Foreword: A post about riding in Sedona, that has not a single picture.
Plot Summary: A large group camping in the heart of the Sedona trail system. Kids, friends, dogs, bikes. New riding challenges, new personal challenges, for all of us, even Kila. Beckie rides with the group, and allegedly has fun. Jason watches kids and then rides solo. Potluck, beer, campfire, cold night on hard ground. Beckie and brood return for a littleBirthDayParty; Jason catches ride home after more red rocks.
Scene 1 – The Arrival: G is covered in puke, there is a hullaboo, Beckie puts on tight pants, a tent is raised, dog butts are sniffed.
Scene 2 – The Watching: Children climb walls, litterally. 100 ft. up one made of red rocks. Parents and grandparents panic, bonks happen.
Scene 3 – The Group Ride: 16 strong. Beckie agonizes over returning home, until Noel asks “what would Jason do?“ Beckie rides on.
Scene 4 – Arrivals, Departures: Jason steals DurtGurl’s $230 pedals for solo ride. Beckie returns to camp with exploding boobs.
Scene 5 – HOTH: Jason rides High on the Hog 1.5 times, nearly dies twice, great fun is had. Beckie, G and various children and parents embrace the goods of Sedona and 2 wheels
Scene 6 – The Potluck: Food, camping, beer, children, fire, bdays, pie.
Scene 7 – The Departure: Beckie and kind return to Mesa
Scene 8 – The Sunday Ride: More High on the Hog. so many trials, so many good pics.
Some great pics from Dale and Kathleen. Thanks DG for organizing, and everyone for such a great time.
my cousin got married, I stayed about a block from where we stayed during the marathon. PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPricey. But its a sweet location. How is it that I repeatedly hit the hotel gym, the pool, walk for about 8 hrs in 2 days, and still come home a fat sack of crap? I was in the damn gym this morning when I’m pretty sure I was still legally drunk!!! The Embassy Suites breakfast buffet is quite good, the wedding food was better. I’m so full I didn’t even eat the snack pack on SouthWest Airlines, but i gave it a good home in my backpack. I’m very tired, and thinking about ordering pizza, and need a beer to cure my hangover.
I met a cool tri-girl at the lake who watched my stuff while I swam, and told me about the lake path that’s like 20 miles in either direction. If Chicago gets the 2016 marathon, I will definitely go there to work and bring my road bike. The lake front area totally kicks ass, a year’s worth of activities crammed into a few months of good weather. There was simultaneously: a Mexico festival, an Irish festival, a wine tasting, free entry to the Art Institute of Chicago, and a health care protest. I could not figure out which side it was for – people need their slogans to not contain cryptic buzzwords if they want passersby to be influenced, and with as dumbed-down as Fox News makes it, I’m very surprised it wasn’t a hegemonic army of zombies. But I thought zombies were what they were allegedly going to be turned into by Obama, so maybe they were actually fighting off their deterioration into the ranks of the undead, and I should have supported them?? *shrug* I went to the Art Museum.
The wedding was very well done and some beautiful places, and the reception was on the top floor of the shwanky lakefront “W” hotel that had a 360 view. The ceremony was mercifully short. My younger cousin has grown up right. She’s a doctor now. It was kinda weird seeing some of my family that I’ve only seen at weddings and funerals over the last 20 years, it was nice but awkward. You gotta start somewhere. my sister’s kids remember me and have turned out pretty good too.
Annoying travel note 1: The Chicago Transit Authority subway card machines do not give change, and whoever designed their UI doesn’t know shit about usability. So $15 in the hole, I talked 7 good people into giving me $2 each and letting me swipe them through. When I finally went through, the thing didn’t read my card and I had to jump the gate, leaving me with an extra fare after all that. On the return, a clearly not-well-to-do guy saw me looking for the right way to Midway and offered me directions, and I gave him the still-valid card. Karma is cool like that.
Annoying travel note 2: it is still ass-hot in Phoenix.
The Planet always wins, but these Tevas put up a good fight. Never have I had a pair get so worked by daily usage, running, climbing, swimming, painting, shlepping children and spreading dung in the garden. The tread is faded, the cushion is shot, the velcro won’t hold, sand and my grime have sealed up the airflow, and the soles are coming apart at the toes. You know something has given up all it has when the shitty old pair you leave in your beach house turns out to be better than the shitty old pair you are wearing. What this says about the quality of construction of these shoes, my lifestyle, or my cheapness in wearing an old shitty pair of shoes til they rot off my feet is an open question. They only cost about $75 retail, and I got em for $26 closeout.
I could wax philosophical about the intimate relationship between a person and an excellent piece of gear, the miles and experiences and daily grind and adventures we’ve been through, deliver a eulogy for an excellent (set of) friends.
I shall give in to no such inflated oratory. They’re not dead til they shuffle off the mortal coil attaching themselves to my feet.
Dressed appropriately in an old 24OP shirt and bearing a 500 page paperback, I rolled into the self-surrender lot to do my bid in Tent City – a full service resort and spa for the Valley’s miscreants and minor scofflaws. For $199.35 a day, I would get all the amenities the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Dept had to offer.
The helpful staff of Detention Officers were there to attend to my every need. The minimum requirements of a high school diploma and no misdemeanors in the past year fetched an unparalleled talent pool of the mildly able and the bitter, 4 out of 5 of whom seemed genuinely out of shape. We were greeted upon arrival by a big-gutted beady-eyed little fuck who had a nasty comment for every one checking in, and his quiet but equally-sloshy looking bilingual partner. Frisking, photoing, order-barking, and seemingly endless moving from one concrete room to another – sometimes in cuffs and with some pat-downs – began the 7 hour process of intake.
Why it takes 7 hours to get checked in for a 24 hr sentence where I’ll be in a giant pen with about 500 other dudes belays the fact that the helpful staff, heretofore referred to as Camp Counselors, don’t give a flying fuck about your convenience. You are one of many cattle to them, you are their property, and they want just about as much chit-chat from you as from a cow. My wishing for a better customer service attitude served as another potent reminder of having fucked up and landed on the wrong side of the law. You don’t have quite as many rights as you are used to.
The decor of every holding cell and the facility in general was just a step down from 80′s era DMV – stark concrete rooms with concrete benches and florescent lights, designed to withstand most anything a person who’s been frisked could do to them. Except piss, that pools right on the floor, but a courtesy-culture of sorts formed immediately in every room. Such an aberrant act simply would not do amongst the decent folk in the holding tank. Dirty, bilingual, poor, stupid, and/or socially-maladjusted – yes. But no one in minimum security wants to do anything other than get along and get out. There is nothing I saw that would provoke much trouble-making when everyone can see the end of their 24 hr or 6 month line. Plus most of the cells had a toilet and some dry paper. I know, as I spent 2 hrs sitting next to one. At least I was not the guy who spent 2 hrs sitting on one in the crowded room.
Shitting is definitely frowned upon in the holding cell; pissing is ok. But you risk losing a good seat in the corner if you go. I did not try, I did not think golden-chair applied in our cell, so even the good seats were unpleasant. About half the time it was so assholes-to-elbows that making your way to the can was pretty untenable, and everyone was doing their best to share the space and be unobtrusive, and not be either hot or cold. You’d think people would be surly, but the holding cells were mostly hilarious. Nothing to do but talk and bullshit, and the brothers really are far funnier than the white guys. Nonetheless, the room emptying of half the people prompted a wave of relief farting and pissing.
Most of the people I met were ok. Everyone was behaving and watching the clock, but for what I had to deal with mostly dudes were pretty cool. I didn’t talk much, asked very few questions, minded my own business and kept my gaze down, but you have no privacy so can’t be rude and thus wind up meeting your neighbors pretty quickly. Probably 3/4th of the people were in for DUI or some driver’s license issue. I was the low-end of experience, a normal guy who made a mistake. Others were on a 2nd or 3rd misdemeanor or violation. Some made me wonder about the deterrent effect of punishment, and if it works or if people are just plain stupid. I saw guys on their way out trying to arrange gun sales to each other. Other guys simply could not get by without driving to work, living 50 miles from their jobs. Its amazing how easy it is to get caught in the web once you get behind it. I can’t fathom what it must be like if you don’t ride a bike, if you don’t live a rideable distance from work. I can’t judge, I might fuck up again some time, but this whole process has sure made an impression on me.
At 2am I got a bedroll and a top bunk tucked into the corner of a giant circus tent, with a thin vinyl-covered mattress and hard steel frame that had to be negotiated on each entrance and egress. You are allowed to bring a jacket with you, and I deeply regretted having skipped that. I figured it’d be easier to worry only for my book, car key and ID in the middle of summer in Phoenix. But oh how i missed my fleece. At 3pm it was 95 and the sun heated up the canopy a foot above me as I read my book and pooled in my own sweat on the vinyl covered mattress needing something to wipe it with, and at 2am I was friggin cold wanting another layer. It could have been used as a pillow, a cushion, or most of the things Douglas Adams praises in a towel.
5 hrs of unsatisfying psuedo-sleep and creeping dehydration later, i woke to the waft from the dumpsters 6 feet from my bunk, and the smell of dogs being incinerated at the animal shelter down the street. The counselors didn’t give us breakfast til 10, so not having had anything to eat in about 14 hrs turned out to be a good thing. At least I got to look out my tent flap and see South Mountain and pretend I was riding.
Security was mostly non-existent. The whole expanse of chain link and razor wire was manned by about 4 Counselors, the ~500 guys in their own clothes allowed to meander about just about all the time. So I meandered to the bathroom and back hourly, tried to drink as much water as I could stomach from the warm skanky fountain, and visited the yoga room. A nice feature of yoga is you can do it just about anywhere, most of it anyway, as some does not lend itself to gravel and asphalt. But the tent floors were paved and my bunk about as thick as a yoga mat, so over the course of the day I managed almost an hour of stretching and calisthenics for my aching back and legs. Other people passed the time playing dominoes on a set made out of soap bars, reading, or waiting in line at the commissary.
Tent City has a robust commissary full of vending machines, and apparently it is supplied by the Arapaio’s vending machine company. It distributes everything from sodas to toothbrushes, and the line for it in ConTents never subsides. Anything other than gravel, tepid water or institution food in Tent City comes from Sheriff Joe’s family’s vending machines. It is the one and only carrot in the place, and the Counselors milk it for everything from soliciting volunteers to distribute chow to chasing people to their bunks for headcount. You are allowed to bring $40 at a time into the prison, and many guys feed that right into the machines. I did not bring anything in, not sure what would happen to my money and assuming my stint couldn’t possibly be harder than Yom Kippur, but by the end I swore I would never give a dime to Sheriff Joe or his nepotists.
The food did not make this an easy decision. I am a very eager eater, I’ll eat nasty leftover cream cheese and crusty bagels at the end of a workday, my eyes drift toward the work cafeteria whenever I see people in town from other offices, the most menudo-esque dish in our fridge will assimilate with TheJason with just a spot of cheese…but I was disgusted by the food in Tent City. Breakfast was a few rolls, a package of ham i stuffed so deep into them and gobbled so fast from within its bready enclave, a pint of milk to spread over some cereal and some oranges. The rank ham aside, it was not far off from my normal meals. Dinner was just plain nasty – some sort of vegetable stew short of everything but mashed potato mix, and accompanied by a side of spinach that made me gag. No joke, this shit was NASTY!!! The Tent City Spa and Resort becomes fat-camp for chollaball missing his workouts for the Barn Burner.
The day passed, I read, I sweated, I filled my milk carton from breakfast with water and pissed every hour. It wasn’t all that different from the beach in Mexico. As I neared the end of my book one of the Counselors waived me and some others out of our tent in expectation of our kick-out and the arrival of new intakes. So for 3 hrs I sat on my bedroll in the dirt, finished my book, and questioned my decision to have dinner. A bit after 7 when my 24 were up I asked one of the Counselors if we would be getting released soon; he looked right through me. What was I going to do, complain to the manager?
In fairness to the Counselors, they were mostly civil and to the point, though the occasional lapse into 3-yr old counter logic got demeaning – if you don’t put away that crate, i will take your commissary…you don’t want me to take your commissary do you?. I tried to be polite and easy, and still had about 5 questions over the course of the day…multiply that by 500, when ain’t none of them questions make shit worth of difference anyway…i kept coming back to never being here in the first place if I hadn’t fucked up.
At 7:30 a bunch of us were walked while cuffed to another dude about a mile back to the intake area. 20 guys, 20 free hands, 2 fat guards trailing everyone in a golf cart. The exercise felt really good, optimism and…*Shawshank Redemption moment*…hope washed over me. the guy i was cuffed to was in my cycle and we had chit-chatted for the past day, and it was like have a cool hike with a bud. Highlight of the trip! Never got his name.
2 more hours crept along while we got processed out. One Counselor shuffled through our files, while 4 others sat on their big fat asses and stared slack-jawed at the concrete walls, finally releasing me almost 3 hrs late. Sir, would you like to speak with my Supervisor? Then finally it was over, I pulled out my car key where it’d been in my left quad pocket for the past 27 hrs, hopped in my car and went home. Sunday I roadied to Saguaro Lake, enjoying the responsiveness in my newly-tuned wheels, but mostly cause i needed the wind and the sun and the space. My quads ached and I fought off a bonk the entire 2.5 hr ride from my general lack of nutrition and hydration. Many people I met were heading back the next day or next weekend to continue or complete their sentences around work furloughs or scheduled intakes.
Is such a day stuffed full of so much silliness possible?
Would 4 hours sleep be enough to survive?
Would 19 hours of non-stop activity leave me bed-ridden with exhaustion?
The answer was yes to all of the above.
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Up and 4:45 to get FIP at 5:45 and make the 30 minute trek to the start atop the Ridgeline trail, with a few minutes to relax prior to my 6:36 start time. I was number 47 this year, better than last year’s 22 based on my last 2:20 finish. Hard to believe the first rider launched before 6am in the early morning rain.
No plates this year, just a sticker for my fork leg, as Jim was keeping things more underground
riders collecting slowly prior to their TT starts one every minute
bright new jersey looks good in the rain
The hike-a-bike up to the top of Ridgeline should have clued me right in to how crappy I was feeling after barely sleeping all week (but wrapping up 4 months worth of projects yay!!!), and how heavy the Heckler was to carry. Maybe I should train for hike-a-biking? I’ve got a huge bruise on my left bicep from resting the seat on it while I shlepped the bike up mountains.
The wheels could not climb anything as it was all slick and the tread was encrusted in sand, I was off my bike within 30 seconds on a short technical rockface. Great, and where everyone sitting at the launching pad could see too . I’ve never ridden Ridgeline, but the initial descent was a quick technical wake-up call to start the race. It was fun to start on a downhill, and one that had some consequences for starting sleepy.
The course headed up Mormon this year, to avoid being so noticeable on National, and it was for the best as I would have been pushing up everything. As it was, I pushed all of Widowmaker and practically every hard trial til above the Waterfall. I was pissed at myself for being such a sandbagger on a trail where I can get nearly everything, but there was no point in fighting the sour stomach, achey back and the moisture. In this race, there is no glory in making something – its all about speed, and that means sometimes walking is just as fast as riding, and if it keeps your legs from going anaerobic its a better strategy. But it sucks for the ego.
The stretch from BV to Telegraph was fun, and the Heckler shredded. A lot of riders talked about how sketchy the slickness made them feel, but I actually felt great through this decent. Surprising, cause I’m not that fast a descender. I made it to Telegraph in 1:07, same as last year. My goal this year was 2 hrs, not sure if it was realistic, but it gave me something to shoot for.
That inspiration lasted about 200 yards into the big hike out of Telegraph Pass. Every time I do this, I wonder why the hell I’m riding the west side of National? The ridgeline is nice and the view is great, but its hard on a big bike after the hike and the hour and half of sustained effort. Being tired and poor traction just made it seem longer. Still, I was not getting passed. Other than my buddy Zort who started 2 minutes behind me and passed me at about 1 hr, I only got caught by a few guys on the hike. My time was good, but when we pulled off to find our Easter Eggs I realized I was not going to make 2 hrs. The eggs were stashed in the same place as 2 years ago, up a short but hard 100 foot ascent. It took just about 10 minutes round trip, maybe a little less but I also took the time off the bike to stash my foggy glasses and secure my kneepads for the final descent. Those extra 2 minutes wound up costing me about 5 spots. Stupid vision! Stupid safety!
At least the ride from here to the finish was mostly fast and downhill. I ripped the ridgeline as fast as I could, conscious to pass a few slower riders prior to the big nasty descent. The scree face was surprisingly tame, packed in with the water and 40 or so prior riders. I rolled down it without any worries, so easy I wasn’t sure I was even past it until I entered the final canyon leading off the mountain. It too went fast and easy, and from there I felt the finish and hammered as hard as I could til the end, passing a couple riders in the last mile. Typically this race finishes a mile across the road at the San Juan gate, but Jim redirected the finish to a big wash a little bit up the Bajada trail to stay out of sight. Bajada is XC, but a total ass-kicker as its all rocks and there is no rolling to it. I was bracing for a 10 minutes of pain, but blew through the finish chute to find the awaiting Bunnies in only about a minute. Sexy fishnet stockings look good in any weather.
I might have shaved a minute or 2 going harder on the ridgeline if I knew there was nothing to save for Bajada, but like every year, by the time it was over I was just happy to be done. My time was 2:10, off my goal but still 10 minutes better than last year! Probably no faster, but no mechanicals this year to slow me down. I finished 40th overall out of about 80 riders, like every endurance race I am right in the middle of the pack. It seems very average, I am stout and sturdy but hardly fast, except when you realize that this pack consists of people who think a coast-to-coast race across National is a fun idea…somewhat of a self-selecting crowd. Since I didn’t really try to climb anything hard, and the descents felt very easy, I’m thinking the Hei Hei for next year might be a better choice. The section into Telegraph and the 2 miles dropping off National might go a bit slower, but the lighter bike should more than make up for it on the traverses and hike-a-bikes where you really lose time down a black hole. The Heckler is good for the hardest of moves, but I think I’m finally capable enough on gnar that I can dial back my bike a little and still be ok in many situations, especially when I know the trail. Tomorrow I am taking the Hei Hei out on Pass Mountain, my 100th? ride on that trail, so it should put this theory to the test.
Kathleen and me at the finish
a soggy finish line
Usually everyone chills for about an hour waiting for the final riders to arrive before heading to the party, and in preparation I brought a couple beers and a bag of snacks. I opened a beer (its only 9am), but the cold and wet that hadn’t bothered me while moving for the last 3 hours began to feel really really awful. Kathleen, Doug, Zort and I began the long ride back to our cars – a 10 mile, dismal slog on the roads. I left them at the park entrance to pick up my Park Steward kit, then opened my second beer to take the edge off the final 30 minute spin. The irony of drinking a beer after completing an unsanctioned race was not lost on me as I stuffed my new capilene Steward jersey into my pack and a fat chocolate chip cookie in my mouth. I just put my head down and spun til I got back to my car at Chongoman’s house near the old office. Then to the party to exchange war stories with Doug, Zort, DG, Lynette, Yuri, Juan and many other friends and acquaintances, found out that the difficulty climbing affected everyone, had a beer, got a nice bottle of chain lube from Jim for my efforts, but unfortunately had to bolt prior to the awards to get home in time for…
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…the Gumbar Rally
My dear friend Al Taylor does this insane scavenger hunt every 2 or 3 years. I was a defending champ from 3 years ago, so was really looking forward to this year. Beckie would also be competing, and we got Sam to baby sit for us AND to come pick us up so we could partake liberally. Gumbar rules clearly stipulated a drink needed to be had in each bar visited.
Pauline, JT, me, Kevin and Amber after our victory in ’06
I turned around from the house almost as soon as I got my bike unloaded from The Squealer. We made it to Al’s late but with just enough time to grab a drink, say hey to the many Ultimate folks I hadn’t seen in a few years, and say this a bunch of times: “2, 2 months old, riding a lot, I miss it every single day but I enjoy walking more.” and I gushed to Kathi about Squealer, who enjoyed hearing the stories and then promptly chose to forget everything I said .
My team this year was X-Ray, Jill Mayer, and P. Norton Brown’s new girl Mary. A quick meeting of the minds then off we went to a bowling alley in central Mesa. In typical Al-fashion, we had 20 minutes to complete a game, which was scored on a number of criteria including high\low, gutterballs, and strikes. I suck at bowling, and have absolutely no idea how we did in this challenge.
Our next challenge sent us to The Tavern on Mill Ave, but by way of the Light Rail. We did not pick up on this Light Rail clue, like pretty much every team but Beckie’s since she’s all plugged into the local guberments, and arrived at the bar prior to our judges. That was our clue that we blew it. Whatever…it was cool, we drank.
Beckie’s team on the Light Rail: Kathi, Tim, Autumn, with Al along to judge. She had the camera, hence no pics from me
Our challenge at the bar was to complete a 2-sided puzzle. The first side had a picture of A Mtn, the second a picture of The Library (another bar on Mill). We then set off up A Mtn with the goal of capturing a couple of pics that were in our clue sheet.
mandatory photo location on A Mtn
Unfortunately the climb, knee ailments (not mine), and varying desires to embrace the drizzle began to put a damper on our team chemistry. Its funny that it took til another event with Ultimate players to get a reminder on the importance of team spirit. I can’t pinpoint why our team did not click – everyone got along, and Ray is one of my best friends. No clear leader or happy blend of personalities? We had a good group, but no one like the fabulous JT or Kathi to really propel our team towards new realms of silliness. For my part, I was feeling kinda tired after a couple drinks and the morning ride, and the predominance of mental challenges inside bars compared to the past event’s more physical activities with roving bonus challenges (and sunny weather) made the event flow a little differently and underscored my fatigue. We had a little frustration over blowing our first challenge too. And definitely could have used more creativity with our photos. For whatever reason, our team just did not quite gel, and while we had fun, we didn’t have the kind of stoopid fun as 3 years ago or that Beckie’s team had.
Its funny how the same personas that make a great Gumbar team contribute to how people get drafted in VOTS leagues every year – some people are just awesome karma and make teams better. Usually I’m one of those guys, so I’m sticking with my story of being tired.
Coming down from A Mtn, we headed up Mill to the Library. Why it is called that, when most of the waitresses don’t look like they have every read a book, is a mystery.
Here we were presented with a loooong list of line items in about 4 pt type requesting information such as the number of draft beers offered, the times for Happy Hour, the price of vodka, etc. Around item 20 on the list was the declarative statement: “The only question you need to answer is the number of TVs.” 34. Except around item 35 was the next clue – double that number. Our team failed again to get the answer within our time period, then got our next clue sending us back down the Light Rail to the Urban Campfire (the bar we should have hit several challenges ago).
We waitied about 25 minutes in the drizzle for the Light Rail, an experience which pretty much guaranteed none of us will ever be taking it again. The challenge at this bar was to add up the total of every possible item on the menu. I actually could have done this pretty easily fresh and sober, modeling it like an algorithm rather than using straight math, but by now I was really tired and cold and a little hungover and mostly wanted to get back to Al’s to sit on the couch and drink heavily.
We made it back to Al’s about 7:30, picture show ensued to much heckling. I felt kinda disconnected from all this since I didn’t have a camera and no one on our team who did took many photos. But these were pretty damn funny!
Sam came to get us about 9, and again I missed the awards ceremony. I was asleep on my feet taking a very agitated dog out to the park.
It was a totally cool day, and awesome to get to do these events with 2 little kids, and see so many friends in both circles. But in retrospect I think I should have picked one or the other, and enjoyed that event to the fullest instead of cutting corners on both of them. Less would have been more. Beckie got to have a great time, which was cool. Perhaps she will add on to this post.
A poster CJ on MTBR, who is on my blogroll cause he takes amazing nature pics, said they are Harris’s Hawks. Apparently they hunt in cooperative family groups. When I was taking the pics, Turtle started meowing behind me – not sure if she saw them or not, but she has displayed a sufficient sense of self-preservation over the years for me to think she did and was wary.
The weather gods were generous! Powder Powder Powder!!!!
We rolled in about midnight, with only a little slop on the roads near Heber and again out of Durango – not bad considering Wolf Creek got about 7 feet during the prior week. Stopping for dinner in Gallup delayed our arrival, but perusing jewelry from the vendors who came to our table was a nice touch; it was just like Rocky Point, except their wares were nicer. Upon arrival, i moved my bindings back an inch to give me better control in the powder, and double-checked the new cables i installed and the new boots. It was almost 1:30 by the time i crashed.
Up at 6:30, only to find that Wolf Creek Pass was closed due to weather. We finally got riding about 10:30.
It was grey, windy, cold and snowing – typical primo day at Wolf Creek. For the first time, I had no nervousness whatsoever about riding. It had been since last year at Wolf Creek that I’d ridden powder, but the 3 days on ice in Tahoe and my own progress from season to season left me feeling very matter-of-fact about the day, and knowing falls wouldn’t hurt certainly helped. Up Treasure Lift, and first run of the season both Byron and I dove right through our favorite shot in the trees onto the big black face. It took a run or two to get my weight right with the bindings moved back, and a nice rolling endo under the lift. Trying to convey to Byron how fun this can be on a board is like talking a foreign language to a skier – you just ball up, figure out which way is up while you’re tumbling, and if you hit it right come out of your tumble pointing downhill with momentum. Skiers …if only they knew!
Two or 3 runs, and we hiked out to Glory Hole to make our way over to the Alberta Lift. The entire cornice came off behind me as I floated down through the cloud of powder.
The next two days built quickly off the initial runs, with our legs and rhythm getting stronger. There was so much powder, and for the first time ever I was good enough to handle it, that i had total confidence on all the terrain. There was nothing that phased me all weekend, and up through our last run we were shredding within inches of trees, hitting gaps between them just wide enough for our shoulders, and plunging down just about any pitch with complete calm. The only problems came when a back edge kicked up so much powder I couldn’t see for a second or two. The rest of the weekend was a combination of steep pitches followed by flow through a never-ending powder stash in the blue glades that make up the whole Alberta lift’s area. The cats at the bottom sucked til mid-way through our second day when the snow finally stopped and they got packed in enough to finish without paddling, but it was a small price to pay. The walking actually felt good, cause the powder required so little effort my legs were incredibly fresh up til our final few runs.
The greyness on the mountain contrasted with the sun over Pagosa Springs; there is just something about Wolf Creek Pass that holds onto all those storms and their precious booty.
Byron and I explored practically all of the Alberta lift side this trip, figuring out all the ridgelines and entrances that have thwarted us in years past. So many good powder stashes were hidden deep in the woods, and even the ones that were hit stayed good with enough fresh lines or soft churn late into Sunday. It felt like we never ran out of fresh terrain. The cruising was sublime, even when it seemed easy, i could do this all day, day after day, flowing through the soft cushion of white and playing in the woods.
Late on Friday we tried climbing to Alberta Peak, and we met with the harshest wind I’ve ever encountered. It caught my board and threatened to blow me off the mountain. A few hundred yards in, and I looked back but no longer saw Byron. I figured he bailed on the hike in his ill-suited ski boots, so we spent the rest of the afternoon alone before meeting up at the truck when the lifts closed. We skipped the sausage-fest in the hotel hot tub, opting for yoga and a long hot shower. Dinner at Kip’s again, and we were asleep by about 8:30.
Day 2 was much the same, but better – better legs, better runs, a better trip through the Waterfall where we did not get caught on any exposed rockfaces like the day before. (I saved the best of that for Sunday, when the same wrong turn forced me to shimmy across a rockface on my belly, using my board as a giant crampon to keep me from falling into the rocks below . And then later got caught on top of a 10 foot cliff, requiring one drop to a powder ledge between two rock outcroppings, and another slide over the lip to a short blind drop into what I only hoped would be powder). When Byron was ready to quit around 2, I attempted the Alberta Peak hike again. The wind was just as bad, but this time I followed two skiers out through the fog and used my board as a sail to push me up the hill. The descent through the untouched deep powder was worth it. We hit the Hot Springs that night, running from pool to pool in the cold, and it left us both feeling refreshed
Sunday the weather cleared, so I took a lot more pics.
Hello Rescue Dog
Do you have any brandy for me?
With the wind calm and the sun shining, I decided to give Alberta Peak one more try. It took about 25-30 minutes of hiking to get all the way to the top. One stretch I lost the trail and had to claw and crawl my way over the windblow on the shoulder below the final ascent. I did it 50 steps and 30 second-rests at a time, finally arriving right behind two skiers – naturally, we took photos for each other.
Alberta Peak from the lift
all the zoom my little Canon offers – pretend that’s me!
The Summit: a cliff on one side, a bowl full of powder on the other
The descent was great, interrupted only by my having to stop and let the spray clear so I wouldn’t bash into a tree on the steep slope. I dropped the bowl, the next drop, then into the Waterfall and back to the lift in just over 45 minutes.
That’s great holiday spirit people!
Safety meeting
What would skiing in Colorado be without the Texans and the Okies in their hunting outfits?
What a cute couple! Tailgating before we hit the road home, finally getting in at 1am
I underwent an innner struggle whether to classify this post under Biking or under Adventures, how ghey** is that? Probably about as ghey as this post itself. But I need to know.
2003-4: 5 - 5 Sunrise 2004-5: 10 - 1 Sierra-at-Tahoe, 1 Mt. Rose, 4 Steamboat, 2 Flag, 2 Sunrise 2005-6: 3 - 1 Northstar, 1 Squaw, 1 Mt. Rose 2006-7: 10 – 3 Wolf Creek, 3 Park City, 1 Canyons, 1Loveland, 2 Eldora 2007-8: 7 – 3 Wolf Creek, 1 Squaw, 1 Alpine Meadows, 1 Mt Rose, 1 Flag
Not that I think this is very impressive or I’m any damn good as a boarder, but it is cool to see what I’ve done each year and how much I have progressed in a relatively few number of days. Each year seems to have its own theme and major new skill set: not killing myself; riding with Beckie, and handling ice and flats; trees; tight lines, steeps, hikes, and going places with G; and deep deeps and new conditions in spring, evening, drunk, and different gear.
I am such a ghey geek , but not much else to do while I’m on a long conference call waiting for Byron to come pick me up en route to Pagosa Springs.
**ghey – as in “you’re so ghey!, and I’m in 8th grade”. I deeply resent that the issue of sexual preference has co-opted this word, which is one of the all-time best most descriptive adjectives ever! But i do not wish to make anyone feel marginalized, so i will change the spelling.
This was about the sixth time I’ve been to the state for a vacation, and each time it just seems better and better and better. There is so much to do, and the culture is so oriented towards the outdoors. The weather, while harsh in its own way, is a wonderful change from AZ, and the air is clean and cool and wet. My cough disappeared and my skin stopped itching, it was wrinkled and chilly…details. We had a fantastic time, and spent maybe $700 for 3 of us for a week. The Prius performed mightily averaging over 40 mpg, and G continues to become a hardy little outdoorsy-chick.
We left Mesa about 9:30 with the car and the $45-Craigslist-HitchHauler loaded. G napped for the first few hours, then spaced out watching DVDs, getting us to Mesa Verde National Park around 5pm with only a few near-death experiences driving amongst the hoopties and the drunks endangering the roads across the Res.
first things first!
We had time for a brief 3 mile hike along the Point Lookout Trail before dark. It was a nice climb atop a mesa that gave us a look out over the Four Corners for the sunset. G was good and bad, hard to deal with and hard to placate. She wanted to walk, she found walking steeps difficult. She wanted to be carried, but only by Mommy in her arms. It was obvious she had lost her mojo for the backpack carrier, and we were both feeling the effects of her getting bigger. It was a good warmup for all of us for the week of trekking to come. Back to our bee-infested campsite, some campground showers in campground shower-stalls, and off to bed.
This began a week of G’s abusive bed hogging. Getting pushed to the side of a king-sized bed makes you a tad chilly; getting pushed up against the side of a tent above 7,000 feet makes the frost and condensation freeze your butt. She hogs blankets, she hogs permarests, she lies orthogonally to the tent entrance, she strews her books about the tent so that they poke you in the back in the middle of the night as bad as a river rock. Her head blocks the fly entrance when I need to get up to go pee.
In the morning we drove deeper into the park to check out the cliff-dwellings. It was cool, but not worth an extra 30 minutes on slow-ass national park roads, imo. Beckie is much more enthusiastic about cliff-dwellings and petroglyphs then I am. They all look the same to me. To G, however, the ceremonial kiva offered a new and exciting opportunity to hurt oneself, much to the chagrin of the Ranger.
At least this wore her out, and we headed out to Durango around noon. But between the 4 hour drive to Ouray, wanting to save some time for hikes en route, and not being hungry, we pretty much blew through Durango except for a quick stop at a honey outlet on the outside of town. The visit was fun for about 10 minutes until G threatened to ruin our credit rating in a shattered, glassy, sticky mess. Onward up the Million Dollar Highway we rolled! The weather was overcast so we didn’t stop to play at Molas Pass or any of the other famouse overlooks on Rt 550, and instead chilled out and walked around Silverton for awhile. Its a touristy faux-Western town, and this time of year without the extreme skiing the only notable attraction was the authentic old railroad back to Durango. G wanted to ride, of course, but had to be satisfied (NOT!) watching the trains.
authentic coal causing authentic acid rain and authentic black lung
We got some beta on a nice mellow trail over the next pass called Crystal Lake, and figured we wouldn’t get far from the car if the weather broke. G continued to be annoying about hiking, having a great time one second and then instantly throwing a tantrum over nothing the next second. She did have fun picking out wildflowers, asking us to pick them for her by color. “I want pink. I want yellow. I want purple” she’d say, and then clutching them in her tinyHands while we hiked. This was a game we kept playing all week long.
On to our cabin at the Ouray Riverside Inn. It was a lot like the cabin we stayed in during my trip to Fruita. Clean and with electricity, but rustic enough that you weren’t in a hotel watching cable. G went nuts over the bunk beds, and had mastered getting up and down within about 5 tries. Then she spaced out watching Little Einstein videos while Beckie and I cooked dinner and chilled out on the porch listening to the river and the highway.
The plan for Ouray was to go to the Hot Springs Pool in the morning and hike in the afternoon. The Hot Springs kicked ass! It cost us about $30 for 2 days of using the gym, the playground, the hot springs, the pool, and the waterslides. The playground was the first of many completely new and challenging setups for G. Beckie and I took turns playing with G and working out in the gym, I also did laps and yoga, and Beckie ran the foothills.
A rock wall, a staircase, and a 2 story slide, along with pool-buds The Duck and The Walrus!
G absolutely loved the waterslides. but after a dozen or so runs each day the cold ambient air and effort of climbing wore her out.
After Monday morning at the springs, we headed up the Portland Trail in the afternoon. It went up a gentle slope through the Amphitheater to the cliffs on the east side of town. The weather was threatening but never more than a mist. The climb was not too bad, but suddenly we were into a climb up a mountain at altitude. All 3 of us dialed into a routine a little more – G was still cranky, but better than the previous 2 days; Beckie and I traded off the pack every 30 minutes.
G in her $5 raincoat
Bridge over Portland Creek, looking down into Ouray
Tuesday we hit the springs again, and then went up the west wall of town to the Oak Creek Overlook Trail. We got a late start at 4, on what we knew would be a 6 mile round trip\2400 ft climb. Including the parking we had to do below the trailhead in town, it was more like 7.5 miles and 3k. G was lollygagging, Beckie was letting her, I was trying to kick our team into high-gear. There were some complaints from both G and Beckie, but they all stopped within about 10 minutes. This was a recurring theme of our trip. Beckie and I agreed not to get fixated on destinations and let G help set the pace, but when we spend the entire heretofore-day on her time, and can achieve a goal with some motivation and attention to the clock, its hard to say no. I think the answer lies somewhere in the middle, and most-easily accessed by simply allowing time for everyone.
Mostly on this trip, we were good about that. But on this hike, we started late.
I hauled ass for the first mile, Beckie took over and hauled ass some more, then we swapped again. The altitude was not hitting me as badly as Beckie, so we fell into what became a routine of me carrying G more on the climbs while Beckie took more of the descents. It worked well – I have 2 humunculous biker quads, while Beckie has 2 knees.
The hardest part of the trail came about .5 mile from the top, as we crossed an open meadow ripe with growth. We knew from the trail description that finding the route through this stretch would depend on spotting a few key markers, but we did not count on the five-foot plants that soaked your shoes and shorts coupled with the slippery missing trail and the 20% pitch.
The proximity of the summit spurred us on to a wonderful view, which made it all worthwhile.
Me in my $5 raincoat, courtesy of a VOTS Lost-&-Found sale during a recent League playoff.
The hike down was fast and faster. We were feeling the finish from the moment we left the top.
Hide-&-Seek helped pass the time.
Beckie and I were both stoked we made it, and crashed back at the cabin pleasantly exhausted.
We got up early on Wednesday and packed up to head to Telluride. Our goal was Town Park, a sweet campsite right along the river and an easy walk from everything. You can’t make reservations, and there are only about 30 spots, so we planned our trip to arrive there mid-week and early in the day.
highly desirable campsite along Bear Creek
Telluride rocks! The city is about a mile long, completely walkable and bike friendly, and copasetic towards the process of biking and walking. We went to Baked and Smugglers and numerous other establishments to shop and eat, and all were totally cool with our backpacks and t.Humans and generally sweaty trudging demeanors. Bikes were everywhere, and it appeared easier to bike or walk around town than drive. Note my only bike-related activity of the week:
ME: If I was spending a week here, and could bring only one bike, should it be 4 inch or a 6 inch? HOT SALES GIRL AT GEAR SHOP: 6-inch ME: MMMMmmm….meow kitty!
I’ve got to do a riding trip here someday!
After lunch we headed up the Bear Creek Trail, about a 4 mile round trip with 1,000 foot elevation. It was easy enough that G could walk a lot on her own.
On this trail, with time to spare, Beckie and I finally got the hang of taking breaks – something we don’t often do, but key for G’s happiness. The 30 minutes we splashed and played with G in the creek at the top contributed to a far mellower, more enjoyable baby.
A brief break at the campground while G relaxed and I chilled a few beers
Then it was onto town and the resort. And the most amazing astounding playground ever!!!
This is like playing Doom!!
We had to tear G away from this playground. A cupcake at the bakery somewhat eased the pain. We tried to tell her that there was even better yet to come on the gondola…but what can two well-meaning parents do? There is no episode of “Go Diego Go” that deals with ski lifts.
The truth shall set you free
After some wandering around Mountain Village, G needed some fuel so we went to a pub for beer and french fries. G didn’t eat meals with any regularity all week, a lack of schedule and structure and tinyDiscipline, so snacks were key. Pumping 100 calories into The Monster was like a power-up in a video game. She devoured a whole box of Nutrigrain bars in 2 days. We embracecd snacks since snacks kept the peace. And I like talking about snacks! How is it that as soon as one hears the word “snacks,” one knows there will be a t.Human invovled?
We broke stereotype of two suburban parents by skipping the gondola and instead hiking off the mountain via the Boomerang Trail, a mile and 1000 feet down, then the Telluride River Trail 3 miles back to camp. The Boomerang trail was a loose, gravel-filled jeep road – it felt just like home, I had a little road whiskey to make the trip more enjoyable, courtesy of our stop at the grocery store at the base of Mountain Village; knowing we were going to hike and skip the gondola down, we went to the far-side mountain base and back to give G another ride. And get more snacks. There was a master plan at work!
The next day, we hiked the Bridal Veil Falls Trail. The morning sucked, the G dynamics as well as the B and J dynamics were not working well. The trail went up the box of the canyon, and it sucked; steep and gravelly and exposed to the sun and full of 4x4s. Then G went from holding the various “red blueberries, blue blueberries, and white blueberries” to trying to eat some of them. I didn’t mean to smack her, I tried to knock the shit out of her mouth, Beckie agreed I did the right thing – umbrage was taken.
zoom in to see the road we followed up
Good karma, and naps, eventually returned.
The falls were about 400 feet tall, and ~20 minutes of climbing later we reached the power station. The trail then split up to Bridal Veil Basin (pedestrians only) and the infamous Black Bear Pass 4×4 road. It got much nicer, much lusher, and much harder.
dandelions!
After a total of about 2 hours climbing, we found a nice spot for a break.
Overlook on the road down back into Telluride
We wanted to get into town by about 4 after our hike, so we could shop and search out any mid-season discounts on gear and clothes. Phoenix (pop. 3.25 million) has 2 snowboard stores, both full of arrogant 20-something idiots whom I have more days-per-year than. Telluride, (pop 2,321) has about 24 snowboard stores. G wanted to lollygag around camp as usual, but the mention of the playground spurred her on. G wanted to lollygag around the playground, but the mention of the gondola spurred her on. I found a $300 pair of snowboard boots for $150 in about 38 minutes.
The clerk at the board shop told us we should take the Jurassic trail down to town instead of the Boomerang Trail. It was sweet single track, but let us out on the far side of the mountain. No worries, she said, there was a free shuttle bus.
me on sweet singletrack trail, carrying my deeply-discounted boots for the start of 10 miles
Unfortunately, the shuttle had stopped running by the time we got down. I instantly hitched us a ride 1.25 miles out to the main road, but apparently Beckie is psychotic when it comes to the idea of hitching. It was a brisk but bitter 4 mile walk back into town for dinner at Smugglers, carrying my boots. Fortunately i had packed lights and cold-weather gear, something Beckie neglected to appreciate during her stew. I guess since this was the worst logistical issue of the trip, it should be considered a success. My knee flamed up and arthritically yelled at me in the restaurant, but I refused to let Beckie see it, and limped one-legged to take G to the potty. (It did not hurt me after )
Friday was going to be a hike above treeline outside of town on the Lake Hope Trail. It was maybe 2.5 miles each way, and about 1500 feet. It went from high up on the mountains near Lizard Head Pass to a reservoir at 11,900 feet. The trail was rugged and rocky. As was the drive up. It was not a hard 4×4 road, but the Prius has less ground clearance than a small daschund, and the 2 miles to the trailhead took 25 minutes and made my ears bleed with Beckie’s wailing.
Yet again, good karma eventually returned.
The trail was hard and we were worked, but it only took about 3 hours, and we shot back to town in time for hitting the clearance sale at the North Face store after a shower and beer. The showers took 8 quarters, and I never have cash – so we scavenged enough to let Beckie and G get some hot water. I had 3 days of cold Mexican showers. But at least the beer was cold, and i brought some for the gondola ride.
i upgraded the beer cooler
The North Face store was a hoot, and ironic that we were at 10,000 feet buying capilene t-shirts and hiking shorts at the North Face store. My cold-weather gear simply never wears out. At least Beckie bought herself and G a token fleece.
Another new and exciting playground!
We had a picnic dinner at a sweet spot along the River Trail back to camp, before a fast and easy 9-hr drive home the next morning. The highlight was stopping for gas in Cortez, and after a week’s worth of driving around the San Juan range, only taking 4.5 gallons.
Life can be stressful, even in the best of times. But if its success that makes the pace so unforgiving, its hard to complain about a free trip to New Orleans.
Less than 4 hours sleep and i was extremely jittery in the morning getting ready for my 7am flight, even before the coffee. i flailed and flumbled in my exhaustion and early-morning haze, barely managing to clip my keys and bottle opener to my backpack as i grabbed my gear for the shuttle to the airport. These are 2 important things not to lose track of in New Orleans, and it exhausted me menatally do deal with such responsibility after so little sleep. then i ran into a guy on the van i vaguely knew from work 2 years ago, then getting off the van i ran into a girl i vaguely knew from ultimate 2 years ago. then i ran into the mass of humanity everpresent at the SW security gate at Sky Harbor. This was all to much stress for me so early in the morning after so much stress working to get away for a few days. Booking Sam to babysit overnight for G (a first for all involved), packing, tieing up the chaos at work. So i went around the corner, ie to the next set of gates, to US Airways to slip through the short security line and avoid the stress. No worries…I was about to have 2 days to cram as much etouffee and Turbo Dogs down my throat as humanly possible. The fat guy at the TSA started asking me where i was going – New Orleans, no Dallas first, shit – and then why i was getting on at US Airways instead of Southwest. ummm…cause there is no line, and I really don’t mind walking if it lets me avoid, yknow, stress. He seemed bitter, like most US Airways employees.
then i went in to the ladies room, thinking it was the men’s room, and was so relaxed and sleepy i did not notice until on the way out a woman saw me and thought she was in the wrong room. Wow, did not occur to me. does that say women are less confrontational about where they pee? Clearly my New Orleans mood was already on.
we finally took off and flew out over the McDowells and i could just make out the Sunrise trail. that was cool – i’ve never quite figured out from the view of the mtns where Sunrise is. I first had to triangulate on 124th St. and Hidden Hils. Work on the plane, finish a book, and then before we knew it the Albuquerque airport, the ghetto bus is filling up and i pull my shit off the middle seat after those are getting plucked, and the dude in the aisle goes “is this open” and the woman on the end actually goes ” well, um, i guess so.” What do you mean “you guess so?” you had to be there, she actually didn t want to commit to her final answer. A few bloody mary’s took the edge off things. SouthWest business class includes drink tickets when you print out your boarding pass, but nothing stops you from xerox’ing the tickets, so armed with 4 I was prepared to enjoy my beverages and be a polite passenger.
EVENTUALLY arriving to my hotel ~3:30, then as soon as possible it was off on a walk to the Quater! Stopped for the essentials: sunscreen, eyedrops, and beer.
The Quarter is a fun walk when there is nowhere to be and a backpack full of beer. And it actually appears to be somewhat bike friendly, as I’ve seen gobs of bikers working their way down the streets.
One guy was locking up at what was obvisouly his work, and I almost offered him some $$ to rent for an hour, but urban riding requires 2 hands, and what would i do with my beer? So i walked,
and I took photos. I started down Bourbon street, which is what it is, but between then shitty bars and shitty strip joints and 1st beer and daylight, all i could do was smell the waft of piss and puke and shit and and beat-down strippers. Not like I remember from my last Mardi Gras. Maybe I’d walk it on the way home.
Moving through the Quater to Royale Street and things were much more copasetic. I meandered for a
few hours, and eventually camped out on a curb listening to a fun live band that mixed jazz, reggae, rap and some flutes. I got drunker, and more melancholy missing G and even more missing B. there are women everywhere in the Quarter and they all look good, be it the beer goggles or the N’awlins lubricant. The curb I am sitting on and writing from offers a perfect view of asses.
Eventually after many beers and much wandering I ended up at Coop’s Place based on my sister’s recommendation. I was getting pretty drunk and pretty hungry, so anyting sounded good, especially a suggestion. It was perfect. A loud, casual rock bar. I ordered the Jambalya Supreme, which came out almost instantaneously and had clearly been scraped from the bottom of the pot. Whatever. It was still good, at least to my untrained palate. They played Aerosmith, they played the Stones, they had wireless internet. what more could i want? a few Abita Purple Haze’s.
The night wound down and I walked up to my hotel just as two of my coworkers were arriving, poor choosing on their part if you ask me.
The next day we got up at 8 to head to the JazzFest, but realized breakfast and a nap were still feasible since we didn’t have to be there til darn near 11. Other than the dehydration and direct sun, i had no complaints. Nina and I were the only ones to bring hats, and I the only one to buy sunscreen. weird, shoulda suggestedd it to everyone. But i did worry that my 40oz of water would soon be gone, and for the ~3 hrs we worked watching the kiosks debut i was hot and tired and had some fabulous butt-crack sweat developing.
The kiosks were doing fabulously, knocking out sales and willcalls faster than tellers. We found a few bugs and a few usability erros, but mostly was a great time watching our baby in action. One of the developers Kevin who wrote the UI just had a blast talking to the crowd and getting their opinions, and i have to say it was cool to watch. Software is business, but it is creative, and its great to be on project where you and yoru teammates really take pride in what your build.
We took a lunch break, and while overpriced and long lines there is food everywhere at JazzFest. So much of it is so good and looks so good as people are walking by you. The trick is finding the lines from which the food that looks the best actually originates, which is no small feat. Lunch accidentally became a poyboy with shrimp, not bad, but i could have done so much better.
Back to the kiosk, a few patterns we identified in the problems, some notes regarding log messages we need to check. Its always neat to watch when we turn around fixes and the team hums along in good order – you see a problem, we all hit it hard and own our shit, and thousands of something-goers are happy again. But seeing it up close was becoming cooler and cooler the longer it happened. I could see our team knocking all this out in a day or 2 and imagine the improvements! In fact, mid-week the next week that is exactly what happened in the space of one day (and night) we fixed 50% of the total errors we were getting which was 10% of users. One night – 5% improvement, that sounds small but it is huge.
This good feeling about my work led right in to us getting cut loose for the day. Kevin, his friend, Nina, Dave and I split off and walked about the Jazzfest. It was stages and arts and crafts and beer tents and food. We eventually settled in on a spot on the lawn near the main stage to see Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. It was great, crowded, but great. One cool thing about JazzFest is it does not seem like so many other concerts with their posing and their mosh pits — this was like a giant picnic where everyone was out ot have a good time. Hence, the people’s whose fold-up chairs we were sitting in did not get mad when they showed back up to see us sitting in them.
But it was crowded, and we could barely see the stage and had to watch most of the concert through the monitors. Robert Plant sounds great, but looks awfult. Still it was so cool to hear him play old songs like Black Dog and new songs in the same set. He has always moved forward, and you can see that in his works for almost 40 years now. I’ve been lisenting to Led Zeppelin 4 and his newest Enchanter for 2 straight weeks.
After Robert Plant, Sheryl Crow was due on the main stage. It was just me and Nina by then, and she wanted to see Ozomatli. I had one of their albums Street Signs and liked it a lot, and was tired of the crowds, so off we went. It turned out to be a much better call. Easy beer, easy port-o-lets, easy food (seafood-stuffed mushrooms…yummy), and a great vibe where everyone was dancing and cheering and smoking big fat blunts 10 feet from the New Orleans cops. I wanted a hit so bad, it was the first contact high i’ve gotten since going to see Bob Dylan at the Spectrum in Philadelphia my junior year in high school.
A $10 ride on a school bus dropped us back at canal street and a 15 block walk from our hotel. I levelled with Nina, something I try to avoid with co-workers: we needed walking beers, and i needed to buy a gift for G. It was cute, it had frogs, and they squeaked, and it cost me $12!!!! I’d show my c@#k any day for $12!!!!
It is a 5-star restaurant, the likes of which i have never eaten and will likely never eat again. The service was impeccable, the food was exquisite, the ambience was divine. Ifelt so dirty just being there. I had Turtle Soup that exhumed a delicious dirty meat flavor in every sip, Sheep’s Head – which apparently is an actual fish – and it tasted beautiful, and a bread pudding that was air wrapped in sweet dough, all while sipping Wild Turkey on the rocks.
The next day i got up just late enough to catch breakfast and drink the last of my Turbo Dogs and Dixie’s Blackened Voodoos before my flight. Breakfast, even biscuits and gravy made out of yesterday’s sausage, was delicious. A mellow flight where I used the rest of my drink tickets and watched Into the Wild again and read Do The Right Thing by SouthWests’s own James Parker. Back at 4, Sam bolted, Beckie was in Big Sur for 2 more days. Barely a break to recover from my hangover before diving full-fledged into my tinyHuman.
I like the double-fisted, New Orleans spirit she exhibits.
*shrug* I went to the Art Museum.
. I’ve never ridden Ridgeline, but the initial descent was a quick technical wake-up call to start the race. It was fun to start on a downhill, and one that had some consequences for starting sleepy.
Stupid vision! Stupid safety!
.
We finally got riding about 10:30.
…if only they knew!
. And then later got caught on top of a 10 foot cliff, requiring one drop to a powder ledge between two rock outcroppings, and another slide over the lip to a short blind drop into what I only hoped would be powder). When Byron was ready to quit around 2, I attempted the Alberta Peak hike again. The wind was just as bad, but this time I followed two skiers out through the fog and used my board as a sail to push me up the hill. The descent through the untouched deep powder was worth it. We hit the 
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