I've been planning this ride for months now, the whole time anticipating a solo ride across the nation. I've been steeling myself for the intense solitude and lack of support (not to diminish all of the positive energy I'm getting from you, dear readers; I mean, of course, immediate support). I've been imagining myself, alone, straining against mother nature, my own body, and the immutable blacktop.
Rejoice! It now seems that I shall have a companion in my struggles against the road. The incomparable Mr. Finn, my former roommate and Jackson-to-Yellowstone conspirator has said he wants to join me again for another two-wheeled adventure. I just got off the phone with him and he's as excited about the prospect as I am. I'll let you know more when he and I have worked out some more details.
On another note, thanks to my friend Andy, I've developed a passion for a new hobby: Slacklining. It's like a tight rope except it's slack. Get it? I've done it twice now and so far I haven't gotten more than four steps in, and most of the time I struggle to get one, but it's addictive fun. Andy's only done it three times, but he's already pretty good, soon he'll be doing flips and so forth.
Please make a donation to the LAF
Friday, June 29, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Once Upon a Time on Teton Pass
Disclaimer: The following post describes a high-speed crash in too much detail. Mom, you don't want to read this.
Because it's been too long since I've posted about something that is actually related in any way to cycling, I thought I'd share with you my story about the worst crash ever. Don't be alarmed, this happened almost a year ago and, obviously, I'm fine now. I just figured I haven't done anything interesting on the bike for a while, so why not tell you about this?
Last year I was living in Jackson, WY. The elevation in town is right around 6,000 feet. About five miles outside of Jackson (on the way towards the Jackson Hole ski resort, which is 12 miles away) is the small town of Wilson. Right on the northern edge of Wilson you start going up -- way up. This is Teton Pass. Just shy of six miles straight uphill, summiting at over 8,000 feet, it's an average 7% or 8% grade, max 11%. It's a killer climb, to state the obvious. The first time I did it on a bicycle it must have taken me at least an hour and a half just from the base. Before I set out that first time my goal was to make it just halfway up. You might be able to imagine the sense of accomplishment I felt when I actually summited. It's part of what made it my favorite ride in the area. At one point during the summer I was doing it once a week or so.
One day near the middle of September, 2006, I think, I set out with the Pass in my sights. It was a slightly breezy and very overcast day. In fact, the cloud ceiling was particularly low. About two thirds of the was up the climb I was riding in the clouds, which is rather unpleasant, cold and moist. Anyway, I summited in record time despite the conditions, which was an incredible feeling. I flew up that hill (something I haven't really felt like I've been able to do in Colorado for some reason, but I digress). Then comes the fun part.
In previous rides, I'd made it up in a little more than an hour and down in seven minutes. Because of the fact that visibility was poor and it was rather breezy, I was taking the descent a bit slower this time. That is, until I came through the clouds. As soon as I could see, I let her rip. Now for those of you who are shaking your heads and thinking, "What an idiot!" you're not wrong, but let me just say that I had done this before without incident and felt absolutely confident. This kind of confidence is of course hubristic and not any kind of armor, I know that now. (Although, I must say, I also now know that confidence is absolutely necessary. More on that later.)
I came down the steepest section which goes from a hairpin turn into a fairly long straight-a-way and I hit 55mph. I was moving at the exact same speed as traffic, with a white van about a thousand feet in front of me and a compact following me at a safe distance (for which I'm grateful). Near the end of the straight-a-way, with the mountainside on my left and a row of trees on my right between me and the valley below, I rode past a break in that row of trees, through which blew a stiff and unexpected gust of wind (unexpected because I didn't have the sense to mind my surroundings).
Next thing I know my front wheel is shimmying like crazy and I have to try to slow down. My next and probably most critical error was slamming on the rear brake. Naturally, my rear wheel locked up and I began fish-tailing. Before I could compute what was happening and what I could possibly have done to fix it, I was on the pavement on my left side and sliding down the road. Ultimately I must have slid several hundred feet. Fortunately, the road began curving left, which meant that since I was sliding straight I wasn't going into the on-coming lane. Unfortunately, it also meant that I was headed right for the guardrail. (None of this actually occurred to me until later when I had time to think about it.)
Finally I slammed into the guardrail with my left thigh and I came to an abrupt halt. At first I just sort of looked around and took stock briefly, and then the pain hit. I don't remember seeing the cars pull over, but as I was writhing in the dust I noticed four or five pairs of legs running towards me and then several different people asking me if I was alright. Clearly, a silly question, which actually did occur to me right then and there, but I suppose I'm not sure what else they could have said to me under the circumstances.
It was probably about three or four minutes before I could actually say anything to anyone and answer their questions. I remember actually just trying to ignore them so I could figure out just how bad this was. Some people were discussing calling an ambulance, but eventually I told them that I didn't need one if I could get a ride home with someone. The man driving the compact that had been following me immediately volunteered. I made sure to confirm that he could fit my bike in the car.
Finally I was able to stand up and I remember not being in an unreasonable amount of pain. Probably the adrenaline, but still, it was clear that I hadn't actually broken any bones. Also, I never once hit my head on anything, I remember making a conscious effort as I was sliding to keep my head up. I checked my helmet just to be sure, and there was exactly one small scratch on the exterior paint where I assume a pebble flew up and grazed it. Amazing.
I got in the guy's car (sadly, I don't recall his name) and felt okay, though very stiff. I was able to speak normally at first and we talked for the whole ride (he was in town, from Dallas, on business and had rented a car for the day to do some sightseeing). Soon enough though my cuts started to bleed and the adrenaline wore off and I began shaking. The shaking became progressively worse until the very nice man dropped me off in front of my door. I carried my bike inside (I still hadn't examined it at all, I figured I'd save that for when I was feeling better), poured myself some water, took a bunch of Advil and then got in the tub. I'll spare you the details (I know, I know, too late), but that's when I had to scrub out the gravel from my wounds. This process took a very long time and was, predictably, excruciating.
When I was finished I bandaged myself as best I could and then remembered the leftover Percocets from a skiing injury six months prior. I called in sick (I was supposed to be at my restaurant job in a few hours) and spent the next three days attempting to recuperate.
Anyway, I could go on but this has already become just about the longest post I've done. Sorry. If anyone has read this far, I thank you. The last thing I want to mention is the bike. I busted both wheels, the rim of the rear one cracked in a way I've never seen before which leads me to believe that that wheel is the part of the bike that made contact with the guardrail (I didn't see what hit at the time, too busy watching myself hit). Other than that though, hardly a scratch! Slightly torn handlebar tape and saddle, and scuff marks on the tops of the shifters were the ONLY other indicators of what happened. It looked more like a 10mph crash. Unbelievable.
I guess the guardian angel that kept me alive also hates to see bad things happen to good bicycles.
Oh yeah, before I end this tome, I mentioned something earlier about confidence. Yes, I took that particular hill much too fast and without the proper mental preparedness, and no, I'll probably never go quite that fast again. But here's the rub: after I got back on the bike I was terrified of going even 20mph downhill. I believe that that kind of fear is almost as dangerous as it's counterpart. I've had to work pretty hard and take a lot of hills to get my confidence back to a safe level. Forty five mph is as fast as I'll go now, and I know that might not sound like it's much slower than 55mph, but it really is. And I'll only do that kind of speed when the road and weather conditions are suitable. Thirty five is where I tend to max out in most cases these days.
So anyway, there you have it. That was my Teton Pass adventure from which I'll carry the scars for the rest of my life. Amazingly, it never occurred to me for a second to stop riding. I'm lucky to be alive and I'll never forget that.
Please donate to the LAF.
Because it's been too long since I've posted about something that is actually related in any way to cycling, I thought I'd share with you my story about the worst crash ever. Don't be alarmed, this happened almost a year ago and, obviously, I'm fine now. I just figured I haven't done anything interesting on the bike for a while, so why not tell you about this?
Last year I was living in Jackson, WY. The elevation in town is right around 6,000 feet. About five miles outside of Jackson (on the way towards the Jackson Hole ski resort, which is 12 miles away) is the small town of Wilson. Right on the northern edge of Wilson you start going up -- way up. This is Teton Pass. Just shy of six miles straight uphill, summiting at over 8,000 feet, it's an average 7% or 8% grade, max 11%. It's a killer climb, to state the obvious. The first time I did it on a bicycle it must have taken me at least an hour and a half just from the base. Before I set out that first time my goal was to make it just halfway up. You might be able to imagine the sense of accomplishment I felt when I actually summited. It's part of what made it my favorite ride in the area. At one point during the summer I was doing it once a week or so.
One day near the middle of September, 2006, I think, I set out with the Pass in my sights. It was a slightly breezy and very overcast day. In fact, the cloud ceiling was particularly low. About two thirds of the was up the climb I was riding in the clouds, which is rather unpleasant, cold and moist. Anyway, I summited in record time despite the conditions, which was an incredible feeling. I flew up that hill (something I haven't really felt like I've been able to do in Colorado for some reason, but I digress). Then comes the fun part.
In previous rides, I'd made it up in a little more than an hour and down in seven minutes. Because of the fact that visibility was poor and it was rather breezy, I was taking the descent a bit slower this time. That is, until I came through the clouds. As soon as I could see, I let her rip. Now for those of you who are shaking your heads and thinking, "What an idiot!" you're not wrong, but let me just say that I had done this before without incident and felt absolutely confident. This kind of confidence is of course hubristic and not any kind of armor, I know that now. (Although, I must say, I also now know that confidence is absolutely necessary. More on that later.)
I came down the steepest section which goes from a hairpin turn into a fairly long straight-a-way and I hit 55mph. I was moving at the exact same speed as traffic, with a white van about a thousand feet in front of me and a compact following me at a safe distance (for which I'm grateful). Near the end of the straight-a-way, with the mountainside on my left and a row of trees on my right between me and the valley below, I rode past a break in that row of trees, through which blew a stiff and unexpected gust of wind (unexpected because I didn't have the sense to mind my surroundings).
Next thing I know my front wheel is shimmying like crazy and I have to try to slow down. My next and probably most critical error was slamming on the rear brake. Naturally, my rear wheel locked up and I began fish-tailing. Before I could compute what was happening and what I could possibly have done to fix it, I was on the pavement on my left side and sliding down the road. Ultimately I must have slid several hundred feet. Fortunately, the road began curving left, which meant that since I was sliding straight I wasn't going into the on-coming lane. Unfortunately, it also meant that I was headed right for the guardrail. (None of this actually occurred to me until later when I had time to think about it.)
Finally I slammed into the guardrail with my left thigh and I came to an abrupt halt. At first I just sort of looked around and took stock briefly, and then the pain hit. I don't remember seeing the cars pull over, but as I was writhing in the dust I noticed four or five pairs of legs running towards me and then several different people asking me if I was alright. Clearly, a silly question, which actually did occur to me right then and there, but I suppose I'm not sure what else they could have said to me under the circumstances.
It was probably about three or four minutes before I could actually say anything to anyone and answer their questions. I remember actually just trying to ignore them so I could figure out just how bad this was. Some people were discussing calling an ambulance, but eventually I told them that I didn't need one if I could get a ride home with someone. The man driving the compact that had been following me immediately volunteered. I made sure to confirm that he could fit my bike in the car.
Finally I was able to stand up and I remember not being in an unreasonable amount of pain. Probably the adrenaline, but still, it was clear that I hadn't actually broken any bones. Also, I never once hit my head on anything, I remember making a conscious effort as I was sliding to keep my head up. I checked my helmet just to be sure, and there was exactly one small scratch on the exterior paint where I assume a pebble flew up and grazed it. Amazing.
I got in the guy's car (sadly, I don't recall his name) and felt okay, though very stiff. I was able to speak normally at first and we talked for the whole ride (he was in town, from Dallas, on business and had rented a car for the day to do some sightseeing). Soon enough though my cuts started to bleed and the adrenaline wore off and I began shaking. The shaking became progressively worse until the very nice man dropped me off in front of my door. I carried my bike inside (I still hadn't examined it at all, I figured I'd save that for when I was feeling better), poured myself some water, took a bunch of Advil and then got in the tub. I'll spare you the details (I know, I know, too late), but that's when I had to scrub out the gravel from my wounds. This process took a very long time and was, predictably, excruciating.
When I was finished I bandaged myself as best I could and then remembered the leftover Percocets from a skiing injury six months prior. I called in sick (I was supposed to be at my restaurant job in a few hours) and spent the next three days attempting to recuperate.
Anyway, I could go on but this has already become just about the longest post I've done. Sorry. If anyone has read this far, I thank you. The last thing I want to mention is the bike. I busted both wheels, the rim of the rear one cracked in a way I've never seen before which leads me to believe that that wheel is the part of the bike that made contact with the guardrail (I didn't see what hit at the time, too busy watching myself hit). Other than that though, hardly a scratch! Slightly torn handlebar tape and saddle, and scuff marks on the tops of the shifters were the ONLY other indicators of what happened. It looked more like a 10mph crash. Unbelievable.
I guess the guardian angel that kept me alive also hates to see bad things happen to good bicycles.
Oh yeah, before I end this tome, I mentioned something earlier about confidence. Yes, I took that particular hill much too fast and without the proper mental preparedness, and no, I'll probably never go quite that fast again. But here's the rub: after I got back on the bike I was terrified of going even 20mph downhill. I believe that that kind of fear is almost as dangerous as it's counterpart. I've had to work pretty hard and take a lot of hills to get my confidence back to a safe level. Forty five mph is as fast as I'll go now, and I know that might not sound like it's much slower than 55mph, but it really is. And I'll only do that kind of speed when the road and weather conditions are suitable. Thirty five is where I tend to max out in most cases these days.
So anyway, there you have it. That was my Teton Pass adventure from which I'll carry the scars for the rest of my life. Amazingly, it never occurred to me for a second to stop riding. I'm lucky to be alive and I'll never forget that.
Please donate to the LAF.
Monday, June 25, 2007
This is Even More Hilarious
Okay, I know I haven't posted anything cycling-related in a while, but I just can't help myself, this is too wonderful. If you haven't seen the original Who's On First in a while, you might want to watch it first... Eve, you should be interested in this.
This is Hilarious...
Believe it or not, I just happened upon this website while searching for a very specific guitar item that had absolutely nothing to do with bicycles...
http://www.thebicyclingguitarist.net/multimedia/mov/piss-off-Bob.mov
Please make a donation to the LAF.
http://www.thebicyclingguitarist.net/multimedia/mov/piss-off-Bob.mov
Please make a donation to the LAF.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Boy, Am I Sore
It's been two days and I'm still struggling to walk normally. As great as cycling is for your leg muscles it just can't prepare you for walking through the mountains for seven hours. I guess that means I was right about the cross-training benefits, and I hope to be stronger than ever as soon as I can actually lift my leg over the bike.
Nothing much else to report. The Telluride Bluegrass Festival is happening as we speak. I think Bela Fleck is up next. I'm not going to see any of the acts, I was lazy about buying a ticket and they sold out. I've just been listening from my balcony.
I'll leave you with a song (nothing bluegrass about it, it just always makes me happy), enjoy.
Please make a donation to the LAF.
Nothing much else to report. The Telluride Bluegrass Festival is happening as we speak. I think Bela Fleck is up next. I'm not going to see any of the acts, I was lazy about buying a ticket and they sold out. I've just been listening from my balcony.
I'll leave you with a song (nothing bluegrass about it, it just always makes me happy), enjoy.
Please make a donation to the LAF.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
This One's Not So Short, But It's Worth It
Okay, today I finally did the Sneffels Highline Trail I mentioned a few days ago and it was amazing. Best SH ever! It's always a great day hike with spectacular views and challenging terrain, but today was extra fun for a very specific reason I'll get to in a minute. Oh yeah, don't be mislead by the title of this post, the length is mostly due to pictures and video.
I left the house at 10:15 and was at the trail head by 10:20 without ever setting foot in a car. I love this place. I was psyched to try out my new trekking poles. I'd never hiked with poles before, I I got them on sale from Black Diamond's website this winter. I have to say they make a huge difference by letting your upper body do a percentage of the work, taking a little stress off your legs.
So the views all along the trail (it's between 12 and 14 miles long, I think) are spectacular in virtually every direction, walking through the forest and over creek beds,
looking up ahead at the San Sophia range,f
or looking back at the ski resort and the Wilsons.
When I had climbed up into Pack Basin at around 11,000ft the snow started getting really deep and finding the trail became increasingly difficult. There was one set of tracks in the snow that helped me find my way for a while, but eventually I lost it and unfortunately had to strike out on my own. Don't tell anyone, it's very bad mojo to leave the trail. You're not even supposed to walk on the fringes to avoid muddy spots, because that just increases the scope of the fringes and leads to trail erosion and greater human impact. You're always supposed to be mindful of your impact on the area.
Still, I did the best I could to stay with the trail but eventually it was completely obscured so I went where I thought I remembered the trail went.
Eventually I made my way over to the south facing aspect where there was less snow and I found the trail where it began zigzagging in the final push to the summit. Shortly after I had returned to the official trail I looked up and saw something amazing. For anyone who thinks I'm hardcore even a little, I tell you, you've seen nothing! A hundred yards or so above me I saw a runner sliding down the scree on his bum. He was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, socks, running shoes and nothing else. No backpack or hydration system, no cell phone, no hat, nothing.
When we passed each other he asked about the snow conditions. I explained where it got deep and mentioned that there were some tracks he could follow, and he told me he knew where the trail was and was used to the deep snow. Wow, okay. As he descended I watched him jog right up to snow fields and just casually walk through them, slipping down up to his knees, pulling himself out, and proceeding on as if he had just artfully dodged a manhole cover on a city street. Now that was impressive. It's also worth noting that the spot where he had been sliding down the scree, just below where he had summited from the other side, meant that he had come over a significantly higher point than where I would soon go over. This guy was something.
Anyway, here's the really fun part. Now, normally the immediate descent into Mill Creek Basin from the trail's highest point is a very steep, ill-defined scree field that takes a lot of very careful navigation while slowly and deliberately picking one's way down. Today, it was covered in snow. This is how I got down:
Now that was fun. Albeit rather cold and wet.
Okay, well, there isn't really much else to say about the rest of the hike. I got back a little after 5pm. I guess I'll just let the photos do the rest of the talking. Enjoy!
Please make a donation to the LAF.
Monday, June 18, 2007
This one's short, I promise...
Still haven't gotten over this throat thing. It's a little strange, it feels like i was punched in the windpipe. There has been progress though and I expect to be fine within the next two days. My ride today was short because it was difficult to swallow my water, so there's not much to report on that front.
However, a new website came my way (thanks, Lisa). Remember when I posted about runningmap.com and that I thought it was pretty cool even though you couldn't make your route conform to roads? Enter MapMyRun.com. Just like the other one but with an option to force the lines you're drawing to follow roads. Perfect! And you can easily browse routes that have been saved by other people in your area. Very cool.
Okay, that's all for now. Here's another Arches picture, just for the hell of it. I like this one because it looks like Ethan and Phil are rather awed.
P.S. Oh yeah, I got my business cards in the mail today. Whaddya think? If a stranger rode up on a bike and handed you a card like this, would you bother to read it? It's a bit disorganized in the way it throws information at you, but as long people can read the addresses...
However, a new website came my way (thanks, Lisa). Remember when I posted about runningmap.com and that I thought it was pretty cool even though you couldn't make your route conform to roads? Enter MapMyRun.com. Just like the other one but with an option to force the lines you're drawing to follow roads. Perfect! And you can easily browse routes that have been saved by other people in your area. Very cool.
Okay, that's all for now. Here's another Arches picture, just for the hell of it. I like this one because it looks like Ethan and Phil are rather awed.
P.S. Oh yeah, I got my business cards in the mail today. Whaddya think? If a stranger rode up on a bike and handed you a card like this, would you bother to read it? It's a bit disorganized in the way it throws information at you, but as long people can read the addresses...
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Random Thoughts
It's been a while since my last update, and again, I apologize. My throat has been extremely sore for several days now and it's been difficult to make myself get out and ride, and the rides that I have done have been totally unremarkable. Fortunately, I think this cold is on its last legs, so I should be able to get back out there soon.
What I really want to do is go for a good hike for a bit of cross-training (not to mention that it's just plain fun to do, one of the best things about summer in TRide). There's a wonderful trail right out of town called the Sneffels Highline (so named for the view of Mt. Sneffels, one of the 14,000ft peaks here) that I haven't done since two days before I moved away in 2004. It's a loop that goes up above treeline with the highest point at just over 12,200ft, and through some gorgeous meadows and by a small waterfall. It's still too early for the wildflowers, which will be in full bloom when I'm on my ride in August, and I'll probably run into some snow, but it's a great way to spend a day. I might do it on Monday if I feel better. I'll take plenty of photos, as always.
So I was chatting with my friend Lisa just now and she made the point that there are so many other causes out there worthy of our action. If I may quote her, "It's pretty interesting how certain causes only gain public interest because someone famous says something about them (i.e. George Clooney, Angelina Jolie...). but unless people...actually make the effort to do something or [say] something, people forget, they move on. That's why it's important to stay engaged. Situations don't miraculously disappear because an oscar-winning actor holds a dying baby in Africa. It's vital that they do it, but we need to keep the message alive as well."
I think this is an excellent point. There are just too many (often tragic) things going on in the world, so many that none of us can cope with all of them. But it takes so little for each among us to stay aware and do what we can when we can. The world needs us. We can't all devote all our material wealth to ending disease, poverty, armed conflict, but we can certainly at least devote our attention. That's how things change, that's how people like Bill and Melinda Gates can be seen as heroes, not eccentrics, for doing what we all wish we could.
Anyway, I hate to seem preachy and I told myself I wouldn't turn this into a political blog, I just figured that the over-arching theme of this blog made this an appropriate forum to voice those thoughts. Okay, let's get back to the pictures. These are from a camping trip to Slickrock Canyon about a month ago or so.
Prettily striated rock formations abounded.
Behind me is where we built the campfire and spent most of the night, about 20 feet up the rock wall from where we parked. Coolest place I've ever had a campfire.
After we got to the campsite this guy shows up on a horse. He hung out with us till 3am playing music. How cool is that? The dog had fun tormenting the horse.
This was one of those one-in-a-million shots where I took a photo without a flash at the exact moment someone else took one with a flash. Not so interesting compositionally, but pretty neat nonetheless.
Please make a donation to the LAF, or to any cause that you feel is worthy. Thanks.
What I really want to do is go for a good hike for a bit of cross-training (not to mention that it's just plain fun to do, one of the best things about summer in TRide). There's a wonderful trail right out of town called the Sneffels Highline (so named for the view of Mt. Sneffels, one of the 14,000ft peaks here) that I haven't done since two days before I moved away in 2004. It's a loop that goes up above treeline with the highest point at just over 12,200ft, and through some gorgeous meadows and by a small waterfall. It's still too early for the wildflowers, which will be in full bloom when I'm on my ride in August, and I'll probably run into some snow, but it's a great way to spend a day. I might do it on Monday if I feel better. I'll take plenty of photos, as always.
So I was chatting with my friend Lisa just now and she made the point that there are so many other causes out there worthy of our action. If I may quote her, "It's pretty interesting how certain causes only gain public interest because someone famous says something about them (i.e. George Clooney, Angelina Jolie...). but unless people...actually make the effort to do something or [say] something, people forget, they move on. That's why it's important to stay engaged. Situations don't miraculously disappear because an oscar-winning actor holds a dying baby in Africa. It's vital that they do it, but we need to keep the message alive as well."
I think this is an excellent point. There are just too many (often tragic) things going on in the world, so many that none of us can cope with all of them. But it takes so little for each among us to stay aware and do what we can when we can. The world needs us. We can't all devote all our material wealth to ending disease, poverty, armed conflict, but we can certainly at least devote our attention. That's how things change, that's how people like Bill and Melinda Gates can be seen as heroes, not eccentrics, for doing what we all wish we could.
Anyway, I hate to seem preachy and I told myself I wouldn't turn this into a political blog, I just figured that the over-arching theme of this blog made this an appropriate forum to voice those thoughts. Okay, let's get back to the pictures. These are from a camping trip to Slickrock Canyon about a month ago or so.
Prettily striated rock formations abounded.
Behind me is where we built the campfire and spent most of the night, about 20 feet up the rock wall from where we parked. Coolest place I've ever had a campfire.
After we got to the campsite this guy shows up on a horse. He hung out with us till 3am playing music. How cool is that? The dog had fun tormenting the horse.
This was one of those one-in-a-million shots where I took a photo without a flash at the exact moment someone else took one with a flash. Not so interesting compositionally, but pretty neat nonetheless.
Please make a donation to the LAF, or to any cause that you feel is worthy. Thanks.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Moab
Today's post has nothing to do with cycling or my training. I spent the weekend camping in Moab, UT and figured you might like to see some of the images anyway. I went with my roommate Kiley and two friends, Ethan and Phil, in Phil's Jeep. We found Kiley's favorite campground and from there we went jeeping in Arches National Park as well as an awesomely technical trail near our campsite called Cliffhanger. Here's our little shanty town:
Look! Arches!
Cliffhanger was rated as the fifth most challenging 4x4 trail in the area. It took us about two and half hours to go just 3.8 miles. This was my first experience four wheeling. Pretty amazing with the right vehicle. Phil's Rubicon Unlimited was complete with the burly lift kit and heavy duty winch.
The video I took was near the beginning of the trail at the first major feature. You can really see the articulation in the suspension going down that step. We got much better at route finding and adjustment later on, so we didn't scrape bottom too many more times.
This what we had to do help the jeep make it over the steeper steps and keep the tailpipe from hitting going down.
Here's a view of what the "road" looked like most of the way.
Jeep commercial?
It was a very fun weekend and we plan to do more like it, but I am looking forward to getting back on the bike tomorrow. On a side note, I think I'm coming down with a little cold (my throat has been sore for a couple of days). I hope it won't last too long.
I'd also like to simply thank everyone that has donated to the LAF and everyone that has left me a comment here. You guys rock and it's really helping me to keep pursuing this. This won't be the last time I thank you all, but I just wanted you to know how much it means to me.
Salut!
Look! Arches!
Cliffhanger was rated as the fifth most challenging 4x4 trail in the area. It took us about two and half hours to go just 3.8 miles. This was my first experience four wheeling. Pretty amazing with the right vehicle. Phil's Rubicon Unlimited was complete with the burly lift kit and heavy duty winch.
The video I took was near the beginning of the trail at the first major feature. You can really see the articulation in the suspension going down that step. We got much better at route finding and adjustment later on, so we didn't scrape bottom too many more times. This what we had to do help the jeep make it over the steeper steps and keep the tailpipe from hitting going down.
Here's a view of what the "road" looked like most of the way.
Jeep commercial?
It was a very fun weekend and we plan to do more like it, but I am looking forward to getting back on the bike tomorrow. On a side note, I think I'm coming down with a little cold (my throat has been sore for a couple of days). I hope it won't last too long.
I'd also like to simply thank everyone that has donated to the LAF and everyone that has left me a comment here. You guys rock and it's really helping me to keep pursuing this. This won't be the last time I thank you all, but I just wanted you to know how much it means to me.
Salut!
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Back From Gunnison
Please make a donation to the LAF.
Okay, sorry it's been so long since I updated. I returned from my ride on Monday night and was just too tired and unmotivated to write about it on Tuesday, but I'll give it a shot now.
So I suppose one could characterize my trip as a series of peaks and valleys, both literally and figuratively. From the beginning: I left Telluride at 10:40am on Saturday, June 2, which was later than I intended to leave but not too late according to my calculations. The ride between here and Montrose is almost exclusively downhill; the only significant climbing is a 14 mile stretch between Placerville and the top of Dallas Divide, where the gradient never gets above about 6% and I'd say averages close to 3%. I've done that ride before and it went pretty well despite the heavy trailer. About halfway up that climb a cyclist going in the other direction pulled over to my side of the road and stopped for a bite to eat. We chatted for a minute and he said he was riding in a loop from Montrose, which would put him over 100 miles by the end of the day. I told him my plan was to head for the Crested Butte area, camping that first night in the Black Canyon. He said that was a really beautiful place. Great!
At some point along the ride I got hungry and remembered a Quiznos in Montrose and developed a massive craving. It was pretty much all I could think of for the last 30 miles into the city. When I finally stopped to eat I looked behind me and saw some rather threatening clouds gathering, and they appeared to be moving east, which was where I was going. I ate a little quickly so I could get back on the saddle and stay ahead of the weather. This is when things started to go badly.
The moment I left the Montrose city limits I bonked. "Bonking," for the uninitiated, is the cyclists' term for hitting the wall. I simply couldn't make my legs spin, even though I didn't exactly feel fatigued, just unable to put any force into my pedalling. It was as if eating lunch had actually sapped all the strength right out of me. The next seven or so miles were a constant, though mild, climb of between 1% and 3%, but I couldn't go faster than about 5mph. I couldn't really figure it out either, which was extremely depressing. I couldn't find fault with my nutritional intake nor could I pin this disastrous performance on how I rode the previous 70 miles. It's quite demoralizing.
Eventually I dragged myself up to a convenience store at the turn off to the road up to the Black Canyon National Park. This was just before five o'clock. The very nice and helpful woman behind the counter there inquired of my plans and I told her where I was headed ultimately and that I wanted to be able to set up camp by 6 or 6:30. She told me I could continue up the road that I had been on and face a very tough seven mile climb followed by a seven mile descent to the Cimarron campground (which had been my plan at the start of the day), or I could climb five miles ("easy compared to what you've already done today," she said) up this other road to the North Rim campground. What would you do?
Of course I opted for the shorter, easier climb. First off, on what planet is an average 8% (peaking at 12%) climb easy? There are automobiles that can't get up that kind of grade! Secondly, it wasn't five miles, it was over seven. Took me more than TWO hours to get up there, as I never recovered from my bonk, going no faster than 4mph. It was also 94 degrees in the sun with no breeze. I silently cursed every car and motorcycle that passed me in either direction. And then, to top things off, this was the "beautiful" scenery I had at my campground.
There was also no place to purchase firewood (collecting it was verboten) or food or water. The campsites were also very close together, so I got to listen to the bickering of a young car-camping couple for the rest of the evening. Okay, I feel slightly better now that I've finally vented some of that frustration. Final stats for that day:
84.18 miles
7:13:12 ride time
Avg Spd 11.6 mph
4786' vertical gain
Avg Climb 3%
Max Climb 12%
~9hrs from door to campsite
So, on to Day Two:
Sorry, this is turning into a tome. The rest of it should take less to explain though. Maybe. Okay, so I left the next day feeling exactly the same as I did when I was struggling up that hill. Didn't recover a bit, even though I slept decently enough. Oh well, I thought, at least I've got a nice long descent from the campground back to the highway to start me off on the right foot. When I got back to the bottom I stopped in that store again for some more food and water. The same woman was there but I didn't mention my aggravation from the previous day. One thing about long distance cycling is that you have a tremendous amount of time with nothing but your own thoughts. It sort of forces you into a Zen state of mind. You learn to let things like that go very quickly and easily. It serves no purpose to be angry about challenges past; you need to prepare yourself for those upcoming, and in this case, I knew my next challenge was waiting for me with baited breath.
I set out along Highway 50 E again -- and again it was constantly uphill -- now wishing that this damned trailer would just leave me alone and drag someone else down. The climb up Cerro Summit towards Cimarron was tough, as my behind-the-counter friend warned, but I have to say (even though my Zen-enlightened mind has allowed me to release the anger) I would much rather have tackled it yesterday and at least killed off some of the miles. Oh well, live and learn.
At one point shortly after I began the really steep part of the climb I was surprised by a couple on a tandem bike that had come up from behind and overtook me, surprised because I hadn't seen them in my rear view and thought that I probably should have. Evidently they were going very fast and I was going very slow. As they passed and we exchanged pleasantries they asked if I had come from Ouray yesterday, and they said they saw me at some point. I wasn't able to figure this out any further because they didn't slow down to chat but just kept on going. Under normal circumstances I would have thought this a bit rude, but I was going VERY slowly and they were just out for a nice athletic climb (and descent; I caught a glimpse of them on their way back down). Made me wish the damn trailer would do some pedaling too.
The rest of that day was fairly uneventful, with another climb fairly close to Cerro Summit and similar in profile and then a blessedly flat 20 miles or so from Blue Mesa into Gunnison, most of which was very pretty, following the glacial Blue Mesa Lake. The only other interesting thing was coming across a few big-horned sheep grazing next to the road.
The funny thing about this was on the way back I saw this sign at the exact same spot:
Probably the only time I've ever seen wildlife crossing at a wildlife crossing.
So I made it to Gunnison and was too tired to write anything down. I stayed at a KOA campground within city limits, which was entirely uninteresting. Obviously I decided that I couldn't make it the 15 or so miles up to the Taylor River campgrounds that I wanted to get to.
The next day (Monday) I decided to turn around and head back. I've been hosting Open Mic Night at a bar in Telluride on Wednesdays and had always planned on being back in town by Tuesday, so I gave up on Crested Butte. Truthfully, I didn't consider it a tremendous blow to my ego or anything, I figured I did the best I could and with more time I would have made it.
Somewhat surprisingly, I felt good when I started out. I was able to maintain a pretty good pace on the flats outside of Gunnison, going 15-20mph on the same road that had reduced me to a molasses-paced 6-7mph just a few hours before. I honestly have no idea why. I didn't feel some new jump in my legs or anything, I was just able to pedal closer to the way I normally do. Of course, I figured that the first hint of an uphill grade would pound me to dust once again. But while the climbs I encountered did slow me down quite a bit, none of them did the same kind of damage as the day before. And it's not like they were any easier, the grades and distances were pretty much the same, but I was going slightly faster up them and with less difficulty. I don't know why.
I felt so much better that I not only rode past the previous day's starting point, not only rode back through Montrose, but rode all the way to Ridgway, a scant 37 miles from home (all of which is uphill with about 2,000 vertical gain though). Ninety one miles total for the day. So I felt good about that.
Now, my plan was to find a cheap motel in Ridgway, as I desperately wanted a shower and a nice bed to sleep in. Turns out, there ain't no such thing. Every local I asked virtually (or actually, in a couple of cases) laughed in my face at the idea. I didn't really want to spend $100 on a room. I also couldn't face the prospect of riding seven more miles uphill and out of my way to get to the nearest campground, especially after I had convinced myself in the miles between Montrose and Ridgway that I was gonna get to shower soon. So I wussed out. I called up my friend (and future roommate) Andy, who drives a Ford F150 and convinced him to ditch the friend from out of town that was visiting him to come pick me up. I felt really bad about it, for many obvious reasons -- to have come so far to not ride the last stretch was the biggest -- but, may God strike me down for saying so, I feel the shower and the night spent in my own bed absolved me of those sins.
Okay, I can't believe how long this post has gotten. If anyone has actually read this whole thing, I thank you, and I apologize for the imposition, you can go back to your life now. I'll post more photos later, though I didn't actually take very many. And I know some questions were asked in comments while I was gone, I promise I'll answer them shortly, but right now I have to get ready for Open Mic. My left hand is still partially numb and playing the guitar is going to be problematic...
Okay, sorry it's been so long since I updated. I returned from my ride on Monday night and was just too tired and unmotivated to write about it on Tuesday, but I'll give it a shot now.
So I suppose one could characterize my trip as a series of peaks and valleys, both literally and figuratively. From the beginning: I left Telluride at 10:40am on Saturday, June 2, which was later than I intended to leave but not too late according to my calculations. The ride between here and Montrose is almost exclusively downhill; the only significant climbing is a 14 mile stretch between Placerville and the top of Dallas Divide, where the gradient never gets above about 6% and I'd say averages close to 3%. I've done that ride before and it went pretty well despite the heavy trailer. About halfway up that climb a cyclist going in the other direction pulled over to my side of the road and stopped for a bite to eat. We chatted for a minute and he said he was riding in a loop from Montrose, which would put him over 100 miles by the end of the day. I told him my plan was to head for the Crested Butte area, camping that first night in the Black Canyon. He said that was a really beautiful place. Great!
At some point along the ride I got hungry and remembered a Quiznos in Montrose and developed a massive craving. It was pretty much all I could think of for the last 30 miles into the city. When I finally stopped to eat I looked behind me and saw some rather threatening clouds gathering, and they appeared to be moving east, which was where I was going. I ate a little quickly so I could get back on the saddle and stay ahead of the weather. This is when things started to go badly.
The moment I left the Montrose city limits I bonked. "Bonking," for the uninitiated, is the cyclists' term for hitting the wall. I simply couldn't make my legs spin, even though I didn't exactly feel fatigued, just unable to put any force into my pedalling. It was as if eating lunch had actually sapped all the strength right out of me. The next seven or so miles were a constant, though mild, climb of between 1% and 3%, but I couldn't go faster than about 5mph. I couldn't really figure it out either, which was extremely depressing. I couldn't find fault with my nutritional intake nor could I pin this disastrous performance on how I rode the previous 70 miles. It's quite demoralizing.
Eventually I dragged myself up to a convenience store at the turn off to the road up to the Black Canyon National Park. This was just before five o'clock. The very nice and helpful woman behind the counter there inquired of my plans and I told her where I was headed ultimately and that I wanted to be able to set up camp by 6 or 6:30. She told me I could continue up the road that I had been on and face a very tough seven mile climb followed by a seven mile descent to the Cimarron campground (which had been my plan at the start of the day), or I could climb five miles ("easy compared to what you've already done today," she said) up this other road to the North Rim campground. What would you do?
Of course I opted for the shorter, easier climb. First off, on what planet is an average 8% (peaking at 12%) climb easy? There are automobiles that can't get up that kind of grade! Secondly, it wasn't five miles, it was over seven. Took me more than TWO hours to get up there, as I never recovered from my bonk, going no faster than 4mph. It was also 94 degrees in the sun with no breeze. I silently cursed every car and motorcycle that passed me in either direction. And then, to top things off, this was the "beautiful" scenery I had at my campground.
There was also no place to purchase firewood (collecting it was verboten) or food or water. The campsites were also very close together, so I got to listen to the bickering of a young car-camping couple for the rest of the evening. Okay, I feel slightly better now that I've finally vented some of that frustration. Final stats for that day:84.18 miles
7:13:12 ride time
Avg Spd 11.6 mph
4786' vertical gain
Avg Climb 3%
Max Climb 12%
~9hrs from door to campsite
So, on to Day Two:
Sorry, this is turning into a tome. The rest of it should take less to explain though. Maybe. Okay, so I left the next day feeling exactly the same as I did when I was struggling up that hill. Didn't recover a bit, even though I slept decently enough. Oh well, I thought, at least I've got a nice long descent from the campground back to the highway to start me off on the right foot. When I got back to the bottom I stopped in that store again for some more food and water. The same woman was there but I didn't mention my aggravation from the previous day. One thing about long distance cycling is that you have a tremendous amount of time with nothing but your own thoughts. It sort of forces you into a Zen state of mind. You learn to let things like that go very quickly and easily. It serves no purpose to be angry about challenges past; you need to prepare yourself for those upcoming, and in this case, I knew my next challenge was waiting for me with baited breath.
I set out along Highway 50 E again -- and again it was constantly uphill -- now wishing that this damned trailer would just leave me alone and drag someone else down. The climb up Cerro Summit towards Cimarron was tough, as my behind-the-counter friend warned, but I have to say (even though my Zen-enlightened mind has allowed me to release the anger) I would much rather have tackled it yesterday and at least killed off some of the miles. Oh well, live and learn.
At one point shortly after I began the really steep part of the climb I was surprised by a couple on a tandem bike that had come up from behind and overtook me, surprised because I hadn't seen them in my rear view and thought that I probably should have. Evidently they were going very fast and I was going very slow. As they passed and we exchanged pleasantries they asked if I had come from Ouray yesterday, and they said they saw me at some point. I wasn't able to figure this out any further because they didn't slow down to chat but just kept on going. Under normal circumstances I would have thought this a bit rude, but I was going VERY slowly and they were just out for a nice athletic climb (and descent; I caught a glimpse of them on their way back down). Made me wish the damn trailer would do some pedaling too.
The rest of that day was fairly uneventful, with another climb fairly close to Cerro Summit and similar in profile and then a blessedly flat 20 miles or so from Blue Mesa into Gunnison, most of which was very pretty, following the glacial Blue Mesa Lake. The only other interesting thing was coming across a few big-horned sheep grazing next to the road.
The funny thing about this was on the way back I saw this sign at the exact same spot:
Probably the only time I've ever seen wildlife crossing at a wildlife crossing.
So I made it to Gunnison and was too tired to write anything down. I stayed at a KOA campground within city limits, which was entirely uninteresting. Obviously I decided that I couldn't make it the 15 or so miles up to the Taylor River campgrounds that I wanted to get to.
The next day (Monday) I decided to turn around and head back. I've been hosting Open Mic Night at a bar in Telluride on Wednesdays and had always planned on being back in town by Tuesday, so I gave up on Crested Butte. Truthfully, I didn't consider it a tremendous blow to my ego or anything, I figured I did the best I could and with more time I would have made it.
Somewhat surprisingly, I felt good when I started out. I was able to maintain a pretty good pace on the flats outside of Gunnison, going 15-20mph on the same road that had reduced me to a molasses-paced 6-7mph just a few hours before. I honestly have no idea why. I didn't feel some new jump in my legs or anything, I was just able to pedal closer to the way I normally do. Of course, I figured that the first hint of an uphill grade would pound me to dust once again. But while the climbs I encountered did slow me down quite a bit, none of them did the same kind of damage as the day before. And it's not like they were any easier, the grades and distances were pretty much the same, but I was going slightly faster up them and with less difficulty. I don't know why.
I felt so much better that I not only rode past the previous day's starting point, not only rode back through Montrose, but rode all the way to Ridgway, a scant 37 miles from home (all of which is uphill with about 2,000 vertical gain though). Ninety one miles total for the day. So I felt good about that.
Now, my plan was to find a cheap motel in Ridgway, as I desperately wanted a shower and a nice bed to sleep in. Turns out, there ain't no such thing. Every local I asked virtually (or actually, in a couple of cases) laughed in my face at the idea. I didn't really want to spend $100 on a room. I also couldn't face the prospect of riding seven more miles uphill and out of my way to get to the nearest campground, especially after I had convinced myself in the miles between Montrose and Ridgway that I was gonna get to shower soon. So I wussed out. I called up my friend (and future roommate) Andy, who drives a Ford F150 and convinced him to ditch the friend from out of town that was visiting him to come pick me up. I felt really bad about it, for many obvious reasons -- to have come so far to not ride the last stretch was the biggest -- but, may God strike me down for saying so, I feel the shower and the night spent in my own bed absolved me of those sins.
Okay, I can't believe how long this post has gotten. If anyone has actually read this whole thing, I thank you, and I apologize for the imposition, you can go back to your life now. I'll post more photos later, though I didn't actually take very many. And I know some questions were asked in comments while I was gone, I promise I'll answer them shortly, but right now I have to get ready for Open Mic. My left hand is still partially numb and playing the guitar is going to be problematic...
Friday, June 1, 2007
Mandatory Update
I was just chastised for failing to write an entry today, so let me just say to my many fans that I am deeply sorry for leaving you all in the lurch. Verily, my contrition knows no bounds! Forsooth, make me a beggar wallowing in the most impenetrable privation should I inflict such negligence upon the innocent masses again!
Anyhoo, I was planning on beginning my ride up to Crusty Butt today, but when I still hadn't gotten my sh*t together by 11:30 I decided to push it back till tomorrow. I hope to make at least 100 miles tomorrow, which would put me somewhere in the Curecanti National Recreation Area in the vicinity of the Blue Mesa Reservoir. This area is in the Black Canyon and, I've heard tell, astonishingly gorgeous. Can't wait.
From there it's about another 45 miles or so into the town of Crested Butte. There are a whole bunch of campgrounds south of there though, along the Taylor River, and I might forgo the town to check those out. Maybe if I get there early enough I can set up camp and then leave the trailer while I ride up to town? I don't know, we'll see.
This photo has nothing to do with bikes, I just thought it was pretty.
It's a view from the top of the Jud Wiebe Trail (a.k.a. Town Loop), a nice short hike that takes you up above town. The lines going across the mountain are the road going up to Black Bear Pass, one of the highest mountain passes in the country, accessible only to high-clearance 4x4s. Taken last December.
Anyhoo, I was planning on beginning my ride up to Crusty Butt today, but when I still hadn't gotten my sh*t together by 11:30 I decided to push it back till tomorrow. I hope to make at least 100 miles tomorrow, which would put me somewhere in the Curecanti National Recreation Area in the vicinity of the Blue Mesa Reservoir. This area is in the Black Canyon and, I've heard tell, astonishingly gorgeous. Can't wait.
From there it's about another 45 miles or so into the town of Crested Butte. There are a whole bunch of campgrounds south of there though, along the Taylor River, and I might forgo the town to check those out. Maybe if I get there early enough I can set up camp and then leave the trailer while I ride up to town? I don't know, we'll see.
This photo has nothing to do with bikes, I just thought it was pretty.
It's a view from the top of the Jud Wiebe Trail (a.k.a. Town Loop), a nice short hike that takes you up above town. The lines going across the mountain are the road going up to Black Bear Pass, one of the highest mountain passes in the country, accessible only to high-clearance 4x4s. Taken last December.
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