Perhaps I am relying too much on chorizo

May 22, 2011 / chollaball / Leave a comment

its hard to go wrong that way, though. Its like sherry cream sauce. Have you ever had anything with sherry cream sauce that didn’t turn you into a ravenous zombie?

I took everything left in the fridge that would sustain the grill: an eggplant, a head of cauliflower, 2 turnips that lasted nearly 2 months, 2 hearty-sized grey squash, a big fat onion, and 2 batch green onions. sprinkle in the chorizo. A full-boar 10 min start on the grill, followed by about 45 min of low heat with 1 cup water poured into the pan 2x. Add green onions and cheese for 5 min on no-heat at the end.

OMFG!

Firsts

May 22, 2011 / chollaball / 1 Comment

saw this out the porch window! Alana skipped the tricycle and the strider bike. Almost a year ahead of G

night-blooming cactus

a trip to the movies to see Rio!

Casner Mountain Dirty Century

May 18, 2011 / chollaball / Leave a comment

Burgeoning confidence in my ability to knock out a long day has begat an addiction to big adventure rides. After the PMC, I was fired up and full of aplomb for this ride. It was largely on jeep roads, so an easier 100 than singletrack. The concept of dropping into Sedona from Flagstaff and climbing back was seductive.

I didn’t do any particular training, just my normal routine, and initially intended to do the 50 (nee 60) one way into Sedona. Chump change. But the overhead started to creep in: leave home the night before, get a ride or drop a shuttle car in Sedona, back to Flag, all to only ride 50 miles… James decided to go big about when i did, and our goal was set.

Maad and Gordon get their game faces on in the Safeway parking lot

Nacho Libre es mas macho!!! Noel and his family put me and BrianC up at their cabin. Close proximity to the start made the 6am launch tolerable.

16 riders started, most of whom were faster than me. This ride was, ostensibly, a group ride, but I had no expectations of that happening. Neither the fast guys hammering to Sedona nor the touring guys heading to Oak Creek Brewery were a fit. I felt much better when i let go of the pack and turned on my music, trading company and a draft for a pace i could maintain. Losing the push to keep up with others was a vulnerability, so i broke the ride down into splits to keep on pace for finishing in the 13.5 hours of daylight. 6 hours to Sedona, 3 hours out of Sedona and up the rim, and 3 hours back to Flag left me 1.5 hours to rest, resupply and puke. This translated into about a 10mph moving pace, Schnebly Hill aside, which became my metronome – each swing of speed, each slowdown, i had to target at least 10 mph or I’d never get done.

The first 25 miles were surprisingly tiring fireroads, ripples of washboard and strips of sand forcing constant activation instead of easy-spinning. I quickly got hungry, which was a huge red flag. Driving north during dinner and getting up early set me down at least 1000 calories, and suddenly managing my hunger became as big a deal as hydrating, but harder, since I usually pig out at home and don’t think much about food while riding. Experience helped me adapt, which wound up saving me. I finished all the food i thought i wouldn’t need by mile 70, but carefully avoided bonking the whole ride.

a tornado came through here last fall

hello, welcome to my Happy Place. Can i get you anything?

After 2 hours and about 25 miles, we neared the end of the Mogollon rim and got a glimpse of Casner Mtn. Vistas of Red Rock Country surrounded the steep powerline road across the ridgeline. When I saw this stretch on the topo profile, i thought it was a mistake in the track since the pitches shot straight up and down in rapid succession.

powerline roads are mountain biking’s Martin Luther King Jr Blvd

somebody ran this guy over. I’m blaming my friend Raybum, who I saw at mile 15 and then again at mile 70

wildflower season in the Valley has been pretty tepid, but looked good in the high country

throwing my bike down in frustration on this gang-banged hike-a-bike led to the above pic

approaching the 2k descent

these endurance rides bring out different kinds of riders and bikes, which is part of the fun…seeing others’ styles, strengths and weaknesses, goals and ambitions for a given day, how each person solves the problem of The Perfect Ride on The Perfect Bike. This guy (forgot his name) was on a rigid single-speed cross bike, and had us thinking of a Medivac as he slipped side-to-side down the babyhead-filled ruts. I was at the back of the fast pack for the entire approach, but led our group down, then got smoked again by the guys on CX bikes.

James in the switchbacks on the 3 mile descent off Casner

behind James, the switchbacks are scarred into the mountain

We were still only 35 miles in, and elation from the descent quickly turned somber, then got smacked in the mouth by the heat radiating off the red rocks during the 15 mile approach to Sedona.

By now the group had irreparably fractured, so James and I re-synched for the long haul as we began 10 miles of singletrack through West Sedona.

Sedona singletrack is slow, sandy, rocky and roasting. My last few years of Sedona renaissance has been on the spectacular all-mountain trails like Hangover and High on the Hogs, not the XC stuff that I largely ignored for 10 years. After 4 joyless dry creek crossings along the Corkscomb trail, I voted we eject onto a road asap and get to our resupply at the Burger King in town. Another 30-60 minutes of slogging would have a big ripple effect; I was already aggressively managing Team Chollaball to finish the day.

20 minutes of adding this and discarding that in the BK’s AC, and we marched out to face the ride’s biggest challenge. At 1pm. Which dumbfuck thought that up? Schnebly Hill Road goes up 2200 feet in 8 miles. Its a tolerable grade, but the surface is full of embedded rocks and puddles of powder. The geologically accurate term for this terrain is ‘suck-ass‘.

We went about 2.5 miles, took a break, went another mile, ate, repeated. 1.5 hrs and 1600 feet later we got to the lookout, and had our pic taken by a dude from Florida who had flown in to attempt the Coconino 250. That put our day in perspective. The cool thing about guys like that, the AES races, my buddies today who were faster or slower, is that this whole scene is about the effort and the journey. If yours is legit, so are you, and will find gracious company.

I sunk into a pool of shade on the roadside at the summit, and ate everything left in my pack. The end was in sight, but where? Neither of us knew much what to expect other than 25 miles of mild elevation over dirt roads. more washboards? 2 hours? 4? A couple fast miles down and onto the shoulder of I-17, where easy spinning outweighed the windblast from passing trucks. We hit a convenience store at Munds Park, then an awful ATV-sculpted double-track. 5mph, 7mph, 4mph…3, 3.5 hrs til finish…7:30 sunset, temps rapidly falling…click clicking in my head. James counseled me to stop looking at the garmin. He has a point. He is also much stronger than me. I require reminders to drink every 15 minutes in cool weather, every 5 when I’m tired. I need progress reports cross referencing mileage and time and vf. If I rode more and worked less, riding would be zen and effortless, and work would be so hard. If I worked more and rode less, I’d be rich, live in Silicon Valley, and have kids writing sonatas in Montessori kindergarten. Instead i flail at each, and a descent into the depths of my endurance leaves me so empty i find a rare moment of peace with both goals.

Mile 77, my music died.

Mile 85, after 30 min of gravel roads just deep enough to be bland and awful and utterly uninspiring, I stumbled off the bike and held a safety meeting with myself. Emptiness flowed into my numb hands and feet. We saw a gift from Noel and Amy’s kids. I sang to myself, angel’s wings won’t you carry me home. Social Distortion was on when the mp3 player died.

We had just packed up the signs and rolled out when Noel drove up the other way with chocolate-covered donuts that sugar-coated the last remnants of pain and frustration. The road turned down, and paved, and for the first time in almost 13 hrs we saw the Peaks. Breckenridge Vanilla Porter awaited.

94 miles, almost 9k vf, ~10.5 hrs moving

And a few more pics from James’ trip last year, and from Yuri and Gordon’s blogs.

The Hunt for The Lost Toys

May 15, 2011 / chollaball / 2 Comments

I was tossing my empties from a dog ride in the dumpster at Westworld, when I found it filled with the better part of someone’s backyard. Some people in Scottsdale have never heard of the Goodwill store.

I did not go out with the intention of dumpster-diving, but I can’t resist something free and in good shape. Ok, not good shape, but good-enough shape to have an adventure. So I stashed some toys, and formulated a plan.

This is about the 6th time Kila and I have picked the girls up from school this way. Our new ritual. We’ve heretofore gone home via the Hill Park and the Library, giving the kids a chance to raise hell before settling in for the night.

They love it, immediately look for snacks, and wonder what adventure is in store

I showed them the map, and said we’d start at the fountain where Kila gets water. G knew what I meant, and almost new how to get there from school. Alana played along.

1.5 mile approach

consulting the map at the Westworld TH.

across the parking lot, down between the hills, under a tree…

someone else out playing with their kids

The Fishbowl

May 15, 2011 / chollaball / 1 Comment

A cool guy named Fish built a pump track in his backyard. Thursdays are party nights. I finally visited when shopping for the Malice, to try some other bikes and a different track. The crowd is mostly from Cactus Bikes near Somo, since Fish is a mechanic there and lives in the neighborhood. Cactus is a premiere shop, but somewhere i’ve never shopped, with Rage just down the street. I knew a bunch of the regulars from here and there, more of a DH\FR crowd that I rarely ride with, but I showed up with a 6 pack and fit right in. I’m good like that.

The Fishbowl is very different from the big moves at Rage. Its all about rhythm and speed, so everything is smaller except for one bowl at the end, which is setup to allow 2 options and passing.

Fish is a great guy, with a 4-yr old boy, and if you get there early before the party turns much more adult, its a kid-fest, with a track that is kid friendly and a yard full of kid toys!

The first time I brought G, I brought Fish a bottle of Bacardi Anejo. Welcoming a new friend into the party is one thing, letting me bring my monster is an entirely different level of hosting.

She did at least 50 laps, undismayed by a couple hard falls, blowing everyone’s minds with her energy and her stoke. Hi I’m chollaball, and this is Hurricane G. When she wasn’t knocking out laps on a track suited to tinyRiders, she was playing with new children and new toys. I had to drag her away. She kept asking for a week when we could return. I couldn’t wait either. Everyone there had kids, and kept eyes out for all the others, and yielded to all riders smaller than 4 feet. At moments I’d jump on and maybe get 3 good laps before some child or another would break all rules of traffic safety, but there was so much happiness and laughter no one minded.

By her second visit she was a pro, stayed out of the big bowl, and barely fell. There was a birthday party being held, and G sang and had cake and rode with a new friend. I got some tips for getting over the front wheel and looking at the exit as soon as i enter a turn. Excellent times.

epic is an overused term at risk of becoming trite

May 8, 2011 / chollaball / 1 Comment

it was on the tip of my tongue, til i decided ‘milestonamonstrous!’ would suffice.

Pre (slightly-Post)-Emptive Warning: This post is lame and will suck.

no photos, and prose that is mostly weary and in food coma. It was too milestonamonstrous to not throw down on paper while fresh. Some days being father to these kids is a blessing from angels.

Alana rode her goofy plastic tricycle more-or-less to The Eagle.

You: WTF is The Eagle?
Me: Dude, you don’t have the handshake.

Those little legs have figured out how to steer and pedal. They kept going, kept climbing, kept rolling downhill. G rode the strider bike, while Alana huffed with jealousy and fretted with temerity, but knew exactly our destination.

At The Eagle, Alana climbed up the walls, and the rock piles, while G spotted her. And when she wanted to keep climbing and G wanted to ride the trike, she got bent but I just kept repeating ‘share share share‘ til her breathing quieted and she seemed to get it. G was a great big sister by saying thank you and giving me no grief about giving it up after a lap.

and giving a demo!

we rode up the hill. i forget things. we kept riding home, 2 beautiful little girls following me and each other, our tinyPeloton, herded by our dog. G sessioned the tiny slope into the parking lot, Alana wanted to try. Alana wanted to switch bikes. And she was on the strider bike and coasting down gravity and getting it. Use your feet, roll roll. Sharing, sessioning, trading back and forth my 2 great little girls, sessioning some more.

Alana finally crapped out and took the gimme in the jogging stroller the last 200 yards home.

Bin Laden?!? shrug who did the Eagles Draft?

May 3, 2011 / chollaball / 2 Comments

I was talking with two Mexican friends when I heard the news. None of us understood why rentals in Rocky Point hadn’t instantly picked up, now that ‘merica was safer. I thought bin Laden was a myth trotted out by the Repubnicants every time they needed a ratings boost. How funny if Obama coopted that boogeyman for himself?

Whatever. The Iggles got a blue-chip guard in the first round.

Mexico is a state of mind. We are living in our minds, constructs, MiniMcMansion, 24 hr Lifetime Fitness, 1500 sq ft well-utilized sculpted yard. I’m trying to find the sweet spot – to get paid for my work outside of work, apply my mind to chores and sub-contract the rest at a much better rate. Its been a long time since I could get paid for overtime. I wanted to knock out a test plan for my contract gig, to pay for the trip, and balance the scales vs. my inner cheap jew basterdness. But i couldn’t, the motivation was lacking. Imperfection, adjustment, Mexico is a state of mind.

a lumpy airbed

salt-crusted shoes

dirt roadie-ing and the Caborca Road, about 65 miles in 6 hours, some mashing 9 mph upwind only to fly back at 17. Day 1 started strong.

I had no desire to explore, and little to even session, beyond the few things close to home. An 8 stepper i am just a little too scared to drop i manualed, an act of will upon my delicate constitution, and the second try felt the bike float away down to the ground. I’m still unsure it happened. It was beautiful. Then I nailed a 3 foot 90-degree turn at the bottom of a 180-degree staircase, something I’d never done in 20 tries. It helps to steer the whole way down the trial. Enough firsts to call off further challenges, and just bang out the calories. Rides with G I have time on my hands, and spotted another half dozen small drops and booters to keep me entertained. A few she tried with me, and begins to see what else is ridable, guiding herself from sand to hardback, coasting long downhills right behind me.

all 4 of my girls

Run! Alanazilla come destroy Tokyo!

G has has this Scooby Doo thing going on these days. I needed some cinder blocks to keep quaders out of the backyard. It was a haunted house, and the Mystery of the Drunken Tortilla.