The road ahead

I love starting a bike ride.

You swing your leg over and head out.  You have an idea of what the ride will be like.  Sometimes you are right, and other times it evolves into something else.  The ride takes on a character of its own.  You take it all in at the speed you choose.

I love being on a ride.

You are free to go or stop or go elsewhere.  If you have enough food and drink you can go almost forever.  Some hills are easier than you expected, others take it out of you.  

If something goes wrong, there is a satisfaction in being able to make a repair and continue. Now and again you find yourself in a different place than you had planned. The uncertainty of what is ahead always adds a little mystery.  

I love finishing a ride.

Approaching the end of the ride I relish the satisfaction of completing the ride.  Fulfilling the mission as it were.  The ride was somewhere between training and fun I find no need to divide the two. 

Moving on

Whatever. Move on.

The story of my right eye didn't end the way i hoped and expected.  I thought I would share a story about how it took twenty months of patience to get my vision back.  Instead it took twenty months to end up with bad vision in my right eye.  Yeah it sucks; but it is what it is and I'm just not going to whine about it any more. I have one good eye and that is better than none.   HTFU!

Let's turn the page

 

The forecast said it would snow overnight.  In the meantime, the inch or two from yesterday morning had mostly melted. I put on more layers than I had in worn in the past seven months. 

My earbuds stayed home as I wanted to savor this ride.  Tomorrow there would be no more trail riding for the rest of the year.  The impending storm likely would not bring skiing, but I will be skiing on these trails before I am riding on them next spring.

The sound of snow crunching under my tires is the only thing I hear. Other than the sound of my tires the forest is silent as I make my way up the trail.  The smell of rotting leaves and wet dirt will soon be lost, buried under snow.  A wind from the northwest cuts through my clothes to my chest.  My hands are warm and hidden inside giant gloves.  This is the kind of cold I hadn't felt in months.

I wasn't going hard and I wasn't going easy.  The objective here was to soak in the ride and not crash. At times the snow was slippery, in other places the dirt was soft and my rear wheel slid more than I would have liked.  I just tried to ride smart and look around so I could recall this ride when I can't ride.

NOAA says we would be getting ten to twelve inches of snow tonight.  This ride was going to be it.  

My eye doctor says I get a lens next week.  After more than five hundred days, that ordeal could be coming to an end.  After that surgery I'll be on the sidelined for another month, so my return may be on skis. 

Here is the warming hut.  All it needs is some snow.

This is me.  Ready to turn the page?  Hell yes!

Can I please have my body back?

Marty, where did I leave the Flux Capaciter?

After months of living my pirate life I had a chance to take a step toward normal vision.  The hope lasted only a few days and then it was a step backward and an unplanned surgery.  I'll spare you the sad story and get to the subject of this post.

After this eye surgery my physical activity was more strictly limited than in the past.  By the time I was given the green light it had been just over six solid weeks of nothing.  Don't even bend over to tie your shoes nothing.  Have your son carry your luggage nothing.  Walk, but not too briskly, nothing.

When I got back on the bike I had nothing.  It was like I was trapped in someone else's body.  That someone else was not a lifetime athlete, it was a fat slob who had puny lungs and weak legs. 

On my rides my HR zones were  a full 1.5 zones above where they should have been.  It seemed wrong, but then afterwards the way my body felt was consistent with the actual heart rates. 

I had only six days before my team was coming to the Methow for a handful of days riding gravel.  I tried to cram in some training with predictable results.  I bet it all on the one big day and managed to avoid cramping until I was past the flame rouge.  I finished the ride pedaling with one leg.  I was blown.  

My usual training ploy after a setback is to load up on zone two miles.  The problem this time was that to go zone two speed, I had to tickle zone four.  I slept like a pile of dirty laundry. This was hard.  Getting back in shape is a young man's game and I am not a young man.

After a couple weeks of trying to build up some fitness I went on a nice Saturday ride with Hottie.  The next day was our team's Coffee and Lies ride.  The fast guys went slower and the rest of us were compelled to keep up with them as a thank you for their kindness.  

I was due for a hard day and I actually felt like I had some power.  I had resumed running for the first time since my forced rest period.  That may have given my legs some power.  Maybe. It wasn't impressive, or fast, but it was what I had on this day and I was happy with it.

It is rare that my legs hurt even before the ride is over, but the climb up to the cafe was a mix of twitches and simply sore legs.  It felt good to be strong enough to have tired legs. 

To distract my mind from the hurt I tried to plan my afternoon ahead so as to minimize the number of trips I would have to make up and down our stairs.  

When I got home I felt I had earned the right to what had been forced on me for all of the month of May; nothingness.  I relaxed and spent some time chillin with Hottie.

Yeah - I'm off plan

Pirate for a year

This shouldn't be forever, but after eight months, it feels like it has already been forever.  Yes, you adapt; but everything is harder. I said everything, and I mean everything.  I am grateful to be where I am and am glad I have been able to adapt as well as I have.  I have learned that I need those around me.  Hottie and TQ have been essential to my success and happiness.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

More later.  Just wanted to let my fans know I'm not dead, just laying low and getting ready to attack!

Mortality

                   You don't know what you've got 'til you lose it all, again.

                                                                 - Bruce Hornsby 

It is like each day I was issues a hundred points to use as I saw fit.  Work took sixty or seventy points, then a few for a workout, some more for making dinner, etc.  Finally, the last few to balance the books and pay bills.   Now it is like I only get 70 points and work takes more than it used to and I'm pretty much out of points by two or three in the afternoon and my head hurts. 

I have tried to tell myself that it will pass, but the outlook now is that it will be well into 2022 before I have a chance to get back to the old normal. I'm all about positivity, but man, this is a challenge.

I've seen some windows closing, but I never had any idea some could close this FAST.  

I know I need to start from scratch and build some base fitness in anticipation of getting my vision working again. Sadly I'm an all or nothing kind of guy and not being able to mountain bike or put something challenging on the calendar is making my mind hurt. 

I've had to build from zero before, but I'm not even at zero yet. 

Snapshots in a box

 

It happens so fast.  I close my eyes and remember learning to ride my red Royce Union bike and my first day of school. I remember the first day a child of mine went to school.  After decades of reliance on my body as a tool to get me out of tricky situations, I am resigned to accept my age as a real number. 

The doctor cites my age as a risk factor.  My VO2 Max or Garmin Fitness age don't seem to matter to him. I can go on a five hour bike ride and come home and make dinner, but my fitness now has a fragility that it has not had before.  Looking at the ceiling waiting for surgery I recall looking at the ceiling waiting to see the principal in elementary school. I was in trouble then and I'm in trouble now. At my age I don't feel helpless often, but I fear it may be a trend.

I watched my grandson Drew trying so hard and in him I saw my own son who both hated his older brother and wanted more than anything to be his older brother.  Drew's older brother is like his dad and his dad's dad. How could I have been so cruel to my younger brother without giving it a thought?  

After my mother was moved into her new apartment and bags and boxes were dropped at goodwill and the trash place and my daughter took what she could use, there were two large boxes of photographs and keepsakes that summed up my mom's life. Big photos of her parents and others born a hundred or more years ago. The results of a tennis tournament she played in fifty years ago.  Photos of my mother as a young woman ready to take on the world. She asks me a question. Five minutes later she asks again. Two minutes after that she asks a third time. I smile and put my arm around her. She knows she has done something wrong, but doesn't know what it is. My assurance calms her. I am glad I can give her some peace. 

We aren't all astronauts.  I may have finally leaned patience.  Everyone is doing the best they can. Whomever set up the process isn't the person standing in front of you so don't take it out on them.  Smile and say, "Thank you."  People don't hear that enough. It is my secret weapon.  Oops, no longer a secret. 

Hottie loves me.  Ever since I was that kid on my way to school in 1965 I was hoping people would like me. I'm a dick and Hottie still loves me.  I am a lucky man.  I hear the Beach boys songs I heard as a kid. When I heard them I hoped someone would love me, she does. I know she is frustrated beyond words with injuries that we hope will be done soon. I'm feeling helpless again. 

I am lucky.  I get to see (maybe a little blurry right now) people I love and beautiful places.  I get to do fun things.  I find more joy in helping my mom or trying to make Hottie feel special than I ever thought I would.  I find joy in watching Kona play in every way he can.  

That is it for today. 

Old man winter

Wisdom says to live in the moment and enjoy where we are.  I've spent so much of my life trying to fast forward and get to the next thing, at the expense of the present.  Being outside more than most, I am aware the days are now getting ever so slightly longer.  I walk and run and ski and ride, pushing forward, enjoying the now and looking forward to what tomorrow will bring.  

Yet, there are times when the nights seem endless and, rarely, days that I never feel warm.  The draft from an open door chills my soul.  I touch cold metal and an icy shiver pierces me. 

I am savoring the winter and squeezing all I can from it. I am blessed. I know that. Now and then, when no one is looking, I close my eyes and imagine running or riding on a summer's day with bare arms, my shirt open, sweat on my chest.  

That day will come.  Just not yet. They refer to winter as an old man.  An old man that doesn't care, that has gotten where he is, just by momentum, by pushing for so long that time finally yielded. Winter is that way, simply the accumulation of so many cold days and nights.  No flash, no bang, just cold and water and time. 

2020 DONE!

2020 Started with such hope, only to expose our collective pettiness via tragedy. An inconvenience for Hottie and myself, yet a horror for others. I kept working.  We had no major surgeries for the first year in a while. 

We lost Tux. That hit me so hard I realized I actually have a heart. As a tribute to him, we welcomed his nephew, Kona, who has brought so much joy and love to our hearts. That was unexpected. 

Bike races and bike rides were cancelled.  Our Sunday "Coffee and Lies" rides took a five month hiatus. My son Tim and I were able to share the backpack trip of our collective dreams albeit with masks at the ready. 

An ideal remote work assignment allowed me not just to continue working, but to spend a majority of my time in my favorite place. So grateful.  I ironed two shirts in all of 2020.  What the hell?

Such a strange mix of good and bad news.  We were lucky, yet are so aware that many were destroyed by the Pandemic.  It would be offensive to celebrate. We are powerless to change the pandemic and how the powers that be handle it.  We can control how we treat those we see and this event has provided an opportunity to be the best we can be. We could all have done better.

For all the good and bad that we had in 2020, I am ready to move on and welcome 2021. Let's learn our lessons and move forward.

A winter's ride

A winter ride, muted colors under grey skies

Gratitude for dry pave, I get to ride today

A narrow ribbon of road cuts through the white snow

Fallen leaves silent, buried below winter’s blanket

The cold bites, my tempo responds in kind 

Measured effort failed, I push now for warmth

Legs and feet long past feeling, spinning as trained

Rising from the saddle, the short day growing darker

Food gone, bottles empty I turn for home

Unclipping at my door I am safe from the cold

Years of dedication, sacrificing for victory

The journey is the victory now. Spent, I win

Happy Apocalypse

            It smells kinda like camping, kinda like death......

With the fires we've been dealing with some unhealthy air quality. 

When I say unhealthy, it isn't an uninformed opinion....

It reminds me of being sick as a kid and staying home from school.  You just kind of wander around inside and as the afternoon stretches into dinnertime, you just feel sluggish from the lack of activity and lung tightness. Everyone is restless and maybe even a bit cranky.   Covid has taken the excitement out of staying at home for everyone.  This is just the icing on the cake. 

              Outside it looks foggy, except the fog is yellow.  

Taking Kona for a short walk, the streets are deserted, adding to the Twilight Zone atmosphere.  

Make it end.  Please, make it end..... 

Angel’s Staircase Adventure

2020 has become a year of bucket list accomplishments.  A month ago my son Tim and I finished off our John Muir Trail odyssey.  This past Sunday KB and I set off on the Angel’s Staircase Loop. 

 

The adventure really started when I took my bike out to add some sealant to the tires a few days before (just to be safe) and I noticed the back wheel felt wonky.  It turns out I had a broken suspension pivot axle. I took it to the great folks at Methow Cycle & Sport and they told me that they would have to order a part and the bike would not be ready until after my planned ride.

 

I contemplated renting a bike, but opted instead to give it a try on my fat bike. I took it out for a short test ride and made a few minor adjustments (saddle height, brake lever angle) and deemed it ready to go.  I figured there was going to be a bit of hike a bike so the day would be an adventure anyway.

When KB suggested we set off from my place at 5:30 AM I flinched, but agreed.  Starting early would get us riding before it got too hot and running out of daylight was a problem neither of us dared say out loud, but it was a possibility we wanted to avoid.

We arrived at the trailhead in time to dress, drink up and get rolling before 7:00. The assortment of bikes on racks and campers told us we were in the right spot. Soon we were out of the parking lot and climbing a dusty trail in thick forest.

We were leapfrogging two other groups of three riders as we climbed and climbed.  At each trail junction they would stop and wait for their friends and we would confirm our direction and putter on.  The fat bike was doing very well soaking up the bumps and lumps of tree roots and rocks.

Although the fat bike is rigid, it does have a dropper post and more than one rider commented that given the choice of suspension, or a dropper, they would choose the dropper.

 

These trails are shared by hikers and bikers so we kept an eye open and at times the hikers envied us and at times they offered us pity.  “I’m glad I get to hike up this steep trail,” was something we heard more than once.

        Above Cooney Lake.  Look carefully and you can see some sad souls... 

When we passed Cooney lake the trail shot up a comical climb that made me wonder if we were off the trail. The grade necessitated us pushing and then carrying our bikes before returning to ridable trail.  Then after what seemed like a three-minute uphill ride the trail shot up becoming what a ride veteran referred to as “the wall.”

Nobody rides the “wall” section up or down, and we and others alternated between pushing, pulling, carrying, cajoling and cursing our bikes.  The trail was like trying to climb a mountain of loose marbles.  You would push your bike uphill, grab the brakes and pull yourself up even with the bike and repeat.  Some carried their bikes on their shoulders with their steps sliding backward like they were climbing up a down escalator. Everyone was glad to be here but nobody was smiling.  I told KB that as a hiker I found this part of the trail horrible and as a biker I thought it was more of a dare.

 

Although this section wasn’t that long, it took longer than it should have and knowing we had several more hours after this, we did not want to kill ourselves.  When we reached the top others were seated on rocks next to their bikes recovering.

We could see Rainier to the south

We snapped some picture and ate and drank.

After a brief traverse we had a bit more climbing and then we were at the high point of the ride at over 8,000 feet.

We dropped down the Angel’s Staircase and all I can say is that I guess not all angels are good angels. The trail was a series of switchbacks where we dismounting at each corner.  The loose, lumpy, steep drop corners just invited a crash and that was not on our agenda.  Showing more wisdom that expected we aligned our risk aversion to our age and talked about how smart we were.

Soon the trail was traversing alpine meadows that were golden under the late summer sun.  We stopped at a stream and filtered water to restock our supply.  The water was cold and felt like heaven on our parched throats.

                                      Looking SE

                                   Looking NW

After some moderate climbing we reached Boiling Lake and paused to enjoy the mountain scenery.  We began the hot, steep, exposed climb up to Horsehead Pass.  

                                  About to go down here

                         Just came up from here (see the trail?)

KB’s bike with water and gear strapped to it weighed a ton, and by a ton I mean pretty close to fifty pounds. Thirty-five pounds of bike plus seven pounds of water and a more than a few pounds of extra clothing, tools, tubes and first aid gear. 

 

The switchbacks just kept going and we paused a few times to drink and take in calories.  This was a full day and we were glad to have started as early as we did. People had been encouraging to us as we were both on rigid bikes and the novelty struck some as adventurous.

       Spring, summer and fall were all in the last month at this elevation

When we reached the top we had the place to ourselves.  It was a narrow ridge and we took our time refueling and taking in the view below us.  An observer might wonder if we were tired, or casual about not rushing to get going.  It was a pleasant combination of savoring the time and gathering ourselves mentally for a long technical descent that would require a Zen-like focus.

 

When we were ready, we dusted ourselves off and set off down the trail.  It was the now familiar “cliff on one side, mountain on the other” that we had been riding most of the day.

                     Yeah, and THIS was the shit we rode....

 

The trail started off rough, loose and exposed.  Each kilometer it got less so and our speed increased the closer we got to the trailhead.  We had over three thousand feet to descend and the trail got better and more flowy by the minute. 

 

We paused at one point on the way down and shared the observation that nine hours of riding and pushing/carrying a bike can make you tired.   KB had blood on the back of his calf from multiple pedal encounters and a dirt moustache. I was likewise dirty and had some blood on me.  I was glad our appearance matched the day’s effort.

                             The dirty smile

When we arrived at the parking lot we felt like we had experienced the full meal deal that is the Angel’s Staircase Loop.   KB commented that if we did this ride every day for a couple weeks we would get in really good shape.  I just let that hang in the air as I opened the cooler and fished out a bottle of cold water.

           Don't think for a moment that we don't know how lucky we are....

The John Muir Trail – Still crazy after all these years

My son and I completed our quest to complete the JMT.  At one point on our trip I informed Tim he had hiked every inch of the trail.  At about nine in the morning of our last day we had completed the entire trail together. It had taken eighteen years to do so, but that just make it that much sweeter.

 

I never found the bridge I was searching for.  I was alert and would have known if we had crossed it.  My current guess is that is on the climb to Dusy basin.  I may never validate that, but I am content that I indeed did find what I was really searching for. 

 

The drive from Los Angeles was like dusting off an old photo album. There were a lot of memories, a few surprises and more than one blank stare. This was a drive I had made dozens and dozens of times in my youth yet it was mostly unfamiliar. My nostalgic memories greatly exceeded the reality.  It was dryer and more desolate than I recalled.  It was the kind of place where if your car broke down you would consider curling up in a ball and just waiting to die.

 

We passed a few trailers and deserted buildings. Climate change has made some of these places a living hell.

 

I wanted to bridge my past recollections with my current life.  The silver granite and deep blue sky above the tree line still take my breath away.  There are more people, but there is still plenty of trail and plenty of wilderness such that it would be wrong to call it crowded. Compared to thirty or forty years ago it is crowded.   If you compared how it was forty years ago to how it was forty years before that, you would come to the same conclusion. 

 

It appears the age demographic is also changed.  Back in the day, everyone was under thirty and today there were plenty of AARP candidates.  It would seem that starting with my generation, everyone who wanted to continue has done so.  We saw hikers in their thirties, forties, fifties and dare I say, sixties on the trail.  I’m not saying they were all moving fast, but they were moving.  If there is one thing I have learned as an aging athlete, it is that slow and steady wins in the long run.  One other things I’ve learned is that “The long run” is all that matters.

It took us a few days to adapt to the elevation, but adapt we did.  It just got easier and we got faster. This coincided with our packs getting lighter as we ate our food and burned our fuel so our day to day improvement was noticeable.

 

After Tim declared Mather his favorite pass, I thought about it for a while and decided it was also my favorite.  Mather pass is at least three days from anywhere, so if you are there, you’re on a serious adventure.

 

Birthday cake at 10,650'

Our route started at North Lake and went over Piute Pass into Humphrey’s Basin and then down a long and winding trail to Kings Canyon National Park.  Up to Evolution Valley which was less crowded than I recalled.  From there we went up and over Muir Pass and down to LeConte Canyon.  Then we climbed to Palisades Basin and Palisades Lakes via The Golden Staircase.

 

From there we climbed Mather and then Pinchot pass in one long day before descending Woods Creek.  Finally we climbed up to Rae Lakes and spent a relaxing, albeit crowded Friday afternoon.  

Then we climbed Glen Pass and finally turned off the JMT and exited over Kearsarge Pass to Onion Valley.  Over seven days of hiking we had a total of about ninety-eight miles and were quite ready for cheeseburgers.