Its been obvious lately that I have become slow and steady and enduring. Sometimes I feel like I can’t sprint worth a crap. I think about it, then get so tired, then continue on indefinitely at 90%.
Riding Desert Classic with Chongoman and CactusJoe I was getting spanked! I couldn’t spin fast enough, but we still made it to the watertank shy of 20 minutes which seems fast for me, so that has got to count for something? Classic can be surprisingly hard – the surface sucks your momentum in so many places, or you have to constantly climb a wash and then hold your pace. Its roadieing but the spinning is harder and much more work – i felt slow and fat and pathetic. Bob did not pull away from me much in the second half of the ride, i can fantasize its cause I am strong at enduros, but he was probably just tired of abusing me.
I feel like i’m talking myself into sprint workouts, but i have no desire to train to be fast for an hour. And absolutely no desire to do any sprint workouts. Sprint workouts, however, are one of those bellweathers that tell you if you are weak and afraid or are willing to attack your limits. Grrr…stupid sprint workouts!!! Stupid voices in my head telling me not to suck!!!
Bob suggested I do intervals during my commute, or pick 30 minutes and simply hammer. Its a great idea, a lot like how I would combine my track workouts with walking Tsaina and Kila. If I can just find a way to make it happen and still deal with the traffic and the heat and the 2 1-hour rides each way. Excuses… Scottsdale is out of the question with all the lights. The most logical stretch is through Mesa which is just about 30 minutes. When I start, I usually am sleepy and just getting into a rhythm, so imposing a sprint on myself there would be a recipe for frustration. On the way home, I am already tired from 1.5 hrs of riding and the heat, but it would be the best time to dig deep.
And I thought the safest part of the ride, except for the stupid suburban fatasses in their Escalades on their cell phones who almost hit you turning left in broad daylight in moderate traffic on a wide road with a bike lane when you have right-of-way. Got a great look at her tightly bound hair and chubby chin through the open window as I flipped her the bird and yelled “You fucking cunt!!!” You know a woman is completely oblivious to your existence when you use the c-word and she doesn’t react even a little. All women flinch involuntarily at the c-word, which means she had no clue I was there, which makes me glad I used the c-word. Coming a wheel’s width from a 6,000 lb car’s bumper will do that to you.
I tried the sprinting yesterday anyway – hammering from about Greenfield Rd. to the 101, more or less. And I do believe I shaved about 4 minutes off my time and felt better and faster. It wasn’t quite sprinting, but the pace was up fo sho. Much the same seemed to occur on the way home. I should be happy with just upping my pace for a few rides, and when that becomes comfy genuinely throw in some 30 and 60 seconds sprints and recoveries.
I should make a point of hammering when I do the Usery Loop from start-to-finish.
DAMMIT!!!
I swore once I gave up Ultimate I’d never do another sprint workout again!!!! and to think just today I finally sold my cleats for $30 on CraigsList. First time since I was about 8 i think I do not have cleats.
Well its about time!!! No politics, no pork. Nothing for me to do cause there is nothing for the government to do. Subsidies for the Big 3 automakers – cut! DEA busts on homegrowers – cut! Corn price inflation for ethanol requirements – cut! Fannie Mac and Freddie Mae bailout – cut! AMT – cut! World policing – cut! cut! cut! cut! cut! cut! Power-to-weight standard for US cars – ok.
anyone want a cabinet post? now bring on the Lewinksys.
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.
Indigo Joe’s had a great offseason innovation – little banners of the teams in the games showing hung under each TV. I saddled up to the bar and planted my ass in a stool with utter and complete confidence that I had the best seat to watch the Eagles, and next to the support pillar which gives me a buffer zone to use my laptop. I complimented the owner on his brilliant informational innovation, asked him if he change was approved at the annual owner’s meetings during the winter. He reminded me that I forgot my squawk box!!! I’m outta shape, its been a long offseason!!!
The bartender was knew and she knew little about football. I told her she only needed to learn a few key phrases, which she could place in key situations to increase her tips. But she’ll need to keep learning or by week 10 I’m gonna be wondering why she keeps telling my team to score a safety!
Moose Johnson has become a handsome ex-fullback. Who’dathunk that?
My new imaginary idealized fantasy team:
Smashtastic McNegratuid – MLB
Vince Testitasticlees – QB
Jarvis Jerius Jervicious Jones-Johnson – RB
Siete Ocho – OG
G puts her shoes on a lot. And yet in all the times she has tried, I can not once remember her getting the correct shoe on the correct foot.
Beckie confirms.
Chances of this being purely coincidental are astronomical. She can figure out how to take off the shoes, how to stick the socks inside of the shoes, how to root through her show drawer for a choice pair of shows, how to fetch her shoes, how to fetch my shoes, how to complain when certain shoes can not be found. How does she never get the correct shoe on the correct foot?
i encourage footwear. And today in her urge to help me take out the recycling, she embraced my recommendation for footwear with a zealousness that rang of comprehension.
But no conditioning seems to trigger the understanding. Left…right…what’s the difference?
That is so harmonious, and so consistently novel, and so full of options!
And so much to repair.
I thought multiple bikes would mean less work, instead there is always more to do. Always parts that are broken that do not match other parts on hand for other bikes. Always drips and drabs.
Thursday was the rear shifter cable and derailleur pulley on the Blur, which was packed full of crud still from the Crazy 88; Saturday was spokes on the Heckler which required unmounting the rotor and the cassette. Lacing spokes as repairs always bends the spokes, and here’s a tip – when you clip the spoke on the trail, leave enough length so you can grab it when you unscrew it from the nipple. The front wheel of the Blur was rubbing the brake calipers and needed truing, and i can only hope that was why I was struggling so badly on Desert Classic. The Superlight needs its handlebars aligned, and the roadie…well, I changed my cleats a ride ago they probably need to be tightened. I need to lube the shock mounts on the Heckler, change rear tires on both the Blur and the Heckler, and I had to stick a cork from a wine bottle into the handlebar on the Heckler where i lost one of the bar plugs. I painted the tabletop of my work table, so the particle board will keep from fraying. I hung a hook in the garage to hang my new #2 spoke wrench on.
I endo’d over a big dog yesterday. I was taking Kila out for her first run in a week, since she spent our Colorado vacation in Byron’s backyard. As usual, we immediately went rocketing down the street and were at close to 20 mph by the time we reached the mailbox. Then I noticed a dog I’d never seen before, sprinting out of a house I’ve passed thousands of times. Things happened fast. Kila started to cut in front of me to go see the dog, then realized she was getting her paws run over as the edge of the tire grazed her and I yanked her back to my right side. The other dog was suddenly right in front of me, I slammed on my brakes, t-boned it, and went over the bars.
I think I still had Kila’s leash when I got up off the ground. I was rattled and a little amped, but other than having to re-align the bars and the stem, and a few very minor scrapes, I was perfectly fine.
The owner of the house, my neighbor for many years who I have never met, grabbed his dog and was aghast and apologizing before I quite realized what happened. Realizing I was fine, the bike was fine, and Kila was fine, I became worried I’d hurt his dog. But he said the dog was good. He offered another apology which I accepted and said “no worries, I was partly to blame” and then I rode on to the park. I was just a little too full of adrenaline to stick around and make sure everything and everyone was settled.
Technically, the other guy was 100% at fault. Realistically, there is no way in hell I’m going to be mad at a dog or an owner when the dog runs out right in front of its own house, something Kila does almost every time I open the garage. Nor will I point a finger when I am hurtling down the street with my own attractive nuisance that I was not able to completely control. I hear it on MTBR all the time and I get sick of it – people blaming everything but themselves for their inability to stop. Fact is I was out of control. Fact is I could not stop. If you are riding a bike too fast, and you can not stop, the crash is your fault.
I’ve gotten into some animated discussions on the message board regarding this topic, and was kinda glad to see that when the skin met the road I still felt like I’ve always preached. Maybe I’d have felt differently if I’d broken my wrist — I certainly would have expected the other guy to help pay my medical bills under those circumstances — but I kinda don’t think I’d have been blame-throwing even then.
Down at the park, I reflected on all this, and began to worry about the other dog. I nailed it pretty good, and hoped the owner wasn’t just saying his dog was cool in order to avoid a confrontation. I wanted to be sure that he knew how hard I hit his dog, but, I worried that if I went back and talked to him he’d think I was coming to start an argument or sue him! I went back and forth over whether I should go knock on his door, but eventually decided that it was the right thing to do for the dog and the man to put his mind at ease that I was ok. If nothing else, it would be a good deposit in the karma bank. With all my preaching about how trail sharing is easy if people just communicate, having a good conversation with my neighbors in an awkward situation would be a test of my own potential for hypocrisy.
My neighbor — Steve — was a little tense when he opened his door. I quickly smiled and introduced myself, said I lived just down the street, and was worried that his dog was ok. He immediately lightened up, apologized again, I demurred again saying I was partly to blame and that what occurred was nothing I did not do to myself every week on South Mountain. We shook hands, wished each other well, and got on with our evenings. Wouldn’t it be great if all such situations got resolved that way?
)
The front wheel of the Blur was rubbing the brake calipers and needed truing, and i can only hope that was why I was struggling so badly on Desert Classic. The Superlight needs its handlebars aligned, and the roadie…well, I changed my cleats a ride ago they probably need to be tightened. I need to lube the shock mounts on the Heckler, change rear tires on both the Blur and the Heckler, and I had to stick a cork from a wine bottle into the handlebar on the Heckler where i lost one of the bar plugs. I painted the tabletop of my work table, so the particle board will keep from fraying. I hung a hook in the garage to hang my new #2 spoke wrench on.
