Summer, you are just a memory

Leaving summer behind and barreling into fall!

We squeezed all we could out of summer.  Then summer just kept going all though September and we squeezed some more.  

The air has gone from crisp to cold and instead of warm afternoons, there are fleeting moments of sunshine when you don't feel the bite of the colder days. 

Back on the trail....

 

           I feel like I'm always coming back from something. Today is no different...

I crashed a friend's party and went for a quick overnight backpack in our Cascade mountains.  The bad news was I needed to use two hiking poles, the good news is neither was white with a red tip. It felt good to be moving on the trail and the poles helped for sure.  

                                             This hat makes my eye look green.

Two weeks ago California sent us their triple digit heat and for this trip it seems Alaska sent us their mosquito population.  We had headnets and we knew how to use them. We sprayed anything exposed with cancer to keep the buzzing menaces from biting.

I awoke to find a small creature had chewed a large hold in one of my stuff sacks, but no damage to the tent, so I called that a win.

A relaxed breakfast and casual roll out brought our adventure to a fine conclusion.

                                  This is Turbine leading Evo back to the car!

Summer no more.

I'm from Florida.  What is this cold, white stuff?

On Thursday it looked like this:

I'd call it an Indian Summer, but perhaps that phrase is now racist or I'm a day or two behind the political whirlwind of woke correctness and I should stick with just saying fall.  Anyway this is what late October looks like most of the time.....

It was predicted to happen Friday, and it did:

It took Kona a while to step onto the mysterious substance, 

but it proved to be an adequate running surface.

We are all adapting to a new season.

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.

Eighteen years on the John Muir Trail

Tim in 2017

In the seventies and eighties I hiked in the Sierra to experience wilderness, independence and freedom.  I returned in the nineties with my children so they could share some of the same experiences. 

 

In 2002, still reeling from an unexpected divorce, my son and I set out to cover the entire John Muir Trail.  We didn’t take it as seriously as we should have, and a simple blister on the bottom of his foot derailed our plan. Fifty miles in we had to pull out for a couple days while that healed.  Then we jumped back on the trail further south at Kearsarge Pass and finished our trip with a memorable night atop Mt. Whitney.  We ended up completing the first fifty and the last forty-five miles that year.  In 2017 we returned and went in where we had pulled out in 2002.  Another physical setback shortened our trip.  This time we are both determined to be prepared in every way to finish off the remaining eighty or so miles of the trail. We are not seeking to conquer it, we just want to enjoy it.

 

Any inner peace or enlightenment that I was seeking eighteen years ago has either come from elsewhere, or will never find me. I have completed all of the gauntlets chosen by fate or by my own designs and the lessons I have gleaned did not stray far from my previous beliefs.

 

When we started eighteen years ago my son was a teenager and I was a full-grown man.  Now he is the full-grown man and I am an old fart that won’t be doing much of anything eighteen years from now.  For me, time has transitioning from my “someday” to “before it is too late”.  All of the realities that go with the passage of nearly two decades of time apply to both of us.  We are different than we were all those years ago and frankly I am looking forward to expanding our experiences and viewing the trip from changed perspectives.

A bridge in time?

Watching my children grow up and witnessing my parents break down has forced me to consider the arc of my own life. I’ve connected with a couple old friends and felt regret over all that I missed. I’ve looked back at my choices and wondered if, in my rush to get ahead, I missed the opportunity to enjoy where I was.

I’ve had old songs sneak out from my digital library that I first heard when I was young and looking forward to life. Now I hear them from the other side of the hill. I feel like I raced through my twenties and thirties without coming up for air. My children have told me about memories of meaningful events we shared and sadly, some of them I either barely remember, or simply don’t recall. I feel like I was in a car going seventy miles an hour though a scene I could only have appreciated at twenty miles an hour. I was there, but so busy the memories didn’t sink in.

My understanding of physics and my optimism means that I am wise to focus on what is ahead and not dwell on the past. Yet, there are some things I just want to see again so my mind can separate reality from some blurry dream.

For many reasons, not all of which I understand, I want to return to the high Sierra and stand on a particular, non-descript footbridge on the John Muir Trail. While there are some impressive steel bridges, this one is just a wooden footbridge. Going up canyon the bridge is to the right of the stream. I think it is on the climb up to Palisade Lakes, but it might be somewhere in Evolution Basin. Yep, I’m not even sure where it is. Maybe it only exists in my dreams. My recollection of the bridge was that at a point in time, over thirty years ago, I saw it and thought, “That looks cool.” No epiphany, no superlatives, nothing noteworthy, it wasn’t much different than the footbridges ahead of it or behind it. It was just at a point where the switchbacks of the trail afforded me a unique view. It was just a pleasant memory. It is reasonable to assume that I could walk over it this summer and not recognize it.

Perhaps I want to find it to connect the past and present. Maybe I want to validate my memory. My life will go on if I find it or not. It has become my white whale of 2020. I am not sure what reaching it will do for me. I don’t have any ceremonies planned. I just would like to see it once again.

I am thrilled that my son is joining me on this pilgrimage. I will share more about that next time.

Swept away

With the simple objective of saddle time and the beauty of the Methow valley all around me I set off for a three hour tour.  The sky was blue and my mind was free as I rolled out.  I was riding a set of Sectors so my road/gravel options were open.

I soon found myself meandering north on the East Chewuch debating the choices that still lie ahead.  Do I cross the bridge and go some distance up the West Chewuch?  I could ride that every week and never get tired of it.  Should I take a sharp right and do the first part of the Winthrop Fondo route?   The third option was to start up the Fondo route then take the gravel East Chewuch that is almost deserted.

That option has a catch.  90% of the way up, Twentymile creek crosses the roadway and it is impassible from April to July.  A couple years ago I rode out that way on a spring morning only to be turned back when I came to the swift moving water. At that time I had contemplated riding across, but even my bad judgment knew that could have ended very, very badly.

With the OTGG and the Leavenworth Fondo looming, my mind has shifted back to big event mode.  I have seen numerous photos of gravel and MTB races where riders had to portage a stream.  My backpacking background says getting your feet wet is a very bad idea and I have always avoided those events.  I realized I had no firsthand experience on the subject and decided today was the day.

I passed the sign that said the road was closed ten miles ahead and checked my bike computer.  When I was getting close to the river I started looking for a branch to use for the crossing.  I spotted a candidate and picked it up and gave it a thud into the dirt to see if it broke or flexed under my weight.  It passed the test and I carried in for the next couple minutes until I came to the stream.

I could hear the stream well before I could see it.  After going around the “Road Closed” gate a couple of sandy sections forced me to dismount before I reached the water.  When I came to the water’s edge I swung the bike over my right shoulder Cyclocross-style and with the branch in my left hand, I walked boldly into the water.  It felt cold my feet and calves but not uncomfortably so.  Soon I was across and there was a second fork twenty feet further and I crossed that as well.  Then I tossed my walking stick to the ground for use by the next fool that might come along.

My bike was dry but everything from my knees down was cold and wet.  I pushed my bike up the far bank and started riding again.  My feet felt cold but very, very happy on this sunny day.  I kept riding waiting for something to happen.  Within five minutes the outside of my shoes were beginning to dry.  Cold wet feet in January are bad, in May they felt wonderful. 

After ten minutes I stopped and wrung out my socks.  When I put them back on the socks and my feet were still both wet, and if I were doing it again I would just keep going.  Back on pavement the pedaling was easier and the trip back was faster than the trip out.

Halfway home I felt a cold spray on my right calf.  After twenty kilometers of gravel I got a flat on the pavement. I jumped off and found the spot where the sealant was leaking and pointed that down and shook the tire and waited.  I dug out my pump and threw in some more PSI and that held all the way back to the cabin. 

I am glad I went for the experience over the hearsay.  Not only will I not avoid a stream crossing in the future, I may in fact, seek them out.  That was the one of the highlights of my ride. 

My advice to you is go ahead and wade in.  Otherwise, you don’t know what you are missing.

Goals

It had been a long time since I had utilized the well proven training technique known as “overcommit and panic.”  It is also referred to as “Do epic shit” or quite simply, “Sign up for something that scares you and train accordingly.”

After some internal debate I had a conversation with Hottie about a proposed event.  In that one minute conversation she used the word “stupid” four times. She was absolutely correct, it would be stupid.  Was that all bad?  Pretty soon I started to think it had been too long since I had been in over my head.

Without saying anything I began skipping snacks and altering my eating habits while I was building my Four P training program.  My Periodized, Polarized, Panic Powered Plan starts off modestly and builds volume early on and then increases intensity leading up to the June event.   I had another conversation with the ever patient Hottie.  With her permission/acknowledgement/reluctant consent I signed up.

Go ahead, make me a widow.....

That event is a five day gravel ride/race in Oregon.  It is called the Oregon Trail Gravel Grinder (OTGG) and is following the theme of the educational game “Oregon Trail.”  In that video game you either make it to Oregon, or die on route.  Now THAT is a theme I can embrace.

The event has injected focus into my day to day activities. Focus, in this case, might look and smell a bit like panic; but that is okay.  Regardless of what it is called, I feel it is giving some direction to a life that has become too comfortable and predictable.  With age comes wisdom so it only makes sense that doing stupid things will keep me young. 

Bring it on!

This decision to proceed against my better judgment has caused a bit of introspection.  Am I doing this because I am bored, or to feed my starving ego, or to prove something to myself? Perhaps I am seeking enlightenment that comes from the trail by fire?  Am I seeking penance for my countless sins?  I spent more than a few days wondering.

By coincidence I was listening to a conversation between two cyclists on the virtues of reaching the goal or just enjoying the journey.  One said they set the goals (events) then their training supports them.  The other said he just loves the training and then sprinkles in some events to punctuate the training.  I realized that I love the training when it is part of a plan that supports the goal (event).  Without the goal the training seems pointless. I like the process of doing the hard work then seeing it pay off. 

My son Tim and I on top of Mt. Whitney, August 2002

Yeah, he looks like me.

In recent years my training plans have not changed much year on year.  My numbers have been boringly consistent.  April of one year looks almost the same as April of the prior year.  Just as we do with politics and our individual beliefs, we listen and take in that which supports our existing perspectives and ignore everything that doesn’t easily fit. This is easy.  It keeps us in a rut. It keeps us from challenging ourselves and growing.

It was time for a change.  It was time to commit.

My plan is to jump with both feet on to the Polarized training bandwagon.  This means lots of saddle time doing what looks and smells like base miles.  My early season measuring stick is aerobic hours per week.

After years and years of blabbering on about working on my core I spent the month of November getting medical treatment for low back issues.  Core work is no longer optional.  It is an everyday thing now and I even rejoined the Y and have returned to workouts that clang (free weights and weight machines).  It has already made a profound difference.

Eating better, core work, cross training and stretching.  What were once good ideas are now mandatory.  The tradeoff is that for the first time in several months I don’t feel my age.  I did a ride of almost five hours over the weekend and the next day I felt…… awesome.   I had no idea how much of a difference a stronger core would make on endurance cycling.  

I will likely do a gravel event or two ahead of the OTGG in June.  I don’t think I will be alone.  2019 seems to be an aspirational year in the team peloton.  After a couple of quiet years, it seems the men in black and orange are pinning on numbers and turning back the clocks.