have a friend teach you how to make the stitches, and figure it out on your own, thats the way to do it. Dont worry about stitch counts, kfbs or k3p3. fuck that noise. make your own shit. Its way more fun and way more satisfying, and then use it. go out and ski in it.

2009-12-09T20:24:00.000-07:00

2009-12-08T12:54:00.004-07:00

-24˚F when I woke up this morning. Even the heater going full boar in the room couldn't hold back the quarter inch of ice that built itself on the window the night before. Here, hats are a must for entering the world that everyone works so hard to isolate themselves from. Even when the sun shines, it approaches at such a low angle, solar radiation fails to provide enough energy to feel any real difference in temperatures between the sun and the shade. Steam billows out of mouths - breathing through your nose freezes boogers in a second - escaping bodies to return to the frozen world swirling around.

I take some pride in weather like this, I don't wrap my face and hands in a variety of thinsulated brand name accessories, I like sticking my face right out into the cold. Its good for the heart to walk out in this weather without an excess of material - wandering around all bundled up is just another way of decreasing your self reliance. A good jacket, sturdy pants, and a hat are all you really need. Gloves, for sure, if you need to do work, but it is good to feel the cold air on skin, its good to know and trust the heat that your body can produce.

Skiing in sub zero temperatures exposed to wind and snow is another good test for your relation to the elements. Rather than piling on every pair of long johns you own, try removing layers until only the basics are left. Focus on the movements that make warmth. How cold can you really get? When your face feels cold, don't cover it up right away. I am not advocating loosing appendages to frostbite, but see what its like to face the air as if there were no scarfs or neck gaiters. Two days in a row subjected to blowing winds and a windchill that made alaskans shiver was enough to give my chin and cheek a bit of frost nip. No big deal, just a bit that looks like a scab just came off, a little peeling, but no real harm done. The pain was really minimal looking back, but it just makes you stronger.

I encourage everyone to push themselves to see how far they can go by themselves. Take the world head on with what you've got.

2009-10-19T11:26:00.001-07:00

Somethin' filled up
my heart with nothin',
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I'm older,
my heart's colder,
and I can see that it's a lie.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don't grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms turnin' every good thing to
rust.

I guess we'll just have to adjust.

With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'
I can see where I am goin' to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'
I can see where I am goin’
With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'
I can see where I am, go-go, where I am

You'd better look out below

-arcade fire

2009-10-08T07:44:00.001-07:00

Stoke from Sam Atkins on Vimeo.

2009-10-01T21:40:00.001-07:00

First snow up here in montana, almost 6" up in the hills. Requisite playtime in the hills.

2009-10-01T08:59:00.003-07:00

Lou Dawson over at wildsnow.com is going for an ascent of denali next year, as a father son ski trip deal.

Here's my dad crossing a crevasse at 15,000 feet on the west buttress. Maybe we could do something like that....
photo from Glen Randall

Why

2009-09-29T08:39:00.002-07:00

Got that essay back yesterday evening. B. But only because I did not engage enough of the class readings. Despite the fact that the prompt was an exposition of "your personal quest for knowledge," and the whole purpose of my essay - literally the theme - was the useless nature of institutionalized education to my pursuit of knowledge. Somehow I managed to make a perfectly good point, support it with my 'own' evidence, and do it with, and I quote from the comments "beautiful language and spectacular imagery." but it is not really that good?
Luckily, it was still a B, because I really didn't mention any of the readings at all. And call me stubborn, but I didn't want to. Maybe its time for me to get off my fucking high horse and screw principle, and just give'r. With the straight objective of pleasing those other people. As much as I want to do my own thing, there seems to be a point, where, if you really want to go somewhere, you have to make compromises. Thats not really me though. I don't like to compromise. I think I'll stick with my principles, and fuck how your subjective judgement ranks my thoughts. Thats not what I'm here for.

From the student fellow, a co-teacher of sorts of the seminar which this essay was for, I received a lengthy review of my paper. Something that focused on the following situation.
"Sam,
...in many ways, it seems as though you'd rather choose to pack up and go live in the woods. Sam, I encourage you to follow your passions. University education is something special, no doubt. But, as you've illustrated in your paper, there are a million other ways to learn. Although these alternatives may not be deemed "worthy" by society, (or our parents) if that is where your knowledge lies, go chase it. University will always be there, but youth is diminishing everyday. Think about it."

Powerful words. It really does beg the question, what are you here for? I suppose its because I want to learn. Sometimes you have to sort through a lot of shit to find the gold. I guess thats what's going on for me. I'm sifting, you could say, through one grand stinking pile of shit. There's got to be something in here though. Something interesting, something I care about. Thats what I'm after. That and a good bit of skiing.

I Got a Feeling

2009-09-27T21:59:00.005-07:00

Sometimes I lay
under the moon
and thank God I'm breathing
then I pray
don't take me soon
cause i'm here for a reason
-Matisyahu, One Day

Radio Silence. Hectic, absurd radio silence.
At one point a few years ago, there was a huge urge to write. To explicate. A force to share whatever those thoughts were with whatever silent dark entity swirls about in the dark bits of internet anonymity. It was inspired, I won't lie. And any one who reads it knows it. It was out there. But it hasn't for a while. And subsequently, neither have I. Connections are drawn in this obscure web of computers, just like life. Twitch of the mouse, twitch of the eye, and here you have an intimate glimpse of life, not just life - Someone's Life- on another side, At one point, they were one in the same for me. Inspiration flowed, and so did I, with manufactured ideas pouring forth in some attempt to live live vicariously through myself. But It was cut off as all streams are. Eventuality rolls along swallowing all in its path.
Including me, life takes it away, drives out the very soul of the soul if you will. 30 days were spent, more than thirty days ago, in a place far away, and not at all like this, and in that state, life was reduced. There was nothing but the soul. It was pure. It was beautiful. And in that, flowed a lot of writing. Not inspired, not manufactured, only held, with will of the heart in that moment. Past is past, and stories can be told, but here we are. What the FUCK are you doing? I am writing. Its something that I suppose has been welling up for a time. But I find myself upon a section of cross-roads here. which one to take.

The calm silence of the morning splinters to pieces as the crushed can of Keystone Light flies across the room accompanied by a sharp expletive as I reach down to investigate my big toe for signs of damage from the offending bit of scrapped aluminum. Pain is a jolt, a sudden reprieve from the general fog that settled upon my brain sometime in hours since sleep first took hold the night previous. But the pain pales in comparison to the boredom that accompanies a day's worth of class. It is a common, if not desirable manner in which a good number of my days, and perhaps the start to career in the realm of higher education, begin, but it has been, for lack of a better word, inauspicious. The lifestyle itself is not entirely inglorious, for as many weeks as I have taken up residence, the sun shines beautifully across campus each day as the mornings warm into afternoons which stretch, just like the shadows, into long lazy evenings. The people who have made the same decision as myself to call this place home are far from disagreeable. It is no tale of fiction to say that I find the company of the other students enjoyable, especially as their interests coincide similarly with mine. What then, causes my hesitation at dealing praise of my present location?
A morning earlier, my eyes opened in instinct. A full number of REM cycles complete, my circadian rhythms brought about crystal clear consciousness and a particular alertness that comes only from a good night's sleep. The sun was not yet over the Bangtail mountains to the east, and a fine dew weighed on blades of grass bending them in two and giving the air a clean scent. The wheels begin to roll. Fast over the tacky brown earth, breath comes short and quick as the slope of the trail tilts upward and the air thins, scrub oak, juniper, ponderosa, and lodgepole pines give way to engleman spruce and douglas fir. Still higher, the trees fade to krumholtz, ancient twisted silhouettes of sub alpine fir, clinging to the very highest of the forest's reaches, tormented by the elements, and rarely exceeding six feet in height, these trees are on the front lines with the harshest of nature's blows. They huddle at the edge of high alpine tundra, bunched together like soldiers braced against the weather. The land assumes a barren quality at this elevation, but the starkness is only superficial. Close to the ground grow a hearty community of flora. Among the grass are tightly woven beds of daisy, clover, monkshood, bluebell, fleabane and lupine. At this altitude, the hillsides give way to sharp mountain peaks: vicious points of granite talus rise in cliffed leaps above expansive meadows, and the brutality of mother nature ensures humans in this kingdom are only visitors. The trail has long since disappeared, and my bicycle has found its way onto my shoulder as we stumble together across scree fields as my heart beats near threshold, strained by the effort and the lack of oxygen.
This is my territory. This is my life. Having grown up in the Rocky Mountains, I have had, for as long as I can remeber, a love affair with the alpine peaks that rise above the horizon. It came as a line from my parents, both of whom spent many years of their lives sleeping under the stars, and hooked me from a young age: I feel more at home on the ridge tops of remote mountain ranges than I ever have in houses, and I sleep better under a nylon tarp, wrapped in a down sleeping bag, than I ever will in a stuffy room with claustrophobia inducing walls, and perhaps most importantly of all, this is where I learn. My quest for knowledge provided by the stereotypical teachers of public schools ends when education extends beyond analytical thought processes. The value of knowledge, at a personal level, rests on my ability to live.

That is the first page of an essay that I recently wrote. I feel lucky, as I had the time to put thought, and more importantly feeling, into it. Here is the cross-road. One path, I am clearly on. One, I seek as much as possible, but it is not 'my' path, it is merely one that I have found myself on. Where is the turn off. The more I think about this, the less I want to live this life. Yes, I would likely be very content to graduate and work in a nice town, living in a nice house. But that is not the house I want.
Ivan Doing calls it the House of Sky. The place where the only walls are trees, and the only roof is the blanket of stars shining in the night. The place where the pedals turn, the feet pound. The heart Beats . Yes, that is truly the place to live.
Life draws on everyday, but in words, I am here for a reason. I might just need some help figuring out what that is. I feel low sometimes... helpless, alone. But the man says it better than I:
I never let it get me down
so when negativity surrounds
I know some day it'll all turn around
It CAN get much worse, and especially for me, it resonates that people have been through much more with less. All around, are reasons to fight the good fight, live the good life. A close friend, has been for some time, is hurting bad, bad enough to make you stop, bad enough to make you hurt. Its a deep blow in the pit of your stomach. But they are looking up, climbing back. Fighting. Another close friend, is not really hurting at all, but as a result of conditions that are uncomfortable at lowest, but mostly attitude, they are hurting too. Its a different reaction to witness, it is Succumbing. It is no worse to have to watch either, and I want to give each all the positivity I can. But which one will respond, which one will take the positive and propel forward.
Thats all I can think of to do right now. Spread love and passion and life and caring. As much as I have. Its all going out there. I hope that this is the hope that leads me in the right direction. I hope this compass sets me on the right path.

Take care world

2009-08-26T21:34:00.000-07:00

2009-08-26T06:51:00.001-07:00

2009-08-26T06:20:00.000-07:00

2009-08-25T21:31:00.000-07:00

2009-08-23T13:52:00.001-07:00

Cramming a missed month of summer into a few hectic weeks... check.

Renovation

2009-08-20T22:26:00.002-07:00

Transition maybe is a better word? some change is afoot. packing life into harriet the lesbian paddy wagon for an extended trip to bozeman. carry on friends, carry on.

2009-06-28T10:20:00.001-07:00

A damn good way to spend 24 hours

Ol' ma nature

2009-06-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

Right here in the back yard.

Tomfoolery

2009-06-17T15:23:00.005-07:00

somebody is out there, making a spectacular array of nonsense in the woods.

Its like a maze and a fun-house combined, except more random, and more eerie.

I would say you certainly get the feeling that someone is messing with you, but it is mostly good natured.

And I have yet to find any sign of the Pooh, although I'm sure he is out there.

2009-06-14T22:12:00.004-07:00

An awesome ride today, solo adventures and really nice trails. Barely skirting the edge of some very serious looking clouds, and having a good time all around.

T-minus 15 days until departure for the NOLS course. things just get bigger and bigger the closer they get. Super exciting.

A Step Forward

2009-06-11T10:05:00.003-07:00

So, I have a bit of spare time on my hands here, and now seems like as good a time as any to give a bit of the story as to what I will be up to for the entire month of July.
A month or so ago, my parents offered me something of a chance of a life time. A NOLS course. I find it, I sign up for it, they pay, and I get to go. Hardly an offer to miss out on. After looking through several catalogs, online trip reports, photo albums, and talking to friends, I applied for two of the Waddington Range Mountaineering courses, and a Wind River Mountaineering course as my three top choices. Then I left for a river trip for a week, and returned to find my enrollment packet sitting on the counter. I opened it up only to find that I had been wait-listed on all three courses.
I called the NOLS office, just to try and figure out what the chances were of me actually getting on a course, any course really, and there were at least three people including myself on the wait-list for each course. And that all but one person in each course had paid their tuition in full. In short, things were looking down.
I scrambled to get my paperwork and deposit in, on the slim chance that some fellow named Eric at NOLS had given me, that if I showed motivation to get on the course, they might be able to work some things out.
I am not sure what happened yesterday morning from their prospective, but after faxing my papers in that morning, and speaking with three separate people at the office, all the while making it very clear that I was willing to commit to any of the Waddington courses, I got a call a few hours later, asking me if I was still interested in taking the July 1st through July 31st course.

Yes.

Wait, is this for real? I'm still in a bit of a daze, a mix of gracious surprise and a strange lack of information. The last 24 hours have been a mad blur of plane flights, hotel reservations, airport shuttles, and gear lists. Dates and times and places, its all very exciting and somewhat overwhelming. But at the same time, for all the things that I do know about what hotel I'll be staying the night of June 30th, in Mt. Vernon, Washington, there are a hundred times more things I have no idea about.
The course itself is very much a mystery, I have heard that the instructors don't even know what the route will be at this point. I have heard tales of near starvation and insane bushwhacking, massive glaciers, and huge mountains, but who really knows, at this point? I sure don't.

Here's a great snippet from Dan, who was actually preparing for a similar trip a little less than a year ago.

One thing I'm not necessarily prepared for though is the area of the trip itself, the Waddington Range in British Columbia. This is simply because not a ton of information on this place exists. I'm honestly not sure how were even getting there...I've heard rumors of day long van rides, float planes, trekking through ancient rainforests...who knows? What I do know is that tomorrow I fly to Seattle and make my way to NOLS Pacific Northwest HQ in Mount Vernon, so this will be my last blog entry here until sometime in mid-August. As such, I figured I'd give you a few snippets I've found about the Waddington Range.

and another from the american alpine institute

"Waddington! - Just the name quickens the heartbeat of any alpinist who has happened upon an article or even photo of this mysterious and remarkable peak. Mount Waddington? Does it really exist or is it just a tall tale? If it does exist, it's at the very least a place that very few people know much about, where very few people have been, and information about which is somewhat limited and hard to find. Climbers that have been to the range often speak of the place with an animation and excitement warranted by only a few great ranges in the world. In my mind Waddington and the remote parts of the Coast Range have always seemed like places that ordinary climbers can't go: too remote, too difficult, and too involved. Like the mountains in places that end in "ikstan" or "onia". Unattainable for the mere mortal."

Adventure is out there my friends, lets go find some.

Images courtesy of John Scurlock

Big News

2009-06-10T21:49:00.002-07:00

Just got a call from the NOLS office in Lander, WY this afternoon. I'm going to be on the Waddington Range Mountaineering trip for the entire month of July. Its supposedly the hardest course they offer, and I dont really know what to expect at this point. In fact, I dont know very much about it at all. almost nothing.
Its wild to think that I will be in the middle of one of the most intense mountain ranges in north america for an entire month. entirely out of contacted. pretty much self supported.
There are so many things going on right now, its very close to seeming surreal. And I will write more about it soon, when I have a bit more time to kill.
So long for now.

(photo courtesy of: http://bylandseaandsky.blogspot.com/)

2009-06-09T22:20:00.000-07:00

2009-05-26T10:51:00.004-07:00

A great day in the mountains. A great day in general. At times the skiing was frustratingly sloppy, but that doesn't really matter when you can ski a 1,700ft couloir on memorial day.

The pictures tell a good story:

Gems

2009-04-26T20:31:00.003-07:00

make life worth living.

go. find them.

2009-04-25T09:36:00.011-07:00

I think that things like yesterday may be the reason why I am not meant to be a professional bike racer. oh well.

I'm not exactly sure what i'm looking for when i drop off the side of some road. maybe thats just it, maybe thats the whole attraction, those expanses of ponderosas and juniper bushes and pine needles. all that good stuff.

Every one needs a bit of lunacy and wandering to keep life exciting. I'll take mine hiking through the woods. with my bike. following the trails that aren't there, finding random bits of discarded and ironic human remains scattered about in strange and solitary places, phallic rock out croppings, and brilliant little cacti, thanks.

2009-04-21T18:26:00.003-07:00

it really doesn't take long for me to start missing the desert.
when i leave, i always want to go back.
more so, right now, than i usually do.
sigh.

2009-04-02T19:08:00.002-07:00

been poking around a bit more with the HDR stuff, its a finicky way to shoot, but i like the way the shots turn out, not necessarily as a photograph, but as a bit of life on its own terms. The bottom picture got a bit whacked when the tripod shifted, but I like the colors anyways

2009-03-19T17:52:00.002-07:00

"Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age." - James Joyce

I think, my friends, that spring has sprung. not officially, but in my book. yes, we are there.

Dead Dog

2009-03-12T17:00:00.004-07:00

A morbid title to a post indeed, but I think I know where this particular ski route got its namesake. Anyways, Thanks to the boulder valley school district's scheduling, and some nice standardized testing crap, I didn't have to go to school wednesday, talked to dad earlier in the week about going up and skiing somewhere, 10:30 teusday night, "hey dad, you still want to go skiing tomorrow?" "Sure." Thats basically about as much planning as we did.

Rolled out of the driveway at a leisurely 7:45 and headed in the general direction of grays and torreys. We parked in bakerville, slogged the 4 miles up to the trailhead, another 3 or so up into the gulch with incredibly cloudless blue skies and warm temperatures. We made good time, reaching the upper basin at about 12:15 with easy going on firm snow. We had kind of sort of planned on maybe climbing the NE ridge of torreys, similar to a year or so ago, but after a short examination, a bit of hemming and hawing, and some lingering gazes, we opted for dead dog couloir.

It is a sweet line to look at, I think you'll agree. But climbing it was really a bear. it took almost three hours to gain 1200 vertical, boot packing through knee deep wet concrete. And since it was only my dad and I, even trading leaders every hundred or so steps wasn't enough to make it easy. Not too bad for my first substantial snow climb, considering we didnt have ropes, crampons, ice-axes or anything. (plus theseplaces make it sound like you are going to climb frickin Nagna Parbat or something. ) There wasn't any point in time where I was scared by the actual technical aspect of the snow climbing.

Made it to the top, jaunted up to the summit, ate some food and began to make our way back down.
For any one interested, my Dad wrote up a bit on the snow conditions, I would write it, but I dont know that much about it, and his thoughts sound much smarter than mine. For those of you not interested in that sort of thing, you may scroll down a few paragraphs. To tell you the truth, I was a bit nervous about the snowpack, but everything held well enough, and we made it home in one piece. Without further ado:

"The stability was marginal. Recent strong winds had really cross-loaded the gullies and the east face. The skiers' right side had thick, stiff wind slab and the skiers' left side was blown clear. We were able to pretty much -- expect for one short section -- to kick steps (and ski down) right at the edge of the slab. Here the slab was much more of a crust being just an inch or three thick with boot-top deep soft snow below. Climbing up, if we went too far to the skiers' left side we wallowed in thigh deep facets/depth hoar. We really tried not to venture to far to the skiers' right as the slab turned thick very quickly. The shears were easy and fast, but there was no propensity for fractures to propagate. Basically, we walked/skied a pretty fine line but felt comfortable about doing so.

The best skiing was actually on the Steven's Gulch road, well below treeline. In the couloir we side slipped the top couple of hundred feet, so we were always facing our escape route. Once we got down a bit we actually made turns but they were not graceful. A friend of mine calls it "HHJJLL" snow, which means "hopping and hoping, jumping and jiving, and leaping and landing." It was a very nervous ski because of the breakable crust. The entire ski back down to treeline was entertaining at best but it sure beat walking. Lots of breakable crust or bulletproof boilerplate polished by the winds. If the breakable crust was not enough tugging at your edges the widespread but dense willows provided extra grab, of ski edges and ankles.

It would be great to have a couple of big storms come along before venturing there again. The winds have made the area look and ski much more like late November/early December."

Yes, I agree. Also, there was an old slide that ran down the gully, a little while ago, with debris still visible and feelable at the bottom. This lended a bit more to our confidence in the safety of the slope.
Skiing sure beats any other way down, And thanks to our leisurely schedule, we enjoyed a nice afternoon ski out in the shadows, with spectacular colors on all sides.

I am quite wrecked from it, but stoked to go back out and make turns. Skiing isnt over yet.

Random Tangent Time: Just got my new TSKJ in the mail today. I usually try my best to do a charlie bucket impersonation, reading only an article a night, savoring everything. Silly? yes, absolutely, but it says something when I read the entire magazine cover to cover this afternoon. Yes, it is a photo issue, but still. the whole thing. done. I am still astounded by the quality of their work, and the photography in this issue is mind blowing. Inspiration right there folks. Incredible.

2009-03-09T18:17:00.004-07:00

I dont think I feel much like making excuses, just like starting to write again. however much writing I will actually do... that is debatable, but something feels like its time to start writing again. Last couple of months (man has it really been that long since the last update?) have been hectic as usual, but with a more of a sense of accomplishment than the standard running-around-like-a-headless-chicken type of shit. Its more of a doing things kinda busy, which, is better than treading water busy shit. Finished out the nordic season, moved along with school, things like that. Lots and lots of skiing, a hut trip some where in there, and enjoying the winter up high, despite continually basking in, and cursing, the beautiful weather here on the flat lands. Hard for me to think that riding season is around the corner, because my inner compass says that we aught to have a few months left to venture into the woods and high above treeline with skis. Maybe this will turn out beneficial in the long run, staying away from the mindset that each season is to long, and that february is a perfectly reasonable time to start spending 20+ hour weeks in the saddle. Maybe I can make it through the summer without getting bored of riding. I suppose we'll see. And to further avoid writing... here are some pictures from the past... while...

North Boulder Fire

2009-01-07T18:45:00.006-07:00

I realize that it is terrible to only write on account of the fire presently occurring a mile and a half or so north of my house, but this is at least as exciting as any of the other various topics on here. so, for those of you not glue to the up to the minute coverage via idiot-box, here it goes.

apparently the blaze started earlier today as several smaller fires, and was fueled by the (horrendous) WIND that so plagues us here in Boulder. From what I heard, the wind gusting over the ridge is the biggest obstacle in the way of containing this blaze. Any ways, it made for some nice picture taking, despite the panic around me. Cars being loaded, sprinklers being thrown on to roofs, that sort of thing.

this is a pic that shows the lenticular clouds formed by the chinook (foehn) winds that have been blowing across the boulder area all day. from my perspective, it seems as though the winds have died down, but at the same time, the inverse is true for the fire, so who knows.

This is, in fact, the second fire that the North Boulder Foothills have seen in the past eight or so years. And this one in mid-winter no less. Just goes to show how dry boulder is right now. It is also the second (maybe even third) blaze that i can see from our back porch. thankfully, we are all safe here at mi casa, and we are out of the way of the fire, knock on wood (or maybe pick something a bit more fire-retardant to rap your knuckles on at the present time).

And lastly, whoever is in charge of the fire danger sign needs to have a stern talking to...

2008-12-19T17:28:00.005-07:00

as winter break has officially started, i can waste time rambling with a slightly clearer conscious. now faced with the prospect of two whole weeks off of school, the realization is setting in that i have only one semester of high school left. schwing. the switch has been flipped, and skiing is well underway. one race down, still a long ways to go, but that proverbial florescent light bulb is flickering on. triggered in part by the afternoons, spent wandering round the empty loops, fighting back demons through the thickening dusk, and bombing, bleary eyed, down through the stinging cold and the snow following the flickering patches of moonlight.

my favorite though, is the odd morning, after a chilled stutter up 17th, only to set out along a bright loop of zarlengos. effortless double pole through the sun and woods, all silent but the soft swish of ski on snow. following the tracks, zipping along the roller coaster of antelope creek. ah, i do love skiing.

take it

2008-12-07T20:33:00.008-07:00

Wax on, Wax off.

2008-11-30T21:20:00.003-07:00

what a time to get the news that Eldoo-doo opens tomorrow. now i *have* to go wax!

HDR

2008-11-29T15:16:00.007-07:00

my first try at a HDR image. Let me know what you think.

no photoshop at all, except to remove the watermarks from the trial software.
Its basically a mish-mash of the same photos taken with different exposures to increase the luminance and radiance of the picture. or something like that, i still dont understand it that well and need a lot more practice.

Classic OC from Pluto

2008-11-29T12:05:00.001-07:00

Friday, January 30, 2004

A transcript of a recent phone call received at work:

"Hello."

"Hello...ummm....I just wanted to let you guys know that I was at the Matthew Winters parking lot the other day, and I saw one of your company cars, and ummmm....on top of it was an orange singlespeed with a sticker that said...(pause for shock value)......fuck that shift.....and ummm....I just wanted to say that while I wasn't personally that offended I bet if a little kid saw it...well...that would be a bad thing."

"Hmmm...interesting, well thanks for letting us know. Actually that's my bike."

"Oh, ummm....Ok. goodbye."

The world at large

2008-11-28T18:11:00.002-07:00

there comes a time when we have to look at the world around us, a time to open eyes and exclaim in absolute wonder, "This shit, is big." A time when comprehension dawns that what is OUT THERE has been around much longer than us, and it is much grander, more eloquent, and more influential because of that. Where this epiphany occurs is not necessarily definable (for some it certainly may be), but when that dawning of recognition occurs, do not, I repeat, do not ignore it. Because, it is our duty, indeed our destiny even, to carry this history, acknowledge and respect it, and place upon it necessary alterations in hopes that some day, way off in the line of time, we can consider ourselves a part of that magnificent history.
For me – and yes I will show some pompous narcissism here – individual action may not affect much. but thats how it has to start. that individual action, however misdirected, aught to influence. I myself have a great deal of influences, collective fragments of long pursued "affectation", that I will capture, modulate, transmogrify, and other such what-have-yous, and later, hopefully pass those along the proverbial chain to the awaiting minds of others. Because, when all those influences aimed at yet ill-fated to intercept the target of affect add up, there will be some affect.
So when you come across a time when you feel very insignificant on this great big rock hurtling through this great big universe – may that be upon summiting a mountain, reading a book, crossing a desert, or even encountering the archived journals of a thought long past – think about what things you your self can influence. Because someone else will appreciate it.

And along a similarly non-coherent and irrelevant path. Recent discovery has unearthed a story. Authored by snoopy (whomever that is, they be stronger than I), this tale is a tragic tale. I feel somewhat small (and by small I mean sick, angry, weak kneed, and light headed) reading it, knowing that it is fellow humans who complete this, and that i-myself have little power to change it. But any further analysis will to little to engage, so i present to you, "His Name Is Sam" a story by Snoopy:

My Name Is Sam

On the first day of class our professor explained to us that he was going to leave the subject manner of our talks up to us, but he was going to provide the motivation of the speech. For instance our first speech's purpose was to inform. I decided to center my six speeches around animals, especially dogs.

For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of dressage. For my speech to demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd, Bodger, to class and demonstrated obedience commands. Finally the semester was almost over and I had but one more speech to give. This speech was to take the place of a written final exam and was to count for fifty per cent of our grade. The speeches motivation was to persuade.

After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my animal theme, I decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try to persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I started researching the topic.

There was plenty of material, articles that told of the millions of dogs and cats that were euthanized every year, of supposedly beloved pets that were turned in to various animal control facilities for the lamest of reasons, or worse, dropped off far from home, bewildered and scared. Death was usually a blessing.

The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My notes were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate even the most naive of pet owners to succumb to my plea. A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea of going to the local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to use as a sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained what I wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made arrangements to pick up a puppy the day before my speech.

The day before my speech, I went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling very confident. I could quote all the statistics and numbers without ever looking at my notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional touch. When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy named Ron. He explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane Society.

He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically agreed. We started out in the reception area, which was the general public's initial encounter with the Humane Society. The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off various animals that they no longer wanted Ron explained to me that this branch of the Humane Society took in about fifty animals a day and adopted out twenty.

As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation: "I can't keep him, he digs holes in my garden." "They are such cute puppies, I know you will have no trouble finding homes for them." "She is wild, I can't control her." I heard one of Humane Society's volunteer explain to the lady with the litter of puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies, being black, would immediately be put to sleep. Black puppies, she explained, had little chance of being adopted. The woman who brought the puppies in just shrugged, "I can't help it," she whined. "They are getting too big. I don't have room for them." We left the reception area. Ron led me into the staging area where all the incoming animals were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never even made it to the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only were people bringing in their own animals, but strays were also dropped off. By law the Humane Society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal was not claimed by then, it was euthanized, since there was no background information on the animal.

There were already too many animals that had a known history eagerly provided by their soon-to-be ex-owners. As we went through the different areas, I felt more and more depressed. No amount of statistics could take the place of seeing the reality of what this throw-away attitude did to the living, breathing animal. It was overwhelming
Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed door. "That's it," he said, "except for this." I read the sign on the door. "Euthanization Area." "Do you want to see one?" he asked. Before I could decline, he interjected, "You really should. You can't tell the whole story unless you experience the end." I reluctantly agreed.

"Good." He said " I already cleared it and Peggy is expecting you." He knocked firmly on the door. It was opened immediately by a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat. "Here's the girl I was telling you about," Ron explained.

Peggy looked me over. "Well I'll leave you here with Peggy and meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes. I'll have the puppy ready." With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the stern-looking Peggy.

Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I gave an audible gasp. The room was small and spartan. There were a couple of cages on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a clear liquid. In the middle of the room was an examining table with a rubber mat on top. There were two doors other than the one I had entered. Both were closed. One said to the incinerator room, and the other had no sign, but I could hear various animals noises coming from behind the closed door.

In the back of the room, near the door that was marked incinerator were the objects that caused my distress: two wheelbarrows, filled with the bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror. Nothing had prepared me for this. I felt my legs grow weak and my breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room, screaming.

Peggy seemed not to notice my state of shock. She started talking about the euthanization process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear my gaze away from the wheelbarrows and those dozens of pathetic little bodies. Finally, Peggy seemed to notice that I was not paying attention to her. "Are you listening?" she asked irritably. "I'm only going to go through this once." I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out, so I nodded.

She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals that were scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up a chart that was hanging from the wall. "One fifty three is next," she said as she looked at the chart. "I'll go get him." She laid down the chart on the examining table and started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the door she stopped and turned around. "You aren't going to get hysterical, are you?" she asked, "Because that will only upset the animals." I shook my head. I had not said a word since I walked into that room. I still felt unsure if would be able to without breaking down into tears.

As Peggy opened the unmarked door I peered into the room beyond. It was a small room, but the walls were lined and stacked with cages. It looked like they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of the lower cages and removed the occupant. From what I could see it looked like a medium-sized dog. She attached a leash and ushered the dog into the room in which I stood.

As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see that the dog was no more than a puppy, maybe five or six months old. The pup looked to be a cross between a Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a small amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet. He was very excited and bouncing up and down, trying to sniff everything in this new environment.

Peggy lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her hand, which she laid on the table next to me. I read the card. It said that number one fifty three was a mixed Shepherd, six months old. He was surrendered two days ago by a family. Reason of surrender was given as "jumps on children." At the bottom was a note that said "Name: Sam."

Peggy was quick and efficient, from lots of practice, I guessed. She laid one fifty three down on his side and tied a rubber tourniquet around his front leg. She turned to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid. All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see the moment that one fifty three went from a curious puppy to a terrified puppy. He did not like being held down and he started to struggle.

It was then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling puppy and whispered "Sam. Your name is Sam." At the sound of his name Sam quit struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue darted out and licked my hand. And that is how he spent his last moment. I watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness. It was over very quickly. I had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The tears could not be contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not to embarrass myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the still body on the table.

"Now you know," Peggy said softly. Then she turned away. "Ron will be waiting for you." I left the room. Although it seemed like it had been hours, only fifteen minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my way back to the reception area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy all ready to go. After giving me some instructions about what to feed the puppy, he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on my speech. That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the orphan puppy. I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After a while I got up and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and statistics. Without a second thought, I tore them up and threw them away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night I finally fell asleep. The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my turn came to give my speech. I walked up to the front the class with the puppy in my arms. I took a deep breath, and I told the class about the life and death of Sam. When I finished my speech I became aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and took my seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique with our grades. I got an "A." His comments said "Very moving and persuasive."

Two days later, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came up to me. She was an older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She stopped me on our way out of the class room.

"I want you to know that I adopted the puppy you brought to class," she said.

"His name is Sam."

And Again

2008-11-25T18:25:00.005-07:00

I have come to the conclusion that, with out school or any other form of monotonous time wasting, one could become incredibly fit. another day spent largely in the high alpine. post holing through snow, climbing mountains, jumping off rocks, and other such antics. an other wise chilly and grey day made killer by a hike in the mountains.

Simple Pleasures

2008-11-24T18:31:00.015-07:00

Any day above tree line is, quite unassailably and by definition, a great day. (quote slightly modified) And the past few days, up in the mountains, only reinforce in my mind the role that high alpine plays in not only fitness, but life as well. Spending time in the mountains is, for me, something as essential as breathing air or drinking water. Absolutely a vice. The weeks that go by without some sense of adventure, most preferably in the crisp mountain air - whether on foot, bike, or ski, I become agitated, lazy, and bored. In short, i will take my time spent above treeline, because it is easily the most simple and elegant manner of achieving the "high" which too many people pursue in more transient matters, and I will continue to take that for as long as my bones will hold me up to reach the barren tundra.

And if you've had enough of the melodrama, take for example today's hike. The middle boulder creek area has become very familiar to me in the past month, but I do not tire from the repetition because the breeze and the jagged peaks overcome any sense of lameness, and even when you've hiked all the trails, there are still things to do. places to go. sights to see. Stellar company, and a ridiculous amount of hiking, nice to be with some folks that not only keep up, but push it.
And as always, photo dump:

Neglect

2008-11-17T16:46:00.006-07:00

Apologies, my friends, for the prolonged silence. And, as life would have it, things are landing on the insanely busy side of things. Dryland for nordic is everyday after school – on the days when I'm not sitting at home working on two weeks worth of statistics homework – and the college application deadlines are moving at a frustrating pace.
I dare say that for the lack of writing, it is not for lack of exploration. but exploration is all quite relative. because, you see, there have been no boundaries expanded, no great frontiers reached. no, but in proper context, small joys may suffice. it is probably the fault of whomever it was, so suffering from a case of major craniophallism who decides to keep me locked in such spheres of boredom and restrain, who made my enjoyment of the discovery (re-discovery albeit) of the ski, and paint, music too.
But i will take them. and you... you will take my pictures of times past. In addition to the certain links ala derecha to the products of boredom and exploration.

8 inches

2008-10-22T12:49:00.002-07:00

of new at loveland this morning.
so far a good start to the season.

A Day in Photos

2008-10-18T18:20:00.010-07:00

Left School yesterday with OMV to arrive in the Ned High parking lot, waited a bit for the Pluto Pilot to be freed from the machine, and commenced on a whirlwind overnight backpack. Booked it up and over, to set up camp and eat dinner before dark, spent the night under the pyramid, and woke up the next morning for a summit and a haroing drive to catch the 1:27 bus (which is like 1:32 on the dam stop). Arrived down in Boulder about 24 hours after leaving, with a day and a half of the weekend left.

here are some photos:

24 Hours of Moab

2008-10-13T13:41:00.016-07:00

is in the books officially. I would say that the over riding theme of this year was the WIND. not unlike the RAIN of a few years back, this years race was wind whipped and sand blasted for pretty much all of saturday. this wind increased the grit factor (amount in pounds, of red desert sand imbedded into your gear/person after the trip) by about 8, or maybe 9 times. a consistent 20 mph gusting much higher at times for a solid 20 hours or so, maybe more, i don't really know.

anyways the race was no less crazy than usual, i got the second lap, then sunset, then one in the morning, then sunrise. for as much as it sucks to be woken up at 4 in the morning, after 3 hours of sleep all night and two laps, when its 20 degrees out and windy, and there is sand in your eyelids, and under your fingernails and between your teeth and on your toes, and filling your sleeping bag and you chamois, and in the luke warm ramen you're trying vainly to choke down, and in your shoes, only to go out and ride in another circle of sand; when you're climbing up from behind the butte, and the sun is coming up over the La Sals faintly lighting up the sage brush and the sandstone as the flashing lights of other riders meander through the desert, that is what makes moab wonderful.

cleaning out tents and doing laundry right now, thats about it. still dazed and confused, i think the weekend has severely reduced my synapse count, everything is taking two or three times longer than it should. other than that, it is just settling down with the lifetime supply of (not)custom blended drink mix (stupid prize considering second place got freakin camelbacks) and looking forward to winter.

apologies as to the lack of race shots. between the WIND before the race, the race its self, and the post race depression, i had trouble finding cause or energy to take the magic picture box out of its case.

the circle legs are going onto the shelf for a bit, and ski season is getting closer. there was snow on the ground today! way too cool.

vamanos

2008-10-08T21:55:00.002-07:00

bags. packed
lights. charged
forecast. 40% rain
rubber. new and super
cables and housing. new and super and white
mandatory late night running around like a headless chicken. check
trying to explain why you're driving into the middle of the desert to ride around in circles for 24 hours straight. also check

It's moab time. Bring It On!

tarde

2008-10-05T13:01:00.008-07:00

apologies for the lack of recent posts, there has been a large quantity of feces that has recently come into contact with a bladed air propellant. college apps and plans for 09, while still trying to remain sane and not too buried by the growing stacks of homework. not to mention attempting to stay in a marginal state of fitness for the coming of moab, cyclocross and skiing.

In news of things more exciting, I got a new light (niterider minewt) and have done so far one ride on the new picture rock trail. the top half is entirely a piece, much like the entire rest of heil, whereas the bottom is very smooth and flowy. also got a 2.2 nevegal and a 2.1 karma for riding in the desert sand and for training.

other than that, fall is very much upon us, and it was snowing up at loveland yesterday while we were up there for a oec refresher. old man winter is just down the block, he's past the corner i say, and on the home stretch.

Argentine Pass

2008-09-22T13:53:00.009-07:00

Somebody once said that "any day above treeline is a good day." I think I will have to slightly alter that. "Any day above treeline in fall is a great day."

Spent yesterday up in the high country riding what aught to be a fall pilgrimage to argentine pass. We might have been a week or so early, as not all of the leaves were in full splendor, but nonetheless there was plenty of splendor to be had.

The weather forecast called for rain turning to snow after above 10,000 feet, but much to our delight, the sun was rarely covered by the occasional cloud. the weather was, in fact, balmy until we began the slogging hike-a-bike up from waldorf mine, during which, we still were treated with sporadic spots of sunshine lighting up the snow or the reddening tundra.

Nearing the top, the temperature dropped significantly, as did the amount of snow blanketing the jeep trail. it was a little frustrating because there was little snow anywhere around the road, yet the road its self had accumulated enough to force all walking to be done on the fringe. bummer : )

After dropping the bikes for the final hundred meters, we made it to the top, and took a moment to enjoy the stellar views all around, including a very imposing face of grays, and not to mention the elk range and bierstadt/evans. Ate some food, put some extra clothes on for the descent, and hurried on down.

As much as I would have liked to, I don't have any pictures from the way down... we pushed our timetable a bit too far on the way up, and had to make it down before the two thirty cut off. The descent from the pass was a little hectic with a mix of rattling loose rock, and awkwardly tripoding down the snowbanks, wary of weak patches of snow that suddenly appeared and swallowed your front wheel. the rest of the descent down the road was just that. trying as hard as possible to book it down a very rough and rocky dirt road. My knuckles are still sore.

The final drop down had to be one of the most fun sections of singletrack this season. We opted for a short cut that, while not much shorter, provided more opportunity to rally down the ribbon of dark earth winding its way through the tunnel of yellow. This fall riding is truly spectacular.

night rides

2008-09-19T09:14:00.007-07:00

soon it will be fall for real. Almost just around the corner. monday is the official autumnal equinox, but we need no calendar to tell us these things. It is the time when we strap lights to our bikes and rip through the trails and the dark momentarily lighting up the stillness of night. from my perspective, it is the tunnel of light which stays constant, it is the trees and bushes flashing by on the peripheral that move. when the lights behind you disappear, into the dark and the trees, the sense of gaping is heightened by the abyss at your back. similar to standing on the edge of a cliff, the dark is magnetized, tugging at your shirt sleeves while climbing with a sweat-less brow. I love night riding

Late

2008-09-17T14:58:00.007-07:00

I suppose the report is a bit late, and that all of you have read the more timely and exciting version on offcamber, but I like to hear myself write, and procrastinate, so here it is.

Basically we went skiing in september. it was a valiant goal that unfortunately turned into a very long hike with thirty plus pound packs. what started as a cold and windy morning stretched into a leisurely midday, and a very long, warm and sunny afternoon. We did get some turns, which were cool, but largely so because of the novelty of skiing in september. Don't get me wrong, it was a killer time up in the high country, but as far as a ski trip goes, the combination of dv8's incident combined with a 7 hour day, it was slightly wearisome. It makes for some sweet pics though...

hiking: around the tunnel, early am.

looking up towards the day's line. it looks nice from here

cool shot of the rime ice on the trail sign

hiking again: along the divide

more rime ice on a rock along the divide

Dan, looking epic

mike making the best of some shorthanded snow

from the looks of this, it could easily be january in greenland or somewhere. mike dropping the bergschreund on run #3

in the deep dark night

2008-09-11T20:42:00.003-07:00

went on a run this evening. best run in a while. smashed a pr even with picture stops and barely breaking a sweat. I was actually sweating, but thanks to the rain and my new tech shirt it was not noticeable. great fun to work out in the dark and the rain. quiet and pounding at the same time. got to keep pace with the l.e.d. strapped to your forehead, even through the soup and slime.

was wondering why the wanker trail was running a few class III rapids down its belly, then oh ya, its the wanker trail. good fun indeed though

and on the note of great fun...

cross #1

2008-09-10T20:32:00.006-07:00

sat out to try and avoid prolonging the sick, but got some nice pics of the devo folk crossing it up

los estudiantes:

take out your notebooks:

time for some action:

sir stevens, instructing...

...some attentive pupils

Inspiration

2008-09-10T19:39:00.002-07:00

got some new literary material recently. not the typified literature, more stuff that librarians and teachers snub. good stuff that is.

first off. Props to Ski Journal. I have had a subscription with those guys since the debut issue little more than a year ago. incredibly quality stuff in the glossies of this particular mag. most of my views towards ski magazines are similar to those of bikes' ; too many advertisements. too many ways to get lean fast, too corporate. in every sense of the word. The Journal is an outlier. Much like a higher budget version of the mountain flyer (another paper worthy of top spot next to the throne) but it goes more than skin deep. the pictures, yes are beautiful, jaw dropping, and saliva inducing, but the articles are that much better. I wont spoil it for you, so figure it out (Subscribe!) Its rad.

Secondly, two new libros from mi cumpleaños, the edited and complete versions of Richard Promenke's diaries. wonderful. he is a man, no way around that, and a wonderful writer. Critics say hemmingway is austere, I think they would pull out a magnifying glass to try and find meaning in his pages. They never would though. that is it's beauty. It reserves the magic for those who have tasted the wonder he feasts upon daily. wonderful stuff.

And thirdly, nay not lastly, but among the most important, Is the revisitation of my latest Abbey. Desert Solitaire and Chronicles of a Barbarian are nearly too much to handle together. too much genius, keeps me up too late at night thinking. pure and unfiltered, it is rough and tumble, at times crazy. but also undeniably intelligent and strong. I wish I had a chance to meet this fellow. I think he has much to teach us. not all from that which is typed. for now, I will take what i can, because this man knows that words, words have power.

2008-09-08T19:11:00.005-07:00

lots of stress and busy shit to have happen lately what with school starting and everything. this goddamned cold has had me couped up inside the whole last week, I was almost feeling better going up to the fall classic, which was by the way, a spectacular race. random and hectic and at times frustrating, but great riding, but i am afraid that the exertion may have ruined any hopes of a speedy recovery. thanks to 28 miles and like three and a half thousand feet of climbing i am now graced with a deep hacking cough that produces copious amounts of bright yellow phlegm. Lovely.
It was an enjoyable ride to school this morning, I love being out when the clouds cover the tops of the foothills. even through the fog of advil and decongestants. I wish I was up in sie bergen in the clouds, not stuffed into the box with other cases of sniffling misery.
I hear rumors of snow and fall, changing leaves and other treats, I think its a long ways off, but i don't doubt it either. but i suppose its schnoz on the grindstone until then. get er done

17

2008-09-02T15:52:00.004-07:00

I guess that makes me almost halfway to being old. To tell the truth it hasn't been a great day. mostly because of this damned sickness that has decided to set up camp in my sinuses. filling my face with something like crazy glue, and making my ears so clogged, every noise enters my head as a muffled vibration, not unlike listening to the world through the wrong end of a very uncomfortable stethoscope. Granted, there hasn't been presents and cake yet, but so far, the highlights of my day were a crisp morning commute, and a passing grade on my ap lit essay. sweet.

this weekend past was quite stellar if I may say so. went up to the high country with some friends for a good weekend of riding. met up with a jr. x racer who lives in summit, and thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of our own private tour guide. Got shown around the local trails in a hardy ride that included an up and over the colorado and cdt trails.

sunday was the pre-ride for the fall classic course up in breck, 28 miles, and a solid lot of climbing. similar in many aspects to a backwards version of the firecracker. lung busting climbs and sweet winding singletrack included. slightly embarassing to be dropped on the descents by a jr. x girlie with a broken wrist. I could make plenty of excuses, but it doesn't mask the fact. which is, by the way, awesome. its a very long course. fun, yes, but also very long.

also some pictures from an evening run up snikta saturday from the loveland pass. 1200 feet in 25 minutes? ouchies.

2008-08-25T17:00:00.004-07:00

I sat today in school, overwhelmed by the Irony. this is irony of situation, situational irony if you will, that the "greatest" country in the world, this piece that so vehemently defends the so called unalienable rights, has well screwed us over. Physics, was when i thought, who the fuck needs physics, me? not me, i dont give a pile of horse shit about physics, nor about i'd say 99.8 percent of what the idiot box stuffs us with. yet i must, i am helpless. not exactly, I could go postal. that's not solving anything, who the fuck does that help? no one. If we dont give our pile o' horse shit about what is told to us, where to we put that great stinky mess of human involvement? certainly not in the hands of others. it is not our destiny, nor our right to be held captive. me, i say no thanks, i will take my interest and invest it, in the mountains, in the eternal. the eternal which may well prove transient. because to me this is beauty, and cross my grave, I will be out, gone when i can. with the wind? who knows, into the eternal.

sorry if that was morbid, school has got me right well p.o.'d.
a picture to brighten the mood. tone is what the idiot box calls it.

2008-08-18T20:28:00.007-07:00

a few photos from the last fleeting moments of summer. they seem long gone now. far away, like looking through the wrong end of binoculars. education binoculars. it's only one more year at least.

Into the mist

2008-08-15T15:20:00.007-07:00

today was one of those days where when you wake up and look out the window, you turn back over and pull the blankets up higher and fall back asleep thinking about hot chocolate and a good book. Low clouds and a misty drizzle turn everything grey, damp, and cold. but today, when i woke up, twas not a day to be wasted by literature and warm sugary beverages.

I like riding in the rain. there is very much a certain energy that comes from it. not the same as the energy on a blue sky day topping out on the caribou flats. That energy is bright and crisp. This is a softer vibe that comes from the quiet and the cool clean air and the pinpricks of rain. it forces me deeper into the shrouded trees and farther through the tall grass, bent over with the weight of fresh dew.

Riding in the rain makes things better i think. Wetter, yes indeed, but also better. as omv put it today, its like night riding. he's right. its nice to have the world reduced to a couple square meters as you climb into the fog. Only worrying about the how wet the roots are and how peanutbutteresque the mud is. not the 400 pages of summer fucking homework left.

on a completely reversed note. the new ergon grips are sick. as is the new patagucci shell. the only problem there was that I was already soaked to the bone when I put it on. Kept excess water out though.