Month: January 2010
Turkey ala king with cajun seasoning
Not wanting to trash either the trails or my bike, amped and desperate for some adventure in all this interesting weather, and possessing the day off work, I came up with a good’un: ride the road about 40 minutes to Wind Cave, hike, then retire to a local ale haus. Maad was up for the challenge, his wholly inappropriate all-mountain bike his utensil of (not)choice, though he kept up admirably on the road stretches.
Early afternoon during a lull in the storms. brought my $5 coat, shell pants, extra shirt, socks and gloves jic
It was touch and go for a while with the weather, but it broke in our favor
The Wind Cave, from Usery Pass Rd.
locking the bikes at the TH. I left my oldest nastiest helmet and shoes next to the bike rather than haul them up the mtn
2 years since I’ve hiked this
and the trail was seriously scoured from the storm
Its really nice to hike fast without 30lbs of protoplasm strapped to you; before either me or The Knee knew it we were shooting up and down the hard spots, which thanks to the weather was most of it. If you can keep the cadence, its such an easier more fun trail. The descent for a brief few minutes made up for not snowboarding. The sensation of speed and motion on a bike is amazing, but it doesn’t compare to the empowerment of having your legs under you. I’m so thrilled my knee handled this, i’ve really missed this hike, and I’m going to do this workout again.
clear air made the views exemplary
water trickled constantly over the cave mouth
the little shiny dot out there past Camelback is Cardinals Stadium
Beckie and Alana joined us for chips and beers at Nando’s – a new (unimpressive) Mexican place
The rain at sunset drove us off the patio, and justified the gore-tex gear. i left it on and took Kila out when the rain slowed at nightfall. Damp soft ground, cool air, and romping offleash are invigorating for Kila. I have to try to catch it on film before this season is out. The rain had filled the drainage basins, so i cruised one side on the Heckler through off-camber rocks and gravel, and Kila matched my pace from 50 yards across the pond running atop a retention wall. Water was a foot deep in spots on the RMR golf course path, and climbing the railroad tie staircases was slippery work, almost like riding in Colorado.
tonight Beckie made dinner
Proper Names
G and I went searching after Alana, who had been repeatedly racing across the house and vanishing over the treadmill. I had to use the brake — the fucking brake — on the trainer to keep her from ripping off her hands. She also pulled down most of the dvds.
So i said to G, Alana is being awful sneaky. Which G found quite amusing. and when we carried Alana back to the office after yet another one of her forays into the wild, and Beckie said: hand over the Podford! G said: Shes not just a podford anymore. She’s becoming a little person. Just like I had said it to G.
This led to a discussion of why we still called her Podford, and the vast difference between a Podford and a little person. it was finally explained that a Podford was a tiny human, and that i used to call G tinyHuman. And now she finally gets that Alana is starting to not be such a Podford.
tinyHuman fit G better, Podford definitely fit Alana better. Going back through my blog i never called Podford tinyHuman as much as i called tinyHuman tinyHuman. I’m so relieved to finally be at peace with the dilemna of what to call Podford, now that she no longer is a Podford, but clearly was a Podford and not a tinyHuman.
G meanwhile continues to blow my mind wiht how she adapts to Alana’s changes. As Alana has gotten mobiler, grabbier and climbier, she keeps taking things from G. Oooh snap, oh no she didn’t! But then we have conversations:
Me: sweetheart, you need to be nice to Alana, she’s stupid.
G: well…
Me: she is sweatheart, she small and she does stupid things.
G: *laughing*
Me: *laughing*
G: i was stupid too once
Me: that’s right, you were very stupid, and so was i
G: we were all stupid once, right dad?
This is how it went in G’s dePodfordation of Podford. She is a smart little girl, and perhaps soon I can have her babysitting.
My daughter is a pampered brat and Disney is a dusty old fart
We got free tickets to see Disney on Ice. Impossible to resist. The 11:30 showtime would force me to stay sober while drowning in the world’s biggest daycare, but the Cox Suite promised free food and soft drinks and free-range babies. G was psyched, as she always is. She was also uncharacteristically bitchy.
She strutted in, she demanded food, she demanded a seat, she demanded food, she demanded a seat, she demanded a drink with her food and would not sit in her seat. She wanted to touch all the dessert trays and snack bowls and demanded her food and her seat – she knows better, they don’t pull that shit in daycare.
The last few years have been a boon to have access to all the events we have. I feel compelled to ask for tickets whenever available because its such a privilege to get such awesome seats to such premiere events. I get it that G doesn’t have a notion of the $300-amazing-family-experience that has just landed in our lap, but I try to inspire in her an appreciation for how much special fun we will have. Mostly I succeed. Being spoiled is not ugly if you are sweet while reveling in it – just look at my dog. Hence my disappointment and chagrin at her disinterest and sense of entitlement. She is usually so much better? 
I want to cut her some slack on some things, like it being earlier in the day and her not wanting to sit still. Or even think still. Live entertainment is slower, and more focused than TV. Its faster in its way, but those moments of the puck getting 1-timed at 90mph are strewn wantonly amidst set changes, tv breaks, and referee meetings. G is definitely…not short-attention…but a smart little girl of the internet age. You need to own her interest.
And, the suite isolates you too much from the live experience. Its certainly more convenient, just like your living room. You can move and run around and stretch and scratch your balls and get some cookies and chicken fingers from the kitchen . You can do everything but pause the Tivo. The suite is far superior for the family as a whole, but you lose so much of what makes the event special. You are not amongst the groundlings, where friendships and rivalries develop with strangers, where you don’t climb all over the furniture cause someone will call the usher if they dont smack you first. You don’t feel the rumble of 10,000 people jumping and clapping, have your vision filled by a behemoth NBA center dwarfing over his trainers, or hear the thack thack thack thack thack of a puck skittering along the boards. I get ansty in the suite sometimes too. Plays, musicals, the circus…for me at least…require so much more attention and focuson top of it all. There are few highlights – more tension and drama that you immerse yourself in, which when done right, build on themselves as the show progresses. Its been years since I have given myself over to a play; its been 5 years since I’ve been to a movie or a stand-up show.
G’s behavior is somewhat fitting, given that of her parents, even if she is the root of it. But I have chosen my internet and WFH and rides in unpopulated spaces vs. suffering the public or my child in public. I know the alternatives, and respect their value and their costs. G has not and does not. G is selfish, in a completely non-pejorative sense. There are single moms paying, perhaps a lot, for seats in the upper deck and for expensive concessions so that they might share a day with their kids. I wish G was more appreciative of the good fortune she has in having parents with hook-ups, but I’m just not sure how much she ever will given these conditions. I am disappointed in both of us for having so indulged her. She needs to suffer on a ride with me, get some reality back into her fantasy.
Against the backdrop of it all, another circumstance in my pre-disenfranchised kid’s favor, it that Disney is a franchise, in a way I’ve never before appreciated, cause it moved so glacially slow i never noticed. The movie Cars came out 4 years ago, but Disney maintains the site and the franchise as if its current. Bolt (by Disney), Finding Nemo and others that I thought are way better movies are…well…movies. They came, we saw, they conquered, we burned pirated copies. The things Disney chooses to make their flagships stick around a long long time. Why? They all are vaguely dated, dull, ‘merican, and sexist, even Cars, even before they stick around a long long time. Minnie Mouse could not change a flat tire to save her life, and 50 or 60 years later, neither can the female Porsche Carrera Sally who gave up her job as an attorney to WAHT?!? crusie the slow lane and be Lightning McQueen’s girl. They play these scenes over and over, almost right out of the movies, but dumbed down and slowed down like a Broadway-Americana-40’s-Attention-Span-Review, on ice. Even the multi colored groundlights with the multi-shaped templates that made the ice look like any background on the computer could not do enough to make it as good.
too much analysis? It could be i’ve ruined my daughter and am using my silver tongue to excuse it, like David Caruso pretending to be Steve Carrell pretending to be David Caruso in Jade? It could be that she just likes hockey better.
While the Snowpocalypse raged, chollaball stood at the buffet line getting some scrapple
After weeks of surfing NOAA and weather.com for long-range forecasts, we targetted this weekend for Byron and my 5th Annual Low-Overhead Highly-Flexible Ski Trip, this time with James and maybe another along. And OMFG were the storms stacking up. Right at the end of a week of puking snow. Unfortunately, Byron’s work was also stacking up, as was mine orthogonally, as was the sunshine. This caused great angst – neither of us wanting to break the tradition, but respecting the respective constraints on eachother’s schedules. Byron ultimately bowed out gracefully and gave James and I his blessing for a great trip. This was the epitome of “no friends on powder days.“.
We hit the road at 4am, but it was already heavy rain. Should have left the night before and deadheaded to the hotel parking lot. Snow was blowing sideways when we hit Camp Verde, and discovered I-17 was closed at Sedona. No way out, and it would only get worse for the next 2 days. We drove 2 hrs home, I went to work. It sucked. A friend of mine in Durango told me the snow in his front yard was up to his nipples – douche bag.
G was trapped inside daycare from the time they opened til I got her at 6:30. The wrong one of us went bell-to-bell cause of the snow. I convinced her she was antsy, mostly cause i was antsy; weather this different you need to experience, for all the unrelenting weeks of 104. I talked G into the Pink Park where we could play in the mud and feel the wind, and hang out and salvage a scrap from the day. She was happy enough climbing to the attic to look for her old boots, or wearing Beckie’s all night. The Park only lasted 15 minutes, the storm will last 2 more days.
I will hit Wolf Creek this year!! and technically, I have never eaten scrapple, but I have made many scrapple-inspired dishes from leftover hams and turkeys, delicious meat-like casseroles and meatspready loaves of meaty-tasty soup. Once you’re resigned to eating the scraps, such minor differentiations are insignificant. Now I have a day off and its raining too hard to ride anywhere and I don’t wanna trash my bike? Ride to and hike Wind Cave? Pass the cajun seasoning.
All of Hawes
Hawes In Toto would have been a cooler post name. It would effervescently flaunt my linguistic virtuosity. But that would be bullshit. Its not all that, its just a tidy bit of perfect. Great cardio XC route out my door, a few spots of B-grade gnar, a few blue climbs, awesome views and rolling fun. Its my Tortilla route for the mtb, but just a bit less scary: more can go wrong on the mtb, but there is more i can do in my own defense. It took me 10 years to want to finally put it all together, to know it enough to feel its just a stroll on the local trails. To know it enough that soon it will not be enough, and thus it begat the Hawes\PassMtn\Goldfield\Sups route. And soon we will move. If I rode this every day I’d go insane, but if I had 4 hrs to ride it every other week I’d be grateful.
GPX file link: All_of_Hawes.gpx
Exploring the Superstitions
My last Bulldog Canyon ride spawned a discussion between me, Maad and MtBikeAZ (Mike) about stringing together a huge route from Hawes all the way out to Peralta. It would touch the Hawes system, Pass Mtn, the Goldfields, and the Superstitions. We had the west part of Hawes, PM and part of Bulldog sorted out. Mike had some experience in the Sups and some tracks for the Goldfields. More beta needed to be accumulated; I needed a long ride and was craving a new trail.
I’ve never ridden in the Sups. Hell, I haven’t been to the Sups at all in 2 years. 
Yeah…i know, i know…blame the Monsters. The new 202 extension makes it a lot closer, and in just 30 minutes I started soaking in the walls I’d be underneath at all day.
The trails out here are relatively new. We started at the Cloudview TH, which splits the east and west halves of the Lost Goldmine trail. Calling the west half a trail is a stretch.
Within 30 seconds I was face down in humble pie, thinking to myself: this is total absolute total fucking bullshit!! I rode the Spine on the Waterfall last week at night, rocks crumble to dust before me, WTF?? The trail was maybe 1% grade but all rocks, half-embedded and square-edged and moving and not-moving and pointy. It took me 10 minutes to settle into a gear and a cadence that would let me move at negative-mph over this gruesome surface and still be moving forward. I only looked up to see the mountains when I stopped to gulp air, my eyes were glued to the ground since every moment offered outstanding potential for off-balance low-speed carnage. Its hard to describe a trail this ugly, riding in AZ you get so used to many ugly ugly trails that you learn to tune the chum out. It was like Bajada, but flatter and smaller and more rocks. It was like Ice Cave, but annoyinger. It was the slaggiest parts of the McDowells, on acid and steroids and overlaid with an acidysteroidal mixture of sand and catclaw and Bulldog Canyon.
And then suddenly it stopped.
And then it started. And then it stopped again. And then it started but we were going 2% downhill grade at negative-mph deflecting off every acidysteroidal rock in the trail. You needed to pedal to maintain speed, but pedaling made you off-balance and deflect more.
And then it actually, inconceivably, got worse. 
The Jacob’s Crosscut trail would lead us 3 miles over into Lost Dutchman State Park. A quarter mile up it, i asked Mike if we were on the right trail — this to the guy who runs the single-most encyclopedic site on AZ trails. The trail was…wait for it…yes! It was the worst surface I have ever ridden. Everything acidysteroidal before and after lumped into one bed of rock going up a wash, that turned naturally and sharply like washes do, and had prickly pear and cholla encroaching every few feet due to the concentration of water. Each time I felt myself losing roll and getting ready to dab, I’d frantically look for the nearest spot without cactus and lunge towards it to throw my feet out into something that resembled safety. Falling over into space would be better than ramming my hands or feet into thorns. My shins still ended the day with spider webs of tiny scratches.
One near-flat was the worst we got on the day. I fed the spunk monster an extra helping of spunk the night before, best decision on the day, other than wearing sleeves.
Mike dodged this bullet about 15 minutes from the end. I was superstitious about commenting on our good luck. And sure enough 2 minutes later Mike pulled up with a chollaball stuck in his arm. He was very professional about it, nary a complaint while he waited patiently for us to extract it out of his flesh.
After the first horrible mile, Jacob’s Crosscut settled into a tight, slow-techy trail full of hairpin turns and surprisingly rewarding flow along the base of the Flatiron. Woot woot!
At 8 miles and about 1:30 riding, we intersected the Siphon Draw trail in Lost Dutchman State Park, and headed downhill toward rt. 88. Part of this ride was to be about finding a connection from our GPS tracks of the Goldfields into the Superstitions. A few potential routes we spotted on Google Earth were gated off or on private property, but working our way back behind the touron cowboy town south of the park we were able to connect the gpx route with a bit of singletrack that led us back out onto Rt. 88 just north of the park. Woohoo!!
the secret passage
The boost from finding a key element to our epic route fired us up for the climb back through the fun part of Jacob’s Crosscut. Something clicked for me, maybe knowing what to expect from the trail or removing the uncertainty of whether or not our ride out through all this crap bould be fruitless, but I was having much better success through the slog and really enjoying the climbing and the scenery and the moves. Mike had been doing well all day, better than me, and he continued to show his prowess at rock-surfing.
The descent back down the horrible wash was…wait for it…worse going downhill. Uphill was effort, but downhill the littlest bit of extra momentum led to the littlest bit of extra ponging which carried me dangerously close to every cactus on the trail. Afraid to pedal, afraid to stop, afraid to put down my feet…i just pointed and prayed and tried to stay centered til we came to the end. My hands and wrists ached worse than after Porcupine Rim, even though the whole descent took all of 5 minutes.
The last few miles of rocky climb and descent went quickly as we both could feel the finish of this portion of the ride, and eagerly looked forward to our resupply back at Cloudview. About 1:30 to navigate the 10 miles from Rt. 88 back to Cloudview, with the route in this direction being more fun and just a bit easier. We arrived back at Cloudivew in 3:20 and 22 miles. YEAH!!!
Mike’s bud Kevin met us for the 2nd half of our ride, the day’s payoff on the rolling east half of Lost Goldmine. The trail was nice, tight, flowy but with plenty of up and down and gradual work along the edges of the mountains. It was rugged but relatively hospitable, at least by the standards we’d grown used to for the day, and absolutely worth riding if you’re in the area or passing by only 5 minutes off US 60. Once we got out of the parking lot area, we saw very few people, and those we did see were far mellower than the typical crowds at Somo. There were a lot of horse tracks, but they fit the vibe and ambiance of this system far better than cramming in between 6in all-mountain bikes and flip-flop wearing hikers in the Valley.
Goldmine is Kevin’s home trail, and he helped build a number of spurs through the area. He fun-enabled this third of our ride, showing us all the little scenes and hits we would have ridden right by. Local tours rock! Thanks Kevin!
uniquely fractured rock
Indian pools for water and grinding corn
The best part was a loop Kevin took us down heading southward from the middle of the east half of Lost Goldmine. It meandered, completely gratuitously, into and out of a wash via whoopdies and 180s. It was like macrame – knots and loops for their own sake – that let us swoop and rail our bikes as we carved through the desert. There were a fair share of intermediate rock trials mixed in, nothing too hard, but just enough to keep you honest. My usual m.o. is to wad up on new trials, at least until I get a good look at them. Kevin gave us enough warning and led by example, so I was able to just hang back with my technique and clean darn near everything. Superfun!
great expression on Mike’s face makes this pic a new fav
thanks Mike for an awesome day! We had previously only ridden together on Milagrosa and the third Quad Bypass as part of larger groups, but found today that our pace and tech skills and stamina were very compatible. Very cool when your e-friends turn out to be real friends. Plans are afoot for the Hawes-PassMtn-Goldfields-Sups epic sometime before the heat rises.
We ended back at Cloudview with 31 miles, 3700 vf, and about 4.75 spin time. I felt good and had legs up through the end. Granted there were no monster climbs, but it still felt good to feel good. Driving home 2 coyotes trotted across the road right in front of me, in no particular hurry, exploring the area just like us. I had time to stop the car, get my camera from my camelback in the trunk, and still catch a pic.
I met Beckie at the Pink Park, where it was my turn to tag in. She took the car and the Hei Hei home to get out for some of her own miles. I hung out in my stinky clothes and sweaty booch and salt-crusted skin and played with the girls until they too bonked, and then hauled them home in the Burley, just in case I wasn’t tired enough. Beer and homemade salsa cured all; my salsa verde has officially become good.
Dirt for the 2-Bike
It was time to take G on a more exciting ride! Riding to the Pink Park is so 2 weeks ago, and we spent 2 hrs there yesterday. For the first time in almost 2 years we headed down to the river with Kila. It was still sandy, still flat, still only 2.5 miles, but it was a full-on mtb adventure for G.
We packed, many important things in an entirely new backpack, which she wore for most of the day. Carrying it in my pack at the end, the inevitable result, was the cost of getting her covered in sunscreen and fired up to go ride.
We prepared our helmet. She did this all by herself. Getting good at putting on and taking off too.
The 2-bike had to be broken down to fit in the trunk. G surprised me by recognizing the handlebars and recognizing that we had to put them back on before we could ride. She helped, if some kind of help is the kind of help we all can do without.
We were still talking about the javalina we saw run across the road while she strapped on her kneepads.
There was a rider and a horse, and G patted its nose (the horse, not the rider). There were mechanicals, as G’s axle bolt slid forward causing 3 separate chainsucks. There was a slow-leak in the not-oft-used ghetto tubeless rear on the Blur. I had a hunch shit might happen, i brought a camelback and extra clothes and extra water and tools. I explained to G that sometimes bikes break and it wasn’t her fault. It was a social pace. Kila romped; G commented on every mound of horse poo.
The bike slips and slide drunkenly on the trail, especially with a sloshy rear wheel. It moves far better than the trailer with so much momentum, and G’s contribution to getting through the sand pits made them nothing much at all. The adventure took almost 3 hrs, with maybe 30 minutes actual riding time. Skipping rocks and hike-a-biking and playing with stuffed animals took up the rest. No leashes, no people, just my girl and my dog and the river trail.
Hell is other people
Mornings with me, G and Alana become our own existential morality play. Someone is ready to get up when someone is ready to sleep, someone is squirming when someone is settling, someone is throwing toys up and down when someone is underneath them, someone is kicking someone in the balls when someone does not want their balls being kicked.
Alana wakes everyone up during the night with bursts of teething-inspired screaming. G wakes everyone during the night incoherently mumbling “cho choc choc milk choc choc milk mommy choc choc chocolate milk.” I must wake everyone up with the forcefield of stress and insomnia that permeates off me.
I meant to get up earlier yesterday. I meant to get up earlier cause I meant to be sleeping during my sleeping. Instead, Alana threw a fit at 6:00am, and I settled down with her and G while Beckie snuck out to work. Except the 2 of them kept me in a state of semi-sleep deprivation. About 9, I finally told G to get out of bed and get herself a bowl a cereal. In retrospect, I think she was inspired by feelings of empowerment and the realization she could feed herself.
then I heard thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk as G streaked across the house
then I heard drag-drag-drag-drag-drag and looked up to see G’s little yellow chair in the bedroom facing the bed.
then I heard thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk as G streaked across the house
then I heard drag-drag-drag-drag-drag And looked up to see G’s little yellow table setup neatly in front of the chair.
then I heard thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk and promptly fell back to sleep.
I thought I woke up to see G sitting at her table. I definitely woke up to G dragging a kitchen towel back to the kitchen saying “I’m cleaning up all the spills.”
I found some milk sloshed in the hallway, and a few cheerios scattered about the foyer. I don’t really know what happened. G shut up, Alana and I slept.
Today again I tried to sleep, to lose myself in my solipsism and comfy pillows. The presence of others intruded upon me, toy toolboxes opening and closing, toy drills roaring to life, while babies and toddlers stood face-to-face along crib walls, reading books and singing and trying to say hello in french, but all i heard over and over was G going “bonjur bonjur bonjur bonjur!!!“.
Parenthood is an attempt to infuse a reality and meaning by fulfilling a biological destiny and perpetuating one’s essence. Its a masochistic desire to be self-limiting, using your own reflective consciousness to shape that of others upon you. Mine want to get up early, I want to sleep in, there is no exit.
Hello World!
Alana and I walked in the door. Beckie said “Alana!” which she’s started recognizing as her name, evidenced by when she heaves her fatty face up and throws a big bejowelled grin at you. Then she said “blahblah” which actually in real life sounds like Mama. She kinda sorta did the same to me the other day, its hard to know if you are the thing she wanted or just the next shiny thing. She also kinda says Kila.
The words are slow in coming, but the voice is there. Crying has long been a dialect unto itself, joined now by burbles of happiness, chirps of interests, and tuts or impending dismay. All come across crystal clear and with perfect diction. We were happily playing in the dirt at the zoo when Beckie passed by chasing G, and Alana launched into a concerto of squeaks and squeals and uneven asthmatic-sounding wheezing. She does love her mama.
Again I find myself trying to match this behavior to G. When did G start “talking”? When did she know to use words to communicate? G continues to seem above-average in her verbal skills, and talking to her is a full blown conversation – only the simplicity of her thoughts reveals you are talking to a 4-yr old. We have been so lackadaisical with Alana in so many ways I’ve had pangs of guilt that we do not do enough, irrational remorse that acumen begins early and butterfly effects into a college scholarship or a stool at the drive-thru window. I don’t read much to either of them, though I used to much more with G – much easier when there is only 1 needy Monster to placate.
In some ways Alana gets spoken too more than G, since Genevieve is always interacting with her. It gives her 3 instructors. In some ways G talking to her is best of all, certainly G grabbing her and wrestling with her offers her companionship unlike anything her parents can give. Beckie and I talk to Alana, but G gets all up in her grill and speaks Alana’s language. Like with her starting to walk, I feel bound to stimulate her talking. It gets funner when she talks back. Maybe that’s why suddenly I’m interested?