Thanks to the usual suspects and a few special guests for the rides, laughs, photography, videography, fartography, and everything else.
Enjoy.
Life is good, eh?!
MC
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Mythbustin'.
Many moons ago someone a lot smarter than me said something along the lines of, "There can be too much of a good thing".
Taking that statement literally and pondering a bit, I came to a few quick caveats.
Powder skiing?
Bacon?
While I'd like to write that I immediately rattled off countless other exceptions to that "rule", the reality is that once I had pork on the brain, salivation and obsession quickly followed. Can a guy actually have too much bacon?
Unpossible.
Or so I theorized. Which quickly morphed into a need to test the theory. And it didn't take long to find the means to do so.
I didn't come up with any other exceptions on the way to the market, but I *did* get there PDQ.
(To my dear, dear non-meat eating friends that find themselves sickly fascinated but afraid to read further: Click HERE).
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
You've been given ample warning.
Back at the ranch, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
Take 12 strips and weave 'em.
Baste liberally.
How much? 'Bout that much.
Unwad 2 (yep, two) pounds of sausage and cover your weave.
Meanwhile, sizzle up another pound in the background.
Once that pound is done to taste, chop it up and cover the sausage, then roll the whole slithery beautious mess up.
Delicately place this priceless gem onto the grill. Ovens can be used in a pinch, and a smoker is purported to be the best way. Run what ya brung.
Common practice with this critter is a BBQ theme. I'm not much of a BBQ fan. Never have been. Friends afflicted with a BBQ problem have suggested that I just haven't had good BBQ yet. Following that rationale, I haven't had good saddle sores yet either, but I've had enough of both to have formed an opinion.
Anyhoo, I punted the BBQ theme and used maple syrup to baste the outside of the weave.
That 4" thick slab o' lean, juicy flesh takes awhile to cook through. Get some other stuff done while you wait.
Check in on occasion, noting the sumptuous sizzling.
After three hours at 225*, I couldn't wait anymore.
Ahem. I mean after three hours IT WAS DONE!
When I started the project Herself showed little interest, tossing her hair and sauntering away muttering something like "Men... sheesh...". Curiously, she reappeared at the Ultimate Moment.
Herself, not being afflicted with the chronic quite the way I am, savored a few quick forkfuls, emitted some perfunctory yummy noises, then walked away. Just like that--she walked away. Impressive.
I stuck with it. The superdeliciousness of it is, of course, completely indescribable. After about 3/4 of a pound I felt *zero* need nor desire to stop eating. If anything I wanted to eat more, faster. In fact, I'm 100% sure that I could, without hesitation, guilt, or even a second thought, easily polish off the whole thing.
Completely confirming my original theory.
;)
MC
Taking that statement literally and pondering a bit, I came to a few quick caveats.
Powder skiing?
Bacon?
While I'd like to write that I immediately rattled off countless other exceptions to that "rule", the reality is that once I had pork on the brain, salivation and obsession quickly followed. Can a guy actually have too much bacon?
Unpossible.
Or so I theorized. Which quickly morphed into a need to test the theory. And it didn't take long to find the means to do so.
I didn't come up with any other exceptions on the way to the market, but I *did* get there PDQ.
(To my dear, dear non-meat eating friends that find themselves sickly fascinated but afraid to read further: Click HERE).
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
You've been given ample warning.
Back at the ranch, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
Take 12 strips and weave 'em.
Baste liberally.
How much? 'Bout that much.
Unwad 2 (yep, two) pounds of sausage and cover your weave.
Meanwhile, sizzle up another pound in the background.
Once that pound is done to taste, chop it up and cover the sausage, then roll the whole slithery beautious mess up.
Delicately place this priceless gem onto the grill. Ovens can be used in a pinch, and a smoker is purported to be the best way. Run what ya brung.
Common practice with this critter is a BBQ theme. I'm not much of a BBQ fan. Never have been. Friends afflicted with a BBQ problem have suggested that I just haven't had good BBQ yet. Following that rationale, I haven't had good saddle sores yet either, but I've had enough of both to have formed an opinion.
Anyhoo, I punted the BBQ theme and used maple syrup to baste the outside of the weave.
That 4" thick slab o' lean, juicy flesh takes awhile to cook through. Get some other stuff done while you wait.
Check in on occasion, noting the sumptuous sizzling.
After three hours at 225*, I couldn't wait anymore.
Ahem. I mean after three hours IT WAS DONE!
When I started the project Herself showed little interest, tossing her hair and sauntering away muttering something like "Men... sheesh...". Curiously, she reappeared at the Ultimate Moment.
Herself, not being afflicted with the chronic quite the way I am, savored a few quick forkfuls, emitted some perfunctory yummy noises, then walked away. Just like that--she walked away. Impressive.
I stuck with it. The superdeliciousness of it is, of course, completely indescribable. After about 3/4 of a pound I felt *zero* need nor desire to stop eating. If anything I wanted to eat more, faster. In fact, I'm 100% sure that I could, without hesitation, guilt, or even a second thought, easily polish off the whole thing.
Completely confirming my original theory.
;)
MC
Sunday, November 1, 2009
DHM, the details.
Here are some answers to the most commonly asked questions about this trip.
First, the route track, waypoints, and cues can all be found at Dave Harris' TU site.
I used a Garmin GPSMap 60cs. I've owned it for 3 (4?) years now, and while it is far from perfect or even really good, it is predictable and functional and I don't want to buy a new one. Yet.
Next, the total distance we covered was ~302 miles, with ~38,000' of climbing. Note that TO and I did NOT complete the entire planned route--we stopped short due to TO's wheel failure.
Here's a profile of our route, with mileage on the horizontal axis and elevation on the vert.
And here's a coarse overview.
Looking at the above it'd be hard to argue with Hairypants' assessment that his course covers a 'spectacular chunk of planet earth'.
Next, all of the pics and vid on this trip were shot with a Canon A2000IS. I like this little camera for a few reasons. Primarily that it is small (like that's a big deal anymore?!) and easy to carry and access. But I also like that it cost me ~$180, so if I kill it I can replace it and not worry too much about the $$$. My last favorite feature about it is that it uses AA batteries, so I can use NiMH rechargables in warmer months, and lithium when it's colder, and I can get batteries for it pretty much anywhere.
TO shot this, er, shot a few days into this trip. My camera is in the black neoprene sleeve on the right shoulder strap.
I've learned enough about photography (<-not very much at all!) the last few years that I can easily see all of the flaws and inadequacies in my shots. Most of them are user error--this little camera takes amazing shots if you let it. But even when I get everything right there are still some unavoidable pitfalls to cheap p&s cameras: Way-too-high pixel density, barrel distortion, whacked ISO and white balance, blown highlights, etc... These are unavoidable when using a point and shoot--even the high $$$ p&s cameras are going to have the same flaws.
In order to 'step up' and get rid of these flaws I'll need to spend the $$$$($) and lug along a DSLR and at least two lenses, plus a filter or two and the attendant stuff needed to protect, clean, and keep it all clean. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, this seems unappealing. I'm not out there to create perfect images. My focus (<-snort!) is on experiencing some of the world outside, having a little adventure, moving light/fast/efficiently, and recording the trip to jog the memories later in life. Imperfect photos seem a small price to pay for the convenience and cost of the camera I'm using.
Some folks that know a helluva lot more than I do about photography hold out hope that the recent introduction of micro four thirds cameras will bridge the gap and provide a decent solution for those of us looking for quality without the bulk and hassle of a DSLR. I'm happy to play wait and see on that one.
Next, the bike.
Obviously this is not the bike as it was packed for *this* trip--I don't seem to have a pic of it set up that way.
It's a '10 LenzSport Leviathan 4.0, with a RockShox Reba 120. Wheels are DT Swiss 190 hubs laced to Stans Arch rims, with 2.0 Comp spokes and DT Prolock alloy nips. This wheelset is three seasons old now, and gets used for all of my alpine/XC/bikepacking rides in summer, as well as CX and road duty all winter. The rear shock is a Rock Shox Monarch 4.2. It has a platform feature (Motion Control) that I don't feel much need to use on this frame. It is lightly active, supple on small stuff, maintains traction well without blowing through travel when you stand and burst, and can easily keep up with the extra inch of travel afforded by the Reba up front when hauling the mail. Hard to imagine wanting a different bike than this one for pure XC *or* bikepacking--it just seems to do everything really well and without drama.
Component highlights include SRAM twisters, Phil Wood square taper BB, Middleburn cranks, Action Tec ti rings in 20 x 29 up front, an 11-36 spread out back, and Egg Beater single ti's. Tires were/are tubeless (Bonty 29-3 up front, Specy Fasttrak Control 2.0 out back) run with a 60/40 blend of Stans goop and Tubeless Slime at ~23-24psi. No flats or air loss throughout the trip. They're good, solid, predictable XC tires with a decent combo of volume, grip, and rolling resistance. Everything else should be easily visible by clicking and zooming on the pic.
Here is a *different* bike, but packed pretty much identically to the way I packed my Leviathan on this trip with TO.
Frame pack was custom made by Eric at Epic Designs to fit the Lev's main triangle. I used a Sierra Designs 30* down bag, Big Agnes Primaloft insulated 2.5" thick sleep pad, Osprey Talon 22 pack, and a handful of other things that have been proven to work (by me, for me) on similar trips. Among these are a pepsi can stove, MSR filter, Fenix L1T AA LED light, Crank Bros multi tool and mini pump, custom Black Sheep 28" wide x 20* swept ti bars with 8oz of fuel stored inside, WTB Vigo saddle, Oakley Radar glasses w/polarized lenses, Lake MX90 shoes, head-to-toe wool from Ibex and others, and my newest favorite, the Tak shell from Loki.
At the start, fully loaded with ~7 days worth of food, fuel, batts, 140oz of water, fly rod/reel/flies, zip ties, chain links, lube, spares, etc, etc... the bike weighed ~38lbs and my pack was ~18.
Hope that helps--don't hesitate with questions.
MC
First, the route track, waypoints, and cues can all be found at Dave Harris' TU site.
I used a Garmin GPSMap 60cs. I've owned it for 3 (4?) years now, and while it is far from perfect or even really good, it is predictable and functional and I don't want to buy a new one. Yet.
Next, the total distance we covered was ~302 miles, with ~38,000' of climbing. Note that TO and I did NOT complete the entire planned route--we stopped short due to TO's wheel failure.
Here's a profile of our route, with mileage on the horizontal axis and elevation on the vert.
And here's a coarse overview.
Looking at the above it'd be hard to argue with Hairypants' assessment that his course covers a 'spectacular chunk of planet earth'.
Next, all of the pics and vid on this trip were shot with a Canon A2000IS. I like this little camera for a few reasons. Primarily that it is small (like that's a big deal anymore?!) and easy to carry and access. But I also like that it cost me ~$180, so if I kill it I can replace it and not worry too much about the $$$. My last favorite feature about it is that it uses AA batteries, so I can use NiMH rechargables in warmer months, and lithium when it's colder, and I can get batteries for it pretty much anywhere.
TO shot this, er, shot a few days into this trip. My camera is in the black neoprene sleeve on the right shoulder strap.
I've learned enough about photography (<-not very much at all!) the last few years that I can easily see all of the flaws and inadequacies in my shots. Most of them are user error--this little camera takes amazing shots if you let it. But even when I get everything right there are still some unavoidable pitfalls to cheap p&s cameras: Way-too-high pixel density, barrel distortion, whacked ISO and white balance, blown highlights, etc... These are unavoidable when using a point and shoot--even the high $$$ p&s cameras are going to have the same flaws.
In order to 'step up' and get rid of these flaws I'll need to spend the $$$$($) and lug along a DSLR and at least two lenses, plus a filter or two and the attendant stuff needed to protect, clean, and keep it all clean. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, this seems unappealing. I'm not out there to create perfect images. My focus (<-snort!) is on experiencing some of the world outside, having a little adventure, moving light/fast/efficiently, and recording the trip to jog the memories later in life. Imperfect photos seem a small price to pay for the convenience and cost of the camera I'm using.
Some folks that know a helluva lot more than I do about photography hold out hope that the recent introduction of micro four thirds cameras will bridge the gap and provide a decent solution for those of us looking for quality without the bulk and hassle of a DSLR. I'm happy to play wait and see on that one.
Next, the bike.
Obviously this is not the bike as it was packed for *this* trip--I don't seem to have a pic of it set up that way.
It's a '10 LenzSport Leviathan 4.0, with a RockShox Reba 120. Wheels are DT Swiss 190 hubs laced to Stans Arch rims, with 2.0 Comp spokes and DT Prolock alloy nips. This wheelset is three seasons old now, and gets used for all of my alpine/XC/bikepacking rides in summer, as well as CX and road duty all winter. The rear shock is a Rock Shox Monarch 4.2. It has a platform feature (Motion Control) that I don't feel much need to use on this frame. It is lightly active, supple on small stuff, maintains traction well without blowing through travel when you stand and burst, and can easily keep up with the extra inch of travel afforded by the Reba up front when hauling the mail. Hard to imagine wanting a different bike than this one for pure XC *or* bikepacking--it just seems to do everything really well and without drama.
Component highlights include SRAM twisters, Phil Wood square taper BB, Middleburn cranks, Action Tec ti rings in 20 x 29 up front, an 11-36 spread out back, and Egg Beater single ti's. Tires were/are tubeless (Bonty 29-3 up front, Specy Fasttrak Control 2.0 out back) run with a 60/40 blend of Stans goop and Tubeless Slime at ~23-24psi. No flats or air loss throughout the trip. They're good, solid, predictable XC tires with a decent combo of volume, grip, and rolling resistance. Everything else should be easily visible by clicking and zooming on the pic.
Here is a *different* bike, but packed pretty much identically to the way I packed my Leviathan on this trip with TO.
Frame pack was custom made by Eric at Epic Designs to fit the Lev's main triangle. I used a Sierra Designs 30* down bag, Big Agnes Primaloft insulated 2.5" thick sleep pad, Osprey Talon 22 pack, and a handful of other things that have been proven to work (by me, for me) on similar trips. Among these are a pepsi can stove, MSR filter, Fenix L1T AA LED light, Crank Bros multi tool and mini pump, custom Black Sheep 28" wide x 20* swept ti bars with 8oz of fuel stored inside, WTB Vigo saddle, Oakley Radar glasses w/polarized lenses, Lake MX90 shoes, head-to-toe wool from Ibex and others, and my newest favorite, the Tak shell from Loki.
At the start, fully loaded with ~7 days worth of food, fuel, batts, 140oz of water, fly rod/reel/flies, zip ties, chain links, lube, spares, etc, etc... the bike weighed ~38lbs and my pack was ~18.
Hope that helps--don't hesitate with questions.
MC
Going down, getting up.
This past summer I got involved in a project with a handful of manufacturers, helping to develop a 29" wheeled downhill bike.
I don't know very much about DH bikes or DH'ing. Until this point I'd never owned one. Living where I do, there isn't much point in owning one--we have lots of vertical and chunk but no lifts, so you gotta climb if you wanna descend. I've always been perfectly fine with that arrangement.
Over the summer, I was able to get out and ride it a few times on the lifts at Winter Park and again in BC. It is simply boggling how quickly you can learn a new skillset, simply by intensive immersion into that skill and mindset. Downhilling and downhillers earn beaucoup derision for a lot of good reasons, but you have to admit that some of them can rip some amazing lines.
Anyhoo, I had a blast while downhilling, and also learned a lot about the bike and each component in so doing. Feedback and data went to the manufacturers, tweaks were made to some of their products, and the whole package has evolved as a result. Under the most scrutiny were the frame geometry and spring curve, followed in random order by fork tuning, brake pad compound sussing, tire compound and casing fiddling, and determining appropriateness of the hub/rim/spoke combo.
Then, about a month ago, all of the lift-served riding areas that I could easily get to closed down. Like, as in for the season. As in not reopening until next summer, some 7+ months away.
Without lifts I can't really ride this bike, right?
Well--that's not true. I can ride it plenty if I wanna become a shuttle monkey.
Hmmm... lemme think for a minute...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
...screw that crap.
I bolted on a front der, shifter, and a 20t granny.
Full 11-34 cluster out back.
Lighter brakes, plus a crisp set o' proto rims to suss out.
Flipped a bargain-bin offset seatpost the wrong way around.
Accepted a little hand-written mojo from someone in Wisconsin...
Hopped on and rode it to the top of the local loops.
Slowly, of course--it is ~39lbs after all.
Climbing wasn't important when the geo was considered, so of course it isn't ideal. Short cockpit, VERY upright, floppy front end, low bottom bracket, etc...
But all of that beats the hell outta shuttling or waiting 7 months to ride it again...
You do what you gotta do.
It ain't gonna become my go-to XC bike. Ever. But when the mood strikes, or when the guys wanna go to Moab, or St. G, or The Swell, or...
...well. It oughta work pretty good then.
MC
I don't know very much about DH bikes or DH'ing. Until this point I'd never owned one. Living where I do, there isn't much point in owning one--we have lots of vertical and chunk but no lifts, so you gotta climb if you wanna descend. I've always been perfectly fine with that arrangement.
Over the summer, I was able to get out and ride it a few times on the lifts at Winter Park and again in BC. It is simply boggling how quickly you can learn a new skillset, simply by intensive immersion into that skill and mindset. Downhilling and downhillers earn beaucoup derision for a lot of good reasons, but you have to admit that some of them can rip some amazing lines.
Anyhoo, I had a blast while downhilling, and also learned a lot about the bike and each component in so doing. Feedback and data went to the manufacturers, tweaks were made to some of their products, and the whole package has evolved as a result. Under the most scrutiny were the frame geometry and spring curve, followed in random order by fork tuning, brake pad compound sussing, tire compound and casing fiddling, and determining appropriateness of the hub/rim/spoke combo.
Then, about a month ago, all of the lift-served riding areas that I could easily get to closed down. Like, as in for the season. As in not reopening until next summer, some 7+ months away.
Without lifts I can't really ride this bike, right?
Well--that's not true. I can ride it plenty if I wanna become a shuttle monkey.
Hmmm... lemme think for a minute...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
...screw that crap.
I bolted on a front der, shifter, and a 20t granny.
Full 11-34 cluster out back.
Lighter brakes, plus a crisp set o' proto rims to suss out.
Flipped a bargain-bin offset seatpost the wrong way around.
Accepted a little hand-written mojo from someone in Wisconsin...
Hopped on and rode it to the top of the local loops.
Slowly, of course--it is ~39lbs after all.
Climbing wasn't important when the geo was considered, so of course it isn't ideal. Short cockpit, VERY upright, floppy front end, low bottom bracket, etc...
But all of that beats the hell outta shuttling or waiting 7 months to ride it again...
You do what you gotta do.
It ain't gonna become my go-to XC bike. Ever. But when the mood strikes, or when the guys wanna go to Moab, or St. G, or The Swell, or...
...well. It oughta work pretty good then.
MC
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
DHM, the anticlimax.
When you're touring in SW Utah in late summer, and it's *this* cold...
...learn from my experience and take your time getting a move on. It can only get warmer.
TO and I used our palatial-imitation Kabin to spread out gear, do some eating, and discuss our plan for the day. Getting a wheel was simply not going to happen. So we needed to get back to Boulder, a full-day's ride on pavement from where we sat. Without a doubt the scenery on that paved road is stellar, but I'd sooner gouge my own eyes out with spoons than ride more road. The past 5 days had given me *more* than my quota of tarmac and gravel for this year and some of next. We needed a better plan.
Trouble was, we knew we couldn't rely on TO's wheel to make it more than a mile or two. So riding the trail was out. After all possibilities (even the ridiculous ones) were tossed out on the table, we came up with a simple plan. TO would hitch a ride to his car, fetch it, then start heading back this way. While he was hitching, I'd ride along our original intended route, hoping to make it as far as Pine Lake to meet him there. Once there we'd camp for the night, maybe fish a little, then call it a trip and head home.
I headed out into a world blown free of dust and dirt--everywhere you looked seemed newly minted, especially the sky.
Late morning these guys were melting under direct sunlight, but I never felt anything like 'heat' all through the day.
I took my time on the paved stretch up to Tropic, toodled my way along the gravel headed east out of town, then rolled through Henderson Canyon trailhead to find...
...not much. There was sort of a hint of a trail to follow, so I pointed myself that way.
For about 3 minutes the trail surface looked like this:
Hardpacked and easy cruising. For about 3 minutes.
And then it wasn't so firm. From what I could gather while walking the next 8 or 9 miles, someone had brought 15 or 20 beeves down from the high country and their collective hooves had obliterated the crust. Not much to do but grin and keep walking. Except that I didn't really grin.
High in the canyon I found *some* of the perpetrators. Somewhere in there a narrow foot path used to exist...
Erosion and defoliation specialists with a minor in shit production is what they are. I'll spare y'all the rant, just know that I have zero tolerance for private grazing on public lands. Nuff said.
There were a few very, very short stretches where the beeves had clearly not relished obliterating the trail--so they'd gone off trail for a spell, leaving the original tread intact. And it was pretty sweet.
Scrub oak turning.
Getting really close to popping through the capstone here. Often throughout the day I'd turn to mention a thought or point something out to TO, but then I'd catch myself.
I rolled down to Pine Lake (our meeting point) at 3ish and he wasn't there. I pedaled around the lake, through the campground, and back to the lake. Not finding him, and unwilling to sit still while the wind continued to suck precious heat away from me, I decided to spin uphill aways. Twiddling a friendly gear on this rough ATV track was a fine way to keep warm. As I pedaled along I fiddled with the GPS, ultimately guesstimating that Powell Point just might be reachable, for me, today. Lacking a better option, I set my sights on 'higher' and kept climbing.
Long story short, I was cutting it close on time to tag the top then descend back down to meet TO at Pine Lake by dark. I ended up in full time-trial mode for over an hour, giving myself a luxuriant 2 minutes at the Point proper to take in the sights. Truth be told, the view was nice but the ~20 degree temps and 40mph wind didn't encourage relaxing and enjoying. I grabbed these few snapshots on the fly then got the flock outta there.
Between the windchill at the Point and ~30 minutes of high speed descending, I was borderline hypothermic when I got back to the lake at dark. TO hadn't arrived and I was too cold to sit around waiting. I dug out my last layer and contemplated building a fire, but before I could finish zipping into it a pair of headlights rounded the bend and there he was. Phew.
We loaded up the car, drove a minute to a somewhat wind-sheltered spot, made camp. Then spent the next few hours discussing his next ~year of study in AK, my wheelbuilding business, and every other thought that came to mind.
All while staring into this:
What a great, great way to wrap up a summer.
Thanks Dave.
Thanks Pete.
Until next time,
MC
...learn from my experience and take your time getting a move on. It can only get warmer.
TO and I used our palatial-imitation Kabin to spread out gear, do some eating, and discuss our plan for the day. Getting a wheel was simply not going to happen. So we needed to get back to Boulder, a full-day's ride on pavement from where we sat. Without a doubt the scenery on that paved road is stellar, but I'd sooner gouge my own eyes out with spoons than ride more road. The past 5 days had given me *more* than my quota of tarmac and gravel for this year and some of next. We needed a better plan.
Trouble was, we knew we couldn't rely on TO's wheel to make it more than a mile or two. So riding the trail was out. After all possibilities (even the ridiculous ones) were tossed out on the table, we came up with a simple plan. TO would hitch a ride to his car, fetch it, then start heading back this way. While he was hitching, I'd ride along our original intended route, hoping to make it as far as Pine Lake to meet him there. Once there we'd camp for the night, maybe fish a little, then call it a trip and head home.
I headed out into a world blown free of dust and dirt--everywhere you looked seemed newly minted, especially the sky.
Late morning these guys were melting under direct sunlight, but I never felt anything like 'heat' all through the day.
I took my time on the paved stretch up to Tropic, toodled my way along the gravel headed east out of town, then rolled through Henderson Canyon trailhead to find...
...not much. There was sort of a hint of a trail to follow, so I pointed myself that way.
For about 3 minutes the trail surface looked like this:
Hardpacked and easy cruising. For about 3 minutes.
And then it wasn't so firm. From what I could gather while walking the next 8 or 9 miles, someone had brought 15 or 20 beeves down from the high country and their collective hooves had obliterated the crust. Not much to do but grin and keep walking. Except that I didn't really grin.
High in the canyon I found *some* of the perpetrators. Somewhere in there a narrow foot path used to exist...
Erosion and defoliation specialists with a minor in shit production is what they are. I'll spare y'all the rant, just know that I have zero tolerance for private grazing on public lands. Nuff said.
There were a few very, very short stretches where the beeves had clearly not relished obliterating the trail--so they'd gone off trail for a spell, leaving the original tread intact. And it was pretty sweet.
Scrub oak turning.
Getting really close to popping through the capstone here. Often throughout the day I'd turn to mention a thought or point something out to TO, but then I'd catch myself.
I rolled down to Pine Lake (our meeting point) at 3ish and he wasn't there. I pedaled around the lake, through the campground, and back to the lake. Not finding him, and unwilling to sit still while the wind continued to suck precious heat away from me, I decided to spin uphill aways. Twiddling a friendly gear on this rough ATV track was a fine way to keep warm. As I pedaled along I fiddled with the GPS, ultimately guesstimating that Powell Point just might be reachable, for me, today. Lacking a better option, I set my sights on 'higher' and kept climbing.
Long story short, I was cutting it close on time to tag the top then descend back down to meet TO at Pine Lake by dark. I ended up in full time-trial mode for over an hour, giving myself a luxuriant 2 minutes at the Point proper to take in the sights. Truth be told, the view was nice but the ~20 degree temps and 40mph wind didn't encourage relaxing and enjoying. I grabbed these few snapshots on the fly then got the flock outta there.
Between the windchill at the Point and ~30 minutes of high speed descending, I was borderline hypothermic when I got back to the lake at dark. TO hadn't arrived and I was too cold to sit around waiting. I dug out my last layer and contemplated building a fire, but before I could finish zipping into it a pair of headlights rounded the bend and there he was. Phew.
We loaded up the car, drove a minute to a somewhat wind-sheltered spot, made camp. Then spent the next few hours discussing his next ~year of study in AK, my wheelbuilding business, and every other thought that came to mind.
All while staring into this:
What a great, great way to wrap up a summer.
Thanks Dave.
Thanks Pete.
Until next time,
MC
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
DHM, day 5
Wind blew hard all though the night.
We'd grown accustomed to the heavy breeze while riding and gawking the past several days. You just can't stop long if you're sweaty, or you find a sheltered place to take a break, or you add a layer. Easy cheesy.
But for some reason the wind got to me on this night. No doubt a critical factor was our choice of bivy spot--under big pines, and atop their delicious detritus: Duff.
But what else falls with the duff?
Cones. Bazillions of 'em.
It only takes *one* landing close (no contact need be made) to put your (my) sensors on high alert. Then the gusting wind takes over and rustles the branches overhead, maybe flaps the corners of your tarp a bit, plops a few more cones, and voila--you aren't getting any more meaningful sleep.
TO sawed logs for hours, oblivious to the impending doom. Bastard.
When finally there was enough light in the sky I got up and started prattling around, packing gear, munching on leftovers, happy just to be vertical again. Long nights this time of year = LOTS of camp time. TO stumbled around in a sleep hangover (bastard!) even longer than normal. Then we started up Mill Creek.
The lower slopes were friendly enough grades to ride, even stiff and sore right outta the bag.
But as we got higher the grade kicked up and the surface conditions deteriorated. Then we walked.
Here's a glimpse of TO cresting the Mill Creek climb. On average the wind in this clip is a little heavier than what we'd had the first few days, and a little (OK, a lot) lighter than what we'd get for the next two.
Hairypants the route master had made some last minute trail tweaks just before sending us off, and hadn't actually been on-the-ground for a few of the upcoming miles. We never completely forgave him for the bushwhack away from BEAUTIFUL singletrack and onto another dang road.
This view southeast over the Grand Staircase courtesy of another one of TO's flats.
For the first time in days we felt hounded by the weather. Dark clouds, malevolent gusts, and an occasional spray of rain kept us anxious.
There wasn't any singletrack to speak of, but we enjoyed a little-used ATV track with great flow.
More yellow.
Flowy track gave way to shand.
A few miles of tailwind-aided momentum shot us onto the Skutumpah Road. Hair-o-rama's cues described it as easy cruising, which it emphatically was. Gradual and sometimes steep descending through stunning scenery, vaguely reminiscent of the Entrada Bluffs road a few hundred miles northeast. But Skutumpah was infinitely more enjoyable.
Plus I just liked the way the word rolled off my tongue--it could be noun, adjective, or verb equally well. Skutumpah!
Inches-deep wind drift across the otherwise graded road bed.
Approaching Cannonville we got a good look at what we assumed would be the evening's conquest: Powell Point.
I'd been subconsciously dreading that climb, knowing it was likely to whup me into a sniveling mess. More than normal, I mean.
But once it came into view I got really motivated by the idea of making it up there to camp.
We rolled into Tropic powered by a now-nuclear tailwind. I screamed back at TO that I didn't think I could push this much wind. I don't think he could hear me, but the statement would turn out to be oddly prophetic.
An hour at the main tourist trap gave us our RDA of onion rings, double bacon cheeseburgers and, naturally, coffee. Then we reloaded bikes and packs with 3 days of vittles for the big push over the top and down to Boulder. As I coerced 2 lbs of M & M's into my frame pack, TO asked to borrow my spoke wrench. I dug it out and handed it over, thinking it odd that this was the second time he'd needed it. He disappeared to tend to his truing issues while I finished packing up.
Loaded for bear we prepared to roll out.
But something wasn't quite right with TO's wheel, and he asked me to have a look. I sighted down the left side of the wheel, turned a few nips, and quickly brought the wheel within ~1mm of true. But then I sighted down the right side and my jaw hit my knees. Huge, huge wobbles. TO had had a similar problem with this model of rim a few months previous. He suspected the rim was splitting circumferentially so he removed his tire, tube, and rim strip to have a look. Sure enough, cracks propagated from several of the spoke holes. His wheel was toast.
Our trip was done.
We spent a few minutes discussing options, which given our distant-from-a-bikeshop location included riding pavement or hitchhiking, either way just to get to his car in Boulder. The state of his wheel ensured that the former would quickly lead to the latter.
After much discussion we opted to get a room and find a phone/computer in hopes that we could bribe someone to deliver a wheel. But it's just never that easy. Not a single room (out of hundreds!) was available in Tropic, despite the town being deserted. Sitting roadside in a 40+ mph breeze it was hard to think clearly. We both remembered a motel and campground back in Cannonville, but that was...
Gah. Upwind.
Granny gear would have been appropriate against that blow, but in granny you didn't have consistent enough chain tension to keep the bike upright. Not that I managed to keep it upright. We struggled much, I walked a little, and eventually we made it to that haven for weary travelers: KOA.
I chuckled aloud when I walked into the wind-free office and read, "It's not camping, it's Kamping"!
One more day to go...
MC
We'd grown accustomed to the heavy breeze while riding and gawking the past several days. You just can't stop long if you're sweaty, or you find a sheltered place to take a break, or you add a layer. Easy cheesy.
But for some reason the wind got to me on this night. No doubt a critical factor was our choice of bivy spot--under big pines, and atop their delicious detritus: Duff.
But what else falls with the duff?
Cones. Bazillions of 'em.
It only takes *one* landing close (no contact need be made) to put your (my) sensors on high alert. Then the gusting wind takes over and rustles the branches overhead, maybe flaps the corners of your tarp a bit, plops a few more cones, and voila--you aren't getting any more meaningful sleep.
TO sawed logs for hours, oblivious to the impending doom. Bastard.
When finally there was enough light in the sky I got up and started prattling around, packing gear, munching on leftovers, happy just to be vertical again. Long nights this time of year = LOTS of camp time. TO stumbled around in a sleep hangover (bastard!) even longer than normal. Then we started up Mill Creek.
The lower slopes were friendly enough grades to ride, even stiff and sore right outta the bag.
But as we got higher the grade kicked up and the surface conditions deteriorated. Then we walked.
Here's a glimpse of TO cresting the Mill Creek climb. On average the wind in this clip is a little heavier than what we'd had the first few days, and a little (OK, a lot) lighter than what we'd get for the next two.
Hairypants the route master had made some last minute trail tweaks just before sending us off, and hadn't actually been on-the-ground for a few of the upcoming miles. We never completely forgave him for the bushwhack away from BEAUTIFUL singletrack and onto another dang road.
This view southeast over the Grand Staircase courtesy of another one of TO's flats.
For the first time in days we felt hounded by the weather. Dark clouds, malevolent gusts, and an occasional spray of rain kept us anxious.
There wasn't any singletrack to speak of, but we enjoyed a little-used ATV track with great flow.
More yellow.
Flowy track gave way to shand.
A few miles of tailwind-aided momentum shot us onto the Skutumpah Road. Hair-o-rama's cues described it as easy cruising, which it emphatically was. Gradual and sometimes steep descending through stunning scenery, vaguely reminiscent of the Entrada Bluffs road a few hundred miles northeast. But Skutumpah was infinitely more enjoyable.
Plus I just liked the way the word rolled off my tongue--it could be noun, adjective, or verb equally well. Skutumpah!
Inches-deep wind drift across the otherwise graded road bed.
Approaching Cannonville we got a good look at what we assumed would be the evening's conquest: Powell Point.
I'd been subconsciously dreading that climb, knowing it was likely to whup me into a sniveling mess. More than normal, I mean.
But once it came into view I got really motivated by the idea of making it up there to camp.
We rolled into Tropic powered by a now-nuclear tailwind. I screamed back at TO that I didn't think I could push this much wind. I don't think he could hear me, but the statement would turn out to be oddly prophetic.
An hour at the main tourist trap gave us our RDA of onion rings, double bacon cheeseburgers and, naturally, coffee. Then we reloaded bikes and packs with 3 days of vittles for the big push over the top and down to Boulder. As I coerced 2 lbs of M & M's into my frame pack, TO asked to borrow my spoke wrench. I dug it out and handed it over, thinking it odd that this was the second time he'd needed it. He disappeared to tend to his truing issues while I finished packing up.
Loaded for bear we prepared to roll out.
But something wasn't quite right with TO's wheel, and he asked me to have a look. I sighted down the left side of the wheel, turned a few nips, and quickly brought the wheel within ~1mm of true. But then I sighted down the right side and my jaw hit my knees. Huge, huge wobbles. TO had had a similar problem with this model of rim a few months previous. He suspected the rim was splitting circumferentially so he removed his tire, tube, and rim strip to have a look. Sure enough, cracks propagated from several of the spoke holes. His wheel was toast.
Our trip was done.
We spent a few minutes discussing options, which given our distant-from-a-bikeshop location included riding pavement or hitchhiking, either way just to get to his car in Boulder. The state of his wheel ensured that the former would quickly lead to the latter.
After much discussion we opted to get a room and find a phone/computer in hopes that we could bribe someone to deliver a wheel. But it's just never that easy. Not a single room (out of hundreds!) was available in Tropic, despite the town being deserted. Sitting roadside in a 40+ mph breeze it was hard to think clearly. We both remembered a motel and campground back in Cannonville, but that was...
Gah. Upwind.
Granny gear would have been appropriate against that blow, but in granny you didn't have consistent enough chain tension to keep the bike upright. Not that I managed to keep it upright. We struggled much, I walked a little, and eventually we made it to that haven for weary travelers: KOA.
I chuckled aloud when I walked into the wind-free office and read, "It's not camping, it's Kamping"!
One more day to go...
MC
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