Some of you may already know that I was nominated to the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame this year. Wahoo, eh!?
You can see the nominees and our bios HERE.
Any mountain biker worth their salt will take a quick glance at that short list and then shake their head knowingly at the steep odds I have at being voted into the hall. A-C Chausson and Nico Vouilloz are two of the most dominant racers ever to swing a leg over a bike. I read their names and I think to myself that they definitely deserve to be in the there.
When I mentioned that exact fact to one of my peers, he shared a different viewpoint:
I hope people voting are able to consider dominating riding in ALL kinds of events. I also hope they can see how nominated riders have influenced how others race their bikes and even how the events have evolved around the rider's accomplishments! ACC and NV are certainly accomplished DH racers, but is DH racing that much different now than before they competed? I think the changes in the endurance racing scene (at least the ones I see) point to someone worthy of recognition.
He makes a unique point, and one that seems particularly relevant. Do others agree?
I confess that I don't know, and I'm hardly in a position to be an impartial judge.
Anyhoo, as much as I am impressed by the palmares of my peers, I also feel that the ultra-distance facet of this great sport is woefully underrepresented in the HoF.
Please take 5 minutes to read through the bios at the link above. If, after doing so, you feel that maybe, just maybe, I have a place in the MBHoF, I'd love it if you could take action by doing two things:
1) Vote! You need to be a member of the MBHoF to do this, and voting privileges essentially cost $20. Details are HERE.
2) Tell your friends. Whether it's via email list, bongo drums, bloggage, forum linkage or secret handshake, I need all the help I can get.
*IF* you can help, PLEASE do so ASAP--ballots are already en route to current members of the HoF, and need to be returned by mail, by ~7/22--this can't all be done online!
Any and all help is appreciated. Don't hesitate with questions.
Oh yeah--and enjoy the summer!
Cheerios,
MC
P.S. I would be a thankless bastard if I didn't mention the efforts of Mark Stevenson and Scott Morris, both of whom volunteered significant time and energy to make the nomination happen. Chapeau to both of you.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Another ho-hum day in June...
...starts with a ~30 minute drive to get from the 4500' desert to the ~10,000' alpine. Pahk the cah, loose the hound, grab the packs, then start walkin' through the deliciously cool woods.
No trouble enjoying the scenery along the way.
This spring has been long, cool, and very, very wet. Not that us desert dwellers are complaining.
The slow start to summer simply means that the alpine has taken a long time to open up. Normally dry meadows are overwhelmed by puddles, puddles have become swamps, swamps have morphed into ponds, and ponds into lakes. Not that Fang is complaining.
Fang contemplates the essence of frogness.
Despite thousands upon thousands of dollars and years of therapy, we're still unable to get him to lighten up and enjoy the moment.
Plenty of reminders that we aren't alone.
After a leisurely hike we arrive at our destination.
At roughly the same time we're reminded that winter is never far off at 10,000'.
Unpack and rig up...
...then crouch and sneak to see what you can see.
Oo.
Fang tries the direct approach.
Although rarely successful on his own, he's still willing to help us out.
After hours of rain, snow, sun, wind, and giggles, darkness approaches and we grudgingly begin our walk homeward.
Thanks for reading.
MC
No trouble enjoying the scenery along the way.
This spring has been long, cool, and very, very wet. Not that us desert dwellers are complaining.
The slow start to summer simply means that the alpine has taken a long time to open up. Normally dry meadows are overwhelmed by puddles, puddles have become swamps, swamps have morphed into ponds, and ponds into lakes. Not that Fang is complaining.
Fang contemplates the essence of frogness.
Despite thousands upon thousands of dollars and years of therapy, we're still unable to get him to lighten up and enjoy the moment.
Plenty of reminders that we aren't alone.
After a leisurely hike we arrive at our destination.
At roughly the same time we're reminded that winter is never far off at 10,000'.
Unpack and rig up...
...then crouch and sneak to see what you can see.
Oo.
Fang tries the direct approach.
Although rarely successful on his own, he's still willing to help us out.
After hours of rain, snow, sun, wind, and giggles, darkness approaches and we grudgingly begin our walk homeward.
Thanks for reading.
MC
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Roughly 100,000 words.
Two mandatory warnings: The text in this post is superfluous, and there are 90+ pics. Continue at your own risk...
Every few years (more often if you're less set-in-your-ways than I am) you'll have an experience that falls outside the reasonable range of expectation. Meaning simply that what you expected and what you got did not match up.
That happened last week, and I'm still reeling a bit from it. I'm simply unsure of how to even begin processing all of the new sense data that was gathered. That uncertainty is a good, rare thing (for me) these days, as I've gotten into a bit of a rut with work and riding and a refresher was in order.
I'll spend months sorting and categorizing the experiences in my mind, but there's no need to wait to share the visuals.
Loading up the car, listening to a book, and just letting the countryside unfold as I creep closer to my destination has become a favorite form of therapy.
I'll do it if I have to, but covering ground at night (whether afoot, by bike, or even in a car) just cuts across my grain of late. How can I learn about a place if I cannot receive visual sense data from it?
(Yes, I had a lot of time to think on this last trip, and have been in major geek out mode ever since...)
So once the light fades from the sky I'll find a place to circle the wagon and then settle in til sunup. Cook a simple meal, read a different book, simply 'be' horizontal.
Waking, a short walk is in order before anything else. Checking in on the local residents, you might say.
Early morning light...
...and some of the things you see when wandering around engulfed by it.
Whom would *you* expect to see while crossing Coyote Wash?
Oo. Don't forget your galoshes.
Death. And then, life.
This one flat stopped me in my tracks. Just stunning.
Not so much the former as the latter.
Aspirin, ibuprofen, morphine, and gin have all been known to cure what ails ya. For me, nothing is more restorative than time spent on alpine skinny trail with likeminded souls.
Aaaaaaah.
Dave and Chad were a hoot to ride, camp, and generally hang out with.
If you're in their company and *not* laughing, you need to pull the ipod outta your ears and pay attention!
One of the no-longer top secret details of my new uber frame pack: The Mike & Ike department.
DH nearly leapt outta his shoes when he saw it, and LW dug her hand in there too. It's not like a gal can ever have enough red 40 in her diet...
Back to the grind.
We finished the day off with an ice cream binge, campfire tales, stargazing, then blessed sleep outdoors, if not actually down in the dirt.
The ensuing day, more time spent with Dave and Chad meant more laughs and good vibes.
The overall theme of the day was relaxation, though it got strenuous later on...
Brief detour on the way out to camp.
At camp.
Cathedral-esque grove along the Rainbow Rim.
Big grins on this trail--swoopy, flowy, fast and carvy.
Favorite memory (of many!) from this day involved chasing Dave at high speed down a narrow tunnel of trail, both sides lined with blooming cliffrose. The always exciting game of cat-and-mouse was elevated substantially as he'd brush and bash his way through the blooms and my nostrils would be filled with it as I motored along behind...
Hard to beat finishing a fun ride as the golden hour fades into night.
Another campfire to wind down with, then blessed sleep.
The view from camp at sunrise:
Hard to wrap your brain around that ^ view.
Almost 9 years have passed since I last rode this canyon. That's about 8 too long. Dave acted as very patient and informative guide.
Although the pic fell far short of my hopes, I love the contrast of colors and landscapes in just a few square feet. Red to green, swamp on rock.
Such a striking backdrop for some really fun non-tech riding.
Dave hammered out the hills on his single tallish gear. I felt obliged to follow suit, and remained shiftless on all but one climb throughout the day. I take back what I said earlier about alpine skinny being the most restorative thing I know--desert skinny aboard SS's comes darn close.
Did mention the swoopdiddlyiciousness of this trail system?
Unseasonably cool June temps were a treat all through this day. Though the temps have crept high enough that going back this weekend won't happen, some version of this trip needs to take place in the fall.
Who's in?
MC
Every few years (more often if you're less set-in-your-ways than I am) you'll have an experience that falls outside the reasonable range of expectation. Meaning simply that what you expected and what you got did not match up.
That happened last week, and I'm still reeling a bit from it. I'm simply unsure of how to even begin processing all of the new sense data that was gathered. That uncertainty is a good, rare thing (for me) these days, as I've gotten into a bit of a rut with work and riding and a refresher was in order.
I'll spend months sorting and categorizing the experiences in my mind, but there's no need to wait to share the visuals.
Loading up the car, listening to a book, and just letting the countryside unfold as I creep closer to my destination has become a favorite form of therapy.
I'll do it if I have to, but covering ground at night (whether afoot, by bike, or even in a car) just cuts across my grain of late. How can I learn about a place if I cannot receive visual sense data from it?
(Yes, I had a lot of time to think on this last trip, and have been in major geek out mode ever since...)
So once the light fades from the sky I'll find a place to circle the wagon and then settle in til sunup. Cook a simple meal, read a different book, simply 'be' horizontal.
Waking, a short walk is in order before anything else. Checking in on the local residents, you might say.
Early morning light...
...and some of the things you see when wandering around engulfed by it.
Whom would *you* expect to see while crossing Coyote Wash?
Oo. Don't forget your galoshes.
Death. And then, life.
This one flat stopped me in my tracks. Just stunning.
Not so much the former as the latter.
Aspirin, ibuprofen, morphine, and gin have all been known to cure what ails ya. For me, nothing is more restorative than time spent on alpine skinny trail with likeminded souls.
Aaaaaaah.
Dave and Chad were a hoot to ride, camp, and generally hang out with.
If you're in their company and *not* laughing, you need to pull the ipod outta your ears and pay attention!
One of the no-longer top secret details of my new uber frame pack: The Mike & Ike department.
DH nearly leapt outta his shoes when he saw it, and LW dug her hand in there too. It's not like a gal can ever have enough red 40 in her diet...
Back to the grind.
We finished the day off with an ice cream binge, campfire tales, stargazing, then blessed sleep outdoors, if not actually down in the dirt.
The ensuing day, more time spent with Dave and Chad meant more laughs and good vibes.
The overall theme of the day was relaxation, though it got strenuous later on...
Brief detour on the way out to camp.
At camp.
Cathedral-esque grove along the Rainbow Rim.
Big grins on this trail--swoopy, flowy, fast and carvy.
Favorite memory (of many!) from this day involved chasing Dave at high speed down a narrow tunnel of trail, both sides lined with blooming cliffrose. The always exciting game of cat-and-mouse was elevated substantially as he'd brush and bash his way through the blooms and my nostrils would be filled with it as I motored along behind...
Hard to beat finishing a fun ride as the golden hour fades into night.
Another campfire to wind down with, then blessed sleep.
The view from camp at sunrise:
Hard to wrap your brain around that ^ view.
Almost 9 years have passed since I last rode this canyon. That's about 8 too long. Dave acted as very patient and informative guide.
Although the pic fell far short of my hopes, I love the contrast of colors and landscapes in just a few square feet. Red to green, swamp on rock.
Such a striking backdrop for some really fun non-tech riding.
Dave hammered out the hills on his single tallish gear. I felt obliged to follow suit, and remained shiftless on all but one climb throughout the day. I take back what I said earlier about alpine skinny being the most restorative thing I know--desert skinny aboard SS's comes darn close.
Did mention the swoopdiddlyiciousness of this trail system?
Unseasonably cool June temps were a treat all through this day. Though the temps have crept high enough that going back this weekend won't happen, some version of this trip needs to take place in the fall.
Who's in?
MC
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Paradise? In *June*?
Hopped onto the road bike yesterday, intent on heading *up* to greener pastures. We've had a delightfully cool June thus far, but that fact hasn't been able to quell my longing for time spent in the alpine.
So up I went.
Two hours of climbing brought me here:
Cool, shaded, zero traffic, and although still on the margin of the desert at ~7500', it didn't feel much like desert.
The overall greenness of the place and riotous vegetation felt decidedly alpine, red dirt beneath the only clue that spoke otherwise.
Another 30 minutes of climbing brought me over 8000' and under this massive monarch.
The circle of shade cast beneath this tree spanned 30+ feet at midday. And it demanded a nap. With The Missus in MN and it being a weekend, there was no reason to rush to get back to the shop.
Nap?
Here??
What a great idea!
With pack as pillow I settled in easily...
... and woke an indeterminate time later, feeling decidedly refreshed and downright cool. Outside the protective circle of shade it was 80+ degrees, inside of it I'd been woken by a shiver.
I checked to make sure no one was looking before peeling off a small hunk o' bark and holding it to my nose. Damn tree huggin' hippies are right--it *does* smell like vanilla...
Feeling a bit lethargic, I decided to up the blood sugar with jussssst the right combo of corn syrup and red 40:
Then it was time to climb some mo'. The ascent thus far hadn't been particularly taxing, the afternoon wasn't hot, and the wind wasn't particularly fierce. Still, for some reason I just couldn't get back on top of *any* gear the rest of the day. Could it have been the break? The nap? The fact that I rarely ride more than 3 hours at a stretch anymore?
Maybe it was due to the grade and roughness of the road? The 9000' of elevation?
Dunno. In the absence of a more compelling reason I'm blaming the flora, and the cool alpine air. Too precious to waste, must be savored...
Pre-ride I had drawn and uploaded a crude GPS track leading to a secluded lake on public lands, and had packed my folding fly rig in hopes of landing a trout or two. That plan was foiled when I followed the GPS track to this point:
The sign gave mixed messages, with the bold text warning against trespassing yet the finer print seemed to suggest that travel on the road was permissible.
After a brief moment of deliberation I decided to move on through, but when I went to open the gate I was met with this:
WTF?
I checked the GPS to make sure I hadn't strayed from my track. Nope. Since I was still on it, I *knew* that I was on public land. What the H-E-doublehockeysticks was this locked gate all about?
Then I noticed these:
Again, WTF?
Guess I won't get a running start and try to bash it down...
I shrugged it off, hoisted the bike over, then hopped to the other side and continued riding, but only *after* making a mental note to call the USFS and local sheriff on Monday morning.
Although the scenery was every bit as subtly stunning as before, I couldn't shake the funk I'd picked up back at the gate.
Why should I be so miffed at the idea of private property? Would I want just anyone to be able to let themselves into my house/shop/yard whenever they felt like it? Would you?
I can only speak for myself, but of course not--I value my privacy *and* my property. So what was bugging me so much about these folks feeing similarly?
I think it was just the signage that did it. I can respect a fence just the same as a closed door, but the signs seemed unnecessarily blunt and rude, as if they went beyond 'Please respect our privacy' to 'Stay the hell out, unwashed bourgeois free-thinking dirtbag!'.
When I arrived at the shoreline I found a few homes, much earthmoving in prep for yet more homes, a lake full of silty runoff from the excavation, and this:
For the first time in my life I felt like this sign, or rather its message, was pointed directly at me. I pissed on the base of it in disgust, then turned and left.
The remains of the day featured scenery so austere as to be painful. Or perhaps that was just my overly dramatic interpretation of it, now that it seemed so much of it was under lock and key.
Who(m) are these people? Why so worried about vacant land and lakes? I told myself that they must be venture capitalists, or investment bankers--either way they hadn't truly earned this land, hence they were in constant fear of losing it.
The reality was that my oxygen deprived conjecturing could only have missed the mark. I truly didn't know and couldn't guess, so I tried to put the conundrum out of my head by stopping in a meadow and turning my attention to everything within immediate view: Cerulean sky, quaking aspens, verdant grasses, the vibration of life (birds, bugs, rodents), the breeze caressing all of it.
And it was good. For awhile.
Immediately upon resuming travel I came to this:
Which brought out a handful of vitriolic knee jerks, like: Can real sportsmen spell? Or count?!
Harumph.
Continued yet descending, coming to this all encompassing view of Little Park, Glade Park, the Bookcliffs, Roan Cliffs, Grand Mesa, and the bulk of the Grand Valley.
Followed immediately by:
and
When finally I hit pavement and headed in earnest for home, I was stuck on the idea of private property. Can't blame folks for wanting to have their privacy. But I also cannot understand the massive amounts of signage, nor the mentality behind it.
A genuine conundrum in my teeny little underutilized melon...
The rest of the ride down was uneventful.
Tis the season folks--get out in it every chance you can!
MC
So up I went.
Two hours of climbing brought me here:
Cool, shaded, zero traffic, and although still on the margin of the desert at ~7500', it didn't feel much like desert.
The overall greenness of the place and riotous vegetation felt decidedly alpine, red dirt beneath the only clue that spoke otherwise.
Another 30 minutes of climbing brought me over 8000' and under this massive monarch.
The circle of shade cast beneath this tree spanned 30+ feet at midday. And it demanded a nap. With The Missus in MN and it being a weekend, there was no reason to rush to get back to the shop.
Nap?
Here??
What a great idea!
With pack as pillow I settled in easily...
... and woke an indeterminate time later, feeling decidedly refreshed and downright cool. Outside the protective circle of shade it was 80+ degrees, inside of it I'd been woken by a shiver.
I checked to make sure no one was looking before peeling off a small hunk o' bark and holding it to my nose. Damn tree huggin' hippies are right--it *does* smell like vanilla...
Feeling a bit lethargic, I decided to up the blood sugar with jussssst the right combo of corn syrup and red 40:
Then it was time to climb some mo'. The ascent thus far hadn't been particularly taxing, the afternoon wasn't hot, and the wind wasn't particularly fierce. Still, for some reason I just couldn't get back on top of *any* gear the rest of the day. Could it have been the break? The nap? The fact that I rarely ride more than 3 hours at a stretch anymore?
Maybe it was due to the grade and roughness of the road? The 9000' of elevation?
Dunno. In the absence of a more compelling reason I'm blaming the flora, and the cool alpine air. Too precious to waste, must be savored...
Pre-ride I had drawn and uploaded a crude GPS track leading to a secluded lake on public lands, and had packed my folding fly rig in hopes of landing a trout or two. That plan was foiled when I followed the GPS track to this point:
The sign gave mixed messages, with the bold text warning against trespassing yet the finer print seemed to suggest that travel on the road was permissible.
After a brief moment of deliberation I decided to move on through, but when I went to open the gate I was met with this:
WTF?
I checked the GPS to make sure I hadn't strayed from my track. Nope. Since I was still on it, I *knew* that I was on public land. What the H-E-doublehockeysticks was this locked gate all about?
Then I noticed these:
Again, WTF?
Guess I won't get a running start and try to bash it down...
I shrugged it off, hoisted the bike over, then hopped to the other side and continued riding, but only *after* making a mental note to call the USFS and local sheriff on Monday morning.
Although the scenery was every bit as subtly stunning as before, I couldn't shake the funk I'd picked up back at the gate.
Why should I be so miffed at the idea of private property? Would I want just anyone to be able to let themselves into my house/shop/yard whenever they felt like it? Would you?
I can only speak for myself, but of course not--I value my privacy *and* my property. So what was bugging me so much about these folks feeing similarly?
I think it was just the signage that did it. I can respect a fence just the same as a closed door, but the signs seemed unnecessarily blunt and rude, as if they went beyond 'Please respect our privacy' to 'Stay the hell out, unwashed bourgeois free-thinking dirtbag!'.
When I arrived at the shoreline I found a few homes, much earthmoving in prep for yet more homes, a lake full of silty runoff from the excavation, and this:
For the first time in my life I felt like this sign, or rather its message, was pointed directly at me. I pissed on the base of it in disgust, then turned and left.
The remains of the day featured scenery so austere as to be painful. Or perhaps that was just my overly dramatic interpretation of it, now that it seemed so much of it was under lock and key.
Who(m) are these people? Why so worried about vacant land and lakes? I told myself that they must be venture capitalists, or investment bankers--either way they hadn't truly earned this land, hence they were in constant fear of losing it.
The reality was that my oxygen deprived conjecturing could only have missed the mark. I truly didn't know and couldn't guess, so I tried to put the conundrum out of my head by stopping in a meadow and turning my attention to everything within immediate view: Cerulean sky, quaking aspens, verdant grasses, the vibration of life (birds, bugs, rodents), the breeze caressing all of it.
And it was good. For awhile.
Immediately upon resuming travel I came to this:
Which brought out a handful of vitriolic knee jerks, like: Can real sportsmen spell? Or count?!
Harumph.
Continued yet descending, coming to this all encompassing view of Little Park, Glade Park, the Bookcliffs, Roan Cliffs, Grand Mesa, and the bulk of the Grand Valley.
Followed immediately by:
and
When finally I hit pavement and headed in earnest for home, I was stuck on the idea of private property. Can't blame folks for wanting to have their privacy. But I also cannot understand the massive amounts of signage, nor the mentality behind it.
A genuine conundrum in my teeny little underutilized melon...
The rest of the ride down was uneventful.
Tis the season folks--get out in it every chance you can!
MC
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Training again.
The time has come--I've had it with watching from the sidelines while everyone else gets their racing yayas off.
So I've decided to do something about it. But instead of announcing a comeback and riding my brains out in prep for an upcoming race I've been training smarter, not harder.
See I have this theory--try to follow me here:
-Long distance races are often won on the climbs.
-Lighter riders climb faster than heavier ones.
-Even at my lightest I'm still a full-figured gal.
Add it all up and what do you get? If I'm going to compete with the new crop of lightweight and uber strong talent, I need to shed some mass.
But how?
Easy.
Everyone knows that fat weighs less than muscle. All I need to do is scientifically shed some of that lean muscle mass in favor of adipose and voila--instant weight loss.
But how?
Welllll, I'm so proud of this recipe that even though it'll end up hurting me in the end I'm still willing to share it.
First, make sure you've had plenty of sausage in the hours leading up to prep. This recipe takes as much as 40 minutes to get *just* right, and a sausage-deprived bonk in the middle of it could be disastrous.
Start with just the right amount of each of these:
Toss it all in the blender, then add similar (but not identical) amounts of these:
Can't be too careful here--this is a proven, effective weight loss plan. Lest you wither away too quickly, be sure to toss in a handful (maaaaaybe two) of these:
Top it off with a heapin' helpin' of yogurt covered malted milk balls, cover, then blend.
Pour this semi-gelatinous gold into the freezolator, standing carefully over it to take a sample every 36 seconds.
(note the digitally estimated amount of weight (yes, *7*, as in pounds!) that you'll lose from consuming just this single 1.5 quart serving.
Repeat as necessary up til raceday. No tapering needed--trust me on this one.
Pity the fools that are out there sweating and slaving up hills right now! This is Amurrica--there's *always* an easier way!
Mark my words, you currently skinny suckas are goin' down. I'll just need you to stand still long enough to push you down and sit on you at the start line...
Here's to mid-summer and post-ride ice cream binges...
MC
So I've decided to do something about it. But instead of announcing a comeback and riding my brains out in prep for an upcoming race I've been training smarter, not harder.
See I have this theory--try to follow me here:
-Long distance races are often won on the climbs.
-Lighter riders climb faster than heavier ones.
-Even at my lightest I'm still a full-figured gal.
Add it all up and what do you get? If I'm going to compete with the new crop of lightweight and uber strong talent, I need to shed some mass.
But how?
Easy.
Everyone knows that fat weighs less than muscle. All I need to do is scientifically shed some of that lean muscle mass in favor of adipose and voila--instant weight loss.
But how?
Welllll, I'm so proud of this recipe that even though it'll end up hurting me in the end I'm still willing to share it.
First, make sure you've had plenty of sausage in the hours leading up to prep. This recipe takes as much as 40 minutes to get *just* right, and a sausage-deprived bonk in the middle of it could be disastrous.
Start with just the right amount of each of these:
Toss it all in the blender, then add similar (but not identical) amounts of these:
Can't be too careful here--this is a proven, effective weight loss plan. Lest you wither away too quickly, be sure to toss in a handful (maaaaaybe two) of these:
Top it off with a heapin' helpin' of yogurt covered malted milk balls, cover, then blend.
Pour this semi-gelatinous gold into the freezolator, standing carefully over it to take a sample every 36 seconds.
(note the digitally estimated amount of weight (yes, *7*, as in pounds!) that you'll lose from consuming just this single 1.5 quart serving.
Repeat as necessary up til raceday. No tapering needed--trust me on this one.
Pity the fools that are out there sweating and slaving up hills right now! This is Amurrica--there's *always* an easier way!
Mark my words, you currently skinny suckas are goin' down. I'll just need you to stand still long enough to push you down and sit on you at the start line...
Here's to mid-summer and post-ride ice cream binges...
MC
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Swooping, drifting, carving, camping, maching.
Those five words sum up a near-perfect weekend with L and D.
The long version:
Great light and gorgeous weather.
Just the right amount of chunk to keep us grinning and the ride flowing.
Oodles of sage dripping with its own sweetious stink.
Maching through the aspens.
History lesson.
Tracks of the unseen.
Alpenglow and silence...
...only add to the enjoyment.
Camp.
Company.
Dusty Uncompahgre.
Unwinding Luge.
Arcin' toward Carbon.
Gawkin'.
Chunk ho!
Carvin'.
Eeeentsy.
Focused.
Mo' history.
Swoopin' through the 'S' turns.
Grassyass.
MC
The long version:
Great light and gorgeous weather.
Just the right amount of chunk to keep us grinning and the ride flowing.
Oodles of sage dripping with its own sweetious stink.
Maching through the aspens.
History lesson.
Tracks of the unseen.
Alpenglow and silence...
...only add to the enjoyment.
Camp.
Company.
Dusty Uncompahgre.
Unwinding Luge.
Arcin' toward Carbon.
Gawkin'.
Chunk ho!
Carvin'.
Eeeentsy.
Focused.
Mo' history.
Swoopin' through the 'S' turns.
Grassyass.
MC
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Just everything.
That's the most accurate answer to the question of "what's happenin'?" lately. Building heaps o' wheels, a few bikes, riding when I can squeeze it in, and camping every chance we get. Which, of course, means more riding...
And at long last it's that time of year: flower season. Here in the high desert it took a bit longer to start but it's already into a riotous full swing and will continue to climb into the high country for ~2 more months. Sah-weet.
Words could only come up short on most of these photos, so I'll let them speak for themselves. These shots cover just the last three days...
I came home from a mid-week ride determined to learn the names of at least some of the flora that had wowed me throughout the day. And some of them have actually stuck with me: Larkspur, Purple Locoweed, Penstemon, Fleabane, Tickseed, Paintbrush, Globe Mallow, Blue Bells, Claret Cups, Sego Lily, Primrose, Ephedra, Cliffrose, etc...
It doesn't take much studying to realize that just in the neighboring few miles there are more varieties than my pea brain will ever be able to understand, much less name. Nice 'problem' to have.
I think that most folks wouldn't think of these pics as having been shot in 'the desert'. Desert = barren wasteland to those that haven't come to understand it. I don't yet claim to understand it, but I have come to see it in a very different light after a decade plus embracing it. To me, now, the shots herein make it appear downright *lush*...
Fang on the prowl--no lizard nor bunny is safe from a painfully (from their perspective) pathetic chase. I think they humor him by waiting til the last second to flee...
Yes, I admit it--I'm a sucker for the ubiquitous juniper-silhouetted-against-the-sky shot, and can rarely appreciate 'em in anything other than sepia. There--I admitted it, so I'm past the denial stage...
Simply a crying shame to see oceans of virgin crust being taken over by cheat. Why wasn't Leopold able to convince the gubmint of cheat's noxiousness way back when? I think they just didn't want to listen. In a few weeks when it has gone to seed folks will have sumpin' to say about it, but then they'll forget, again, and another year will pass while it continues it's pox-like march across the continent.
Mother and son. See the resemblance?! (Hint: 'Alfalfa')
Stick your beak just shy of all the way into any of the cactus blossoms and chances are you'll be stunned at the veritable party happening inside. From aphids and ants to bumblebees and houseflies, seems like every winged critter is deep down in and gorging themselves on the pollen. I kneeled mesmerized next to several such blossoms this week, grinning vacuously as the insects went about their partying just beneath my gaze but worlds away in every sense of the phrase.
Not much else to add. Life is always very good this time of year, and this year has been a very good one thus far.
Thanks for reading and gawking.
MC
And at long last it's that time of year: flower season. Here in the high desert it took a bit longer to start but it's already into a riotous full swing and will continue to climb into the high country for ~2 more months. Sah-weet.
Words could only come up short on most of these photos, so I'll let them speak for themselves. These shots cover just the last three days...
I came home from a mid-week ride determined to learn the names of at least some of the flora that had wowed me throughout the day. And some of them have actually stuck with me: Larkspur, Purple Locoweed, Penstemon, Fleabane, Tickseed, Paintbrush, Globe Mallow, Blue Bells, Claret Cups, Sego Lily, Primrose, Ephedra, Cliffrose, etc...
It doesn't take much studying to realize that just in the neighboring few miles there are more varieties than my pea brain will ever be able to understand, much less name. Nice 'problem' to have.
I think that most folks wouldn't think of these pics as having been shot in 'the desert'. Desert = barren wasteland to those that haven't come to understand it. I don't yet claim to understand it, but I have come to see it in a very different light after a decade plus embracing it. To me, now, the shots herein make it appear downright *lush*...
Fang on the prowl--no lizard nor bunny is safe from a painfully (from their perspective) pathetic chase. I think they humor him by waiting til the last second to flee...
Yes, I admit it--I'm a sucker for the ubiquitous juniper-silhouetted-against-the-sky shot, and can rarely appreciate 'em in anything other than sepia. There--I admitted it, so I'm past the denial stage...
Simply a crying shame to see oceans of virgin crust being taken over by cheat. Why wasn't Leopold able to convince the gubmint of cheat's noxiousness way back when? I think they just didn't want to listen. In a few weeks when it has gone to seed folks will have sumpin' to say about it, but then they'll forget, again, and another year will pass while it continues it's pox-like march across the continent.
Mother and son. See the resemblance?! (Hint: 'Alfalfa')
Stick your beak just shy of all the way into any of the cactus blossoms and chances are you'll be stunned at the veritable party happening inside. From aphids and ants to bumblebees and houseflies, seems like every winged critter is deep down in and gorging themselves on the pollen. I kneeled mesmerized next to several such blossoms this week, grinning vacuously as the insects went about their partying just beneath my gaze but worlds away in every sense of the phrase.
Not much else to add. Life is always very good this time of year, and this year has been a very good one thus far.
Thanks for reading and gawking.
MC
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