dug

I’m a bit of a puss when it comes to motors. I drive mostly like a grandma (according to my kids, who are constantly telling me what a great and crazy driver their friend’s dad, Errol is), I’m kind of afraid of dying (I know, I’m WHACK I tell you), and everyone seems to have bigger balls than me. Kim’s dad has a Ferrari, and when he let Kim and me take it out from Park City, I drove fast in a straight line for about 10 seconds. Kim took it almost to Evanston, and was racing Audis and BMWs up twisty canyons.

So it’s a little weird that Kim and I bought motorcycles last Fall. Well, weird for ME I guess, not for Kim. I got a Kawasaki Versys, which is kind of a street version of a Supermoto. It’s cool, it’s red, and pretty darn comfortable. Kim got a Ducati, a Monster 695.

Sunday I had my family up for a bbq, and my brothers Steve and Rob took the bikes down the hill into Highland and back up a few times. The hill is a wide, four lane, low traffic, big twisty road, about 4 miles. Perfect for going fast on. And I do, on my bicycle.

Steve and Rob had big grins when they got back. Rob started jabbering about how fast they got going (triple digits), and how he kept looking back expecting Steve to have dropped off, but how Steve was always right there with him.

“And that’s when it hit me” he said. “I was with STEVE, not YOU. Steve’s not the puss.”

Love them.

I don’t have much to offer Susan and Elden and family, but Kenny set up a local bank account in Elden’s name, and an easy donation button at kennysphoto.com.

I say we forget any attempts at anonymity–just let Elden decide what’s best for the family, even if it’s escaping reality through GTA4. Whatever it takes.

To donate through paypal, go to www.paypal.com, click Send Money, and donate to winsusannelson@gmail.com. It’s fun AND easy.

To donate without paypal, go to Kenny’s website and click the Donate button.

Anyway.

There still isn’t much I can do, since I have about 8 readers (hi mom!), but every little bit helps, right? At least, I hope so. I guess “help” is relative. Like most things.

So it turns out I’m a total sucker for superhero movies. I  know, Rick S. hates em. Just can’t stand em. But he’s stupid, because superhero movies, when they’re good, are very very good. (Of course, when they’re bad, they are worse than bad, you feel icky for just showing up.) And while the general rule for superhero movies is “the darker the better,” it doesn’t HAVE to be that way. See The Incredibles. Also, discovering superpowers is generally more interesting than USING superpowers.

(Instead of linking to all these movies, I’ll just direct you generally to www.imdb.com. You’re welcome.)

My top superhero movies:

Superman (1978), Superman II (1980), Batman Begins, Spiderman, and, now, Iron Man. Oh, and I’ll put Unbreakable in here, I think it counts. And The Incredibles. So what if it’s animated, it rocks.

My middle tier superhero movies:

X-Men (solid, but just can’t put them in the top tier), Batman (1989, with Michael Keaton, just missing the top tier, by THAT much), Spiderman II, Superman Returns (2006), Hellboy, Transformers (too noisy, but the parents make up for it), update: Mystery Men (brilliant, but too long and uneven).

And, the bottom:

All other Batmans, Supermans, Spiderman III (bleh), League of Extraordinarily Boring Gentlemen, Whatever that stupid blind guy Ben Affleck played is called. All parts of the Fantastic Four not featuring Flame Boy. And that bloated Hulk cartoon Ang Lee put together. Oh, and I guess I should mention Catwoman. Maybe not, maybe we can all just pretend that Catwoman never happened.

But this new Iron Man movie, well, I’m pleased. I know they’ve already put Iron Man II on the schedule (summer of 09), and I’m already excited. Robert Downey Junior has as much charisma as any actor working, and now that he’s BEEN Iron Man, he IS Iron Man in the same way that Christopher Reeve IS Superman.

And this summer, not only have we already had Iron Man, but here comes The Dark Knight, Speedracer, and a new Hulk starring Ed Norton. I’m in summer heaven.

Escapism just feels right these days. You know what I’m excited for? Wonder Woman.

how can you be happy for any good news on a day with news like THIS? there is no sense, no order, no control, no fairness.

i am pissed off. this sort of thing has been going on for as long as people have been going on, how are we still here? how do we keep on keeping on? i’ve lost a sister, a father, and i’ve bounced back, i’m not untouched by tragedy. why is this so bad? i’ve wanted to throw up since i heard. is it because i just heard it? i knew she was sick, i also knew how sick.

we all got foreboding when the cancer came back, but, you know, she beat it the first time, she could beat it again, right? do the right things, keep all your appointments, take your meds. everything will be fine, right?

4 kids under 15. 6 year old twin girls . seriously? there’s a silver lining in there somewhere? i’m not buying it.

i’m just angry.

it’ll pass. it always has. but that makes me mad too. really, we can just move on? time heals all wounds? THIS?

i’m sure this isn’t helping. not me, not her, not them.

i don’t even know how to help. they don’t need me, they have family around, good friends and neighbors close by. and they have god, right? but I want to help. i want to do SOMETHING.

the worst is internalizing it. “what if MY wife got this news? what would I do? how would I feel?” but how selfish is that? my wife is fine, my kids are fine. so now i feel guilty for getting to make plans, to go home and relax, catch a movie. when they have to deal with THIS, a giant THIS that will never go away, that just hangs there, like damocles and his damn sword.

so i try to get myself back to them, focus on the ones who are really suffering.

and then i try to forget it for a while. how do we live with this, day in, day out? you have to, right? you don’t live IN it, at least I don’t. you just have to live WITH it. like living in the shadow of a volcano or something.

people do that all the time, right?

Last week, I did something I haven’t done in about 10 years. Namely, I played softball. Slow pitch softball. In what I think is the lowest division of the local city league.

When Paul asked me if I’d like to help fill out the roster on a local cops team, I laughed. But he was serious, so I laid out my conditions, sure he would move on to someone else.

Condition #1: No practices. Anybody who practices slow pitch softball wishes he had played college ball, has a chip on his shoulder, and needs more beer, not more softball.

Condition #2: No more than one (1) game per week. Anybody who plays more than one game of slow pitch softball per week wishes he had played college ball, has a chip on his shoulder, and needs more beer, not more softball.

To my surprise, Paul said “done!”

We’ve played two games now (not in the same week, of course). We won the first one in a dramatic, come-from-behind-in-the-final-inning finish. And we lost the second game by 15 runs. And I enjoyed both games.

You know what? I think I’m comfortably settling into middle age. The key will be to not suddenly gain 20lbs. I confess, I’m worried.

Many winters ago, not sure how many, maybe 8? we took Eric, my brother in law who is not Rick Sunderlage, out mountain biking. Riding up corner canyon at night, up the old goat trail, is not a great first ride to take someone on, but Eric was obviously fit and athletic.

He did so well, Rick Maddox dubbed him Sleepy, because he rode smoothly, quietly, and didn’t talk much.

But Sleepy had a love affair with golf, and a hectic work and school schedule that kept him from fully embracing the MTB way. He had the tools, he had the talent, but he didn’t have the time.

Late last Summer, Sleepy got himself a Jamis rigid singlespeed, and, like it does for anybody who tries it, singlespeeding made mountain biking all shiny and new, and he couldn’t get enough. That’s the SS way.

But then Winter came, the trails closed, and Spring came late and wet, leaving many of us ill-prepared for the annual rite of “let’s see who got fat this Winter.” That is, RAWROD.

Sleepy had never done more than two, three hours, tops, on a bike. And, inauspiciously, last week, his Jamis broke almost in half. But we hooked him up with a friend’s Gary Fisher Rig, SS rigid, of course, and he was good to go.

Here we are the night before:

RAWROD went clockwise this year, from the top of the Mineral Bottom switchbacks, 13 miles up Mineral Bottom road, 9 miles south on pavement to the top of Shafer, down Shafer, and around. The Mineral Bottom road is pleasant when done first, the paved road is just annoying, and Shafer is downhill

so naturally we were all happy and fresh when we got to Mussleman Arch, about 30 miles in. (Another pic from Kris–I didn’t use my camera much.)

But it’s mostly up and VERY rough for the next 10-15 miles before the buff stuff to White Crack, the lunch spot, and with about 10 miles to go to lunch, I pulled a bit ahead, so Sleepy could suffer alone. No one likes riding with a chatterbox when you’re in the pain cave. So for about ten miles or so, Elden and Brad rode just ahead of me, and Sleepy rode just behind.

At lunch, Sleepy pounded the soup, a sub sandwich, some Tums (for calcium–nice anti cramping medicine), and lots of Brad’s Carborocket. He looked (I don’t have the pics yet, but I will), um, tired. Of course, we ALL looked tired. But at White Crack, over 50 miles in, Sleepy had exceeded his previous one day mileage total by about 30 miles, and his previous one day riding TIME total by about 3 hours. And we were just over half way.

I left him alone in the pain cave for the next ten miles, a mostly uphill push to Murphy Hogback, but whenever I looked back, I could almost always spot his green argyle jersey. An inspired choice, that. It’s like belling the cat.

When he hit the base of the last half mile run to Murphy’s (the steepest, hardest part of the entire day), Sleepy gamely gave the opening pitch a shot. And it shot him right back. He got cramps so bad in both legs that he fell over like he’d been hit with a bat in both knees. The red truck support wagon was right there, and the driver jumped out and stretched Sleepy’s legs so that he could get upright again. I’m pretty sure that if he hadn’t had help stretching right there, he’d still be out on the mesa. If anybody has pictures of the big sag wagon driver stretching Sleepy’s legs at the base of Murphy’s, I’ll pay top dollar. I use Paypal.

Me cresting Murphy’s:

At the top of Murphy’s we took a group photo

and I asked Sleepy how he was, and I mentioned, discreetly, that it looked like there was room in the truck if he needed. He shot me a venomous look, and said “Whatever, I’m fine! I just had a cramp.” I wish I had a picture of what he looked like. You could hardly see his face, because he looked like someone had sprayed his face with cement powder. Only it wasn’t cement powder, it was the sweat and salt from his body.

Apart from one medium sized hill, the next 20 miles from Murphy are mostly flat or rolling. We did stop about ten miles after Murphy to throw boulders off a cliff. KanyonKris took this picture:

As I pulled away from the rock throwing spot, I spotted Sleepy’s green argyle just behind. Every time I thought he was done, he bounced back. I kept thinking, “who IS that guy?”

About ten more miles to Potato Bottom, and the Green River, and several of us pulled over to regroup. And about 5 minutes later, Sleepy rode up. Amazing. I looked him up and down, and said “Dude! We are gonna make it! We are NOT gonna die out here.” Although, I wasn’t sure, since we still had to climb Hardscrabble, and the Mineral Bottom switchbacks.

We rode together to the base of Hardscrabble, and started up. When the going got really steep, I got off to walk, thinking I wanted to save my juice for Mineral, although, really, the truth is more like, I had no juice. But Sleepy stayed ON his bike, for almost all of Hardscrabble, walking only the loosest and steepest portions.

Heather Gilbert took this shot (thanks Heather):

From Hardscrabble, it’s a big downhill, some sand, and then an interminable eight  miles or so of flat along the river to Mineral Bottom. The flat was more annoying than easy, since both of us ride a fairly light singlespeed gear ratio. You get crazy legs pretty easy on the flats.

But we finally got to the base of the climb, where we both got off our bikes and sat down for a while, trying not to look at the switchbacks:

I figured I could salvage all of my pride if I could manage to ride it bottom to top, without stopping. So I told Sleepy I’d seem him at the top, and headed out. There were times when I actually started crying, and had to take my sunglasses off because I was fogging them with tears, and another moment when my ipod nano in my pocket rubbed the pocket the wrong way and turned itself all the way up, and I had to take the ear buds out to save my ears. And at each switchback, I could look down and spot the green argyle jersey, steadily making its way up the climb.

I got to the top, found a water bottle and doused myself, and sat in a camp chair for a while. But it wasn’t more than about 5 or 10 minutes and the green argyle jersey crested the last switchback and rode into camp.

It’s one thing to pull a 100 mile ride completely out of your ass. It’s another to pull a desert offroad 100 miler completely out of your ass. But to pull a desert off road 100 miler out of your ass on a rigid singlespeed?

Who is that guy?

Our baby’s all growed up.

I used to read more than I read now. And by “read” I mean, read books, not magazines, or billboards. I still read, but I feel myself gradually moving away from fiction and into other stuff, like magazines (The Economist–definitely my favorite, but impossible for me to get through before the next issue arrives), non-fiction books, like war history (loved the John Keegan WWI and WWII stuff, for example), and science (well, for me, I guess it’s psuedo-science, light stuff, like “A Brief History of Nearly Everything, by Bill Bryson” and “The Big Bang”), and lots of news and even blog stuff on the Internet.

But I’m trying to get back to fiction. I just finished Ken Follett’s “Pillars of the Earth.” I cannot figure out why I found it so compelling. It’s not that well written, it’s a bit, um, I dunno, common. But I found myself reading it at stoplights in my car. Go figure. So it’s on this list.

Anyway, this is just going to be a list of books I love. I’m not scholar, and I’m rarely hoity toity. I realize that most of the books on my list are conventional, non-adventurous. I haven’t decided whether to apologize for that or not. I tried to read Goedel, Echer, Bach, An Eternal Golden Braid, by Hofstadter once, and my head hurt. That book is NOT on this list, but props to Robert for recommending it way back when. Robert is smarter than me. I just like what I like. And I like these books. I’m sure there are other books I like that I can’t remember right now. I’ll add them to the list, which, by the way, will be in no particular order. For example, the books will NOT be listed by genre. Nor by year. Or Author.

In short, it’s just a list of books I love. I’m happy to add books to the list, so long as they meet the criteria. That is, they must be books I’ve read, and that I love.

In no particular order (did I already say that?):

Hamlet–What can I say? Although, I much prefer viewing Kenneth Branagh’s movie version to actually reading it. Not that I haven’t read it. Oh, I’ve read it.

John Keegan’s World War I and World War II–It’s gritty in detail, sometimes too mundane, but I love the way it gives both the strategic, um strategy stuff, and the view from the man on the ground. Great stuff.

The Good War, by Studs Terkel–Amazing in it’s breadth, from a gay soldier to John Kenneth Galbraith, this is still my favorite book about any war, much less World War II. Props to Bob for recommending this book back in the day.

The Razor’s Edge, by Somerset Maugham–This is a book that I think of all the time, when I find myself wondering if I’m wasting my life working for a small software company. But then the light changes and I have to drive again.

Beloved, by Toni Morrison–I first read this in college, and just loved it. Even though I get extreme white liberal guilt whenever I read it, I still love it.

A Brief History of Nearly Everything, by Bill Bryson–How can you not get behind a title like that? Don’t YOU want to know about everything? And Bill writes it like he’s sitting with you on the beach, drinking a diet coke.

A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole–Ignatius J. Reilly is kind of like Frodo for me–He lives. I really hope to see a movie version of this book. I would like to see Itnatius brought to life. Will Ferrel comes to mind.

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley–The vision of kids sleeping while being programmed with subliminal messages returns to me sometimes. Usually when I’m whispering stuff into MY kids’ ears while THEY sleep.

King Lear–I love everything but the ending. And I’ve already said all I’m going to say about that.

Catch 22, by Joseph Heller–”That’s some catch, that Catch-22,” Yossarian observed. “It’s the best there is,” Doc Daneeka agreed.

The Scarlet Letter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne–I think I’ve always had a soft spot for Hester, but I just didn’t know it until I read this.

Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut–I realize this is Vonnegut’s most accessible novel. I’m all about accessibility.

A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams–Don’t Panic.

The Big Bang, by Simon Singh–More than an explanation of the Big Bang, this is really more a chronicle of the history of science and the scientific method that LED to the theory of the big bang.

Darkness At Noon, by Arthur Koestler–I read this in high school, for Mr. Norton. I distinctly remember reading this, and for the first time grabbing onto a BIG IDEA. I know, it’s weird, but before this book, books were nothing but science fiction short story anthologies. Maybe that’s just me.

The Crying of Lot 49, by Thomas Pynchon–I read this in Phil Snyder’s contemporary lit class, and I remember thinking “wait, this is supposed to be postmodern junk, theory disguised as fiction. Why do I LIKE this?”

The Awakening, by Kate Chopin–One of the first feminist type novels I read. Along with some of the postmodern stuff I read in college, I would call this a life-changing novel for me.

Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad–I remember in high school, one of the English teachers, Bonnie something, speaking to a collection of English classes, talking about this novel, and getting all emotional (suicide in front of high school kids) about how each of us has a heart of darkness inside us. Like a dutiful high school student, I scoffed. But I never forgot. And you know what? It’s true!

The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Attwood–With just a twist, a push, a shove maybe, this could be us. Ick.

The Catcher In the Rye, by J.D. Salinger–I named my youngest son after Holden Caulfield. I have high hopes for him. Funny thing is, I read this long after I went through my alienation, angst phase. It almost made me long for ennui, where I had none.

Peace Like a River, by Leif Enger–I think I have a thing for first novels from authors. I love this: “Here’s what I saw,” Rube warns his readers. “Here’s how it went. Make of it what you will.”

The Monkey Wrench Gang, by Edward Abby–You get Abby’s politics, but through a much more entertaining voice. Hayduke lives.

A Good Man Is Hard to Find, by Flannery O’Conner–I love Flannery. A critic once said about her: “She creates a contrast of violent action with humorously and carefully drawn characters and a philosophy that underscores her devout Roman Catholic faith.” In other words she’s like an old woman version of Quentin Tarantino. What’s not to like? All Flannery is good, but this collection is really all you need.

Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett–I don’t know why I loved it. I don’t even know IF I loved it. But it’s a thousand pages, give or take, and I couldn’t put it down. You do the math.

Many Things Have Happened Since He Died, by Elizabeth Dewberry Vaughn–Kind of turned me on to Southern Writing, if that’s a thing. She has a gift.

Life of Pi, by Yann Martel–I don’t know if this is great fiction, but I love the idea of not missing the better story. I never want to miss the better story.

Lord of the Rings–You know, the dialog sucks, the writing is artificial and pretentious, and there are very very few meaningful women characters. And yet. And yet. What are you gonna do?

I know taking pleasure in the pain of others is called Schadenfreude. But that seems so hoity toity. This morning on my commute I experienced what might have been called shadenfreude, but really was more like glee.

I was driving north on Bangerter, steered off my normal I-15 route by an accident at 7200 South, so way down at the bottom of Bangerter, I stayed west and took Bangerter from just north of 146000 South to my office just north of 3500 South. Bangerter is like a city street freeway, 3-4 lanes each direction, freeway speeds, but with stoplights every few miles at the southern end of the valley, and every mile or so at the northern end.

This morning right as I got on the road, I noticed a guy in a bright orange pickup truck with some landscaper company logo on the side. He was quite obviously in a terrible rush. And so, since I had nothing to do but listen to NPR for the next 30 minutes, I conducted an experiment.

I entered the middle lane, and never changed. And I watched Mr. Orange Pick-Up Truck (talk about a hard name to make sound tough–I bet he gets beat up a lot).

Mr. Orange Pick-Up Truck changed lanes over FORTY times in the next 10 miles/30 minutes (I lost count after 40–Diane Rehm had someone on who had written this great sounding book about a guy in Japan who rescued the Akita from certain extinction). I changed lanes ONCE, to get in the right lane to exit Bangerter Highway onto 3500 South.

I was directly behind Mr. Orange Pick-Up Truck as we turned right onto 3500 South.

I don’t know why it felt so good. But I high fived myself.

I’m in San Diego with the family this week. I’ve been here since late Tuesday night, and I just have to say this: California drivers are the BEST!

Seriously, where did they learn to drive like this? I mean, duh, of course they learned to drive like this here, in California. But man, these drivers are AWESOME.

Let me just try to describe the awesomeness.

First, California drivers ALWAYS go the right speed. Nobody drives in the left lane unless they are in exotic sports cars or driving Ducatis, and going at least 110mph. Or, if someone absolutely MUST use the left lane to get around someone (rare, or course, since drivers here pretty much are always going the right speed in the correct lane), they only stay there long enough to get around. Really. That’s it. They either go fast, or they slip in, then slip out. No lollygagging in the left lane.

Everyone goes exactly fifteen miles over the posted limit in the middle left lane, ten miles over in the middle right lane (that’s another awesome thing about California highways–they have LOTS of lanes, which is a bit disorienting for newbies like me–it’s hard to know just what to do with so many lanes), and 5 miles over the speed limit in the right lane. Nobody goes the actual speed limit, of course. That would be lame.

And what’s weird is, they have NO old people who forget, no vigilantes who enforce the speed limit with their gigantic SUVs, and especially, there are NO Mexicans who just recently arrived in this country and have only a rudimentary understanding of traffic laws and customs. Which is quite odd, considering how close San Diego is to actual Mexico.

Second, California drivers are VERY courteous. That is, if you ever need to merge in after a short or twisty on-ramp, or you need to get from the middle left lane (not the far left lane, because that would imply a Ducati or Ferrari, which just isn’t me) over to the right lane to exit, people simply make room. It’s like they know where your exit is, and as a group, they facilitate your passage. I’ve never seen anything like it. California drivers are like the Borg, but without the creepiness.

Now that’s just freeway traffic. On city streets, it gets even better. I don’t even have words to describe it, but let me just say this: if there are cars in heaven, and please God, let there be cars in heaven, it will be a lot like California. Only with more hybrids.

I thought about taking pictures. But really, that would just be gross.

I work at a small software company in Salt Lake City, and we have about 30 employees. The company is a start up, and we’re right on the cusp of profitability, and always looking for more VC money. The powers that be are a bit tight with the purse strings, because we’re always trying to show good numbers to the board and prospective VC folks.

Unfortunately, that means our toilet paper sucks. Well, actually, the whole bathroom sucks, but the toilet paper is where the rubber meets the road. We have a urinal, a regular stall, and a handicap stall. Each stall has one of those gigantic, cheese wheel sized TP rolls.

As you may know, the usual problem with the cheese wheel TP roll is that you can never get more than one square at a time, because the weight of the roll overcomes the bond between squares. Our cheese wheel is different. The tensile strength between squares is such that you could swing from the TP hanging out the bottom, though you really don’t want to risk swinging into anything else nearby. But you have to brace yourself to tear off your portion.

Plus, the TP sucks ass. (Um, not literally.)

The best solution here is for one to use one’s private stash of toilet paper. Which I do. There are no bargains when it comes to your ass, I’ve found. I try to be discreet, but unapologetic. I’m not the one who should be sorry.

Would mentioning that there are always crumbs on the bathroom floor be part of a review of the bathroom, or of its patrons? CRUMBS! Does that not mean that someone is EATING in the bathroom? Let’s just move on.

Another problem with our bathroom is that nobody cleans it. I mean,we have a guy, I’ve heard, that comes by every night and “cleans.” But I’m pretty sure he only empties that trash cans (and then only if they’re overflowing).

You know that euphoric feeling you get when you go into a public restroom, and you see the lid in the UP position? Because you know that means nobody has used it since the cleaning people have worked their magic, right?

Yeah, forget that. If the lid is up in OUR bathroom, the only good option is to head straight for the 7 Eleven. Yup, it’s THAT bad. I’m talking debris, I’m talking smell, I’m talking . . . well, how bout I stop talking about that. I mean, there’s even a plunger sitting there, and the plunger is cracked, and, um, debris-laden. Seriously, call Haz Mat.

But there is a silver lining. Our paper towel dispenser has been broken ever since I started here. It was one of those with a big curved lever that you had to push repeatedly to get a paper towel out, and the return spring was missing, so you had to grasp the handle and push and pull it to get a towel. Most people object to grasping anything in a public bathroom.

Now we’ve got a newfangled, electronic paper towel dispenser. You wave your hand in front of the light, and you get a paper towel. It’s like magic.

Cuz, you know. That’s what we needed. That’s where you should put your money. In the paper towel dispenser. What would I do? I think I would have put a pile of paper towels next to the sink, and spent the money on a Haz Mat crew for the part of the bathroom where your actual ass meets an actual toilet. But that’s just me.

Every now and then we break out the video camera. We don’t do it often, but that just proves the point that rarity doesn’t equal quality. Remember, home movies, like dreams, are generally interesting only to those who are IN them or have them, and not always even then.

Anyway.

This post is a collection of my youtube clips. As I make more youtube clips, I will put them in this post. Cuz I’m in charge here.

Biking
First up, a two parter of Kenny’s RAWROD, or Ride Around White Rim in One Day, this was April of 07, and I toted the camera around because Elden couldn’t be there.

RAWROD 07 Part One:

And, RAWROD 07 Part Two:

Next, The Fall Moab Series, although I’ve only taken the video camera once, in 2006. Another two parter.

Fall Moab 06 Part One:

Fall Moab 06 Part Two:

Sledding
We get a lot of snow up at the house, and my Minnesota roots demand that we make good use of it. Each big snowstorm tends to fill in the runs, so we reconfigure the hill several times a year. Ironically, this year, 2008, was the best so far, but I have no video from this year. But here are the sledding videos from years past:

December of 2006, had some extended family over for a Saturday afternoon:

And here we have sledding in January 2007:

And sledding in February of 2007:

Skiing
I don’t have much ski video, but someday I will edit and add video of our heli ski trip to Canada and maybe even of our Italy trips, though I don’t think we even have much footage from Italy, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been heli-skiing in Italy.

For now all I have is this video of Rick S and me hiking up to Days from Alta, dropping Upper Days, climbing to and dropping Main Days, and, unfilmed, us climbing back up Upper Days and skiing back down to the car at Alta.

This morning had the fixins for being the perfect storm of perfectneses–12 inches of fluffy new snow up Little Cottonwood Canyon (on April 10th!); Kim wanted to hike and ski with me, so she arranged for the kids to get to school late; and a whole big crew of the dawn patrol was coming. It had epic written all over it (well, if epic means one 2500 foot shot in Scotties B0wl–maybe not epic, but certainly sweet).

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Everybody met at the LCC parking lot, nobody was late, only Jon James bailed, the table was set, and cars started heading for White Pine. About a mile up the canyon, Jay realized she had left one of her socks on her front seat back in the parking lot. Oddly, nobody had a spare. Tyler and his brother pulled over and waited while we went back and got the sock.

I’m guessing that if Jay had known that the five minutes retrieving the sock would mean the difference between getting up the canyon, and being turned away because they were closing the road for avy control, she would have skied barefoot on one side. But she didn’t. I wonder if this was like when the mom at the beginning of Doomsday puts her child on the helicopter and then stays behind. Or when they weld the wall shut and that guy has his fingers in there. Maybe that’s overstating it a bit. (Read about Rick’s morning in Scottie’s here.)

How bad could it be? Little Cottonwood wasn’t the only canyon to get snow. We just turned around and drove to Big Cottonwood Canyon, halfway up, to the Spruces campground, to hike up Days Fork from below. I would call where I live the best place to live if we only had ONE cottonwood canyon. We get TWO.

So me, Kim, Jay, Tyler, and Tyler’s brother (Quin) headed up Days. But bad luck comes in threes, right? After about 45 minutes of skinning, Kim’s hip flexor started acting up. This has happened before, and once it gets bad, there’s nothing to be done. So just as we got to the base of the steep skinning up Days Draw, Kim had to bail. But, like the mom in Doomsday, she insisted that we go on.

From there, the skinning was incredibly steep, about as steep as I think I’m capable of, and the powder was very deep. But in conditions like that, the pain is a good hurt. About halfway up to the Reed Benson ridge, the sun came out. In April, that means it gets warm fast, and on fresh powder, that means the little red clock on the bomb starts counting down before the new snow starts heating up and moving.

We stopped a few hundred feet short of the ridge and de-skinned, smacking our lips for the tree powder shot below.

And then we hit it.

I exited the trees at the bottom first, then Jay, and we waited, wondering where Tyler and Quin were, since they both were much better skiers than Jay and me.Finally Tyler made his way out of the thick trees, visibly limping (can you can limp while you ski?). He had tumbled hard into a tree, and was bleeding from his hip.

After getting him to promise not to tell his wife that he was with me this morning, and that Quin had pushed him into the tree, we headed down, Tyler going first so we could make sure he made it down alive.

Was that three (unlucky things)? Oh, and my skis had developed a thick coating of ice, which then collected several inches of snow, which acted like a pretty good set of brakes. That sucked.

Which just goes to show, even when the backcountry is bad, it’s good. If I knew the same bad luck would happen in exactly the same way tomorrow, I would get up at 4:45 and do it again. Not sure if Kim or Tyler would though.

I’ll post the pictures that Quin took later (these are Tyler’s). Tyler is back from the hospital. So far, x-rays say no breaks or internal bleeding. Though I’m not sure you can see internal bleeding with an x-ray.

A very long time ago, I attended the graduation from BYU of my brother. Actually, I’m guessing it was my brother. I guess I have no idea who was graduating, but really, why else would I pack myself into the Provo Tabernacle for 2 hours in August if it wasn’t my brother, me, or Kim?

Anyway, I remember (and I really don’t know WHY I remember this–my head is like an ill-kept closet, full of flotsam and jetsam, almost none of it useful) that during this graduation ceremony, one of the faculty members, a very large balding man, robustly sang an a cappella version of some song that must have been titled “I Love Life.” I’m guessing that’s the title, because that’s all I can remember about the song, that he sang that over and over again.

However comical that seemed at the time, and continues to seem in my memory, I was singing it in my head this morning. Rick and I got up at 5am, met at Little Cottonwood Canyon at 5:30, and were hiking from the White Pine trailhead with headlamps by 6:00, straight up the gut of Scottie’s Bowl. Rick set a pace that made me consider Bill Murray’s trick for messing with Judge Smails’ backswing.

Anyway. 18 inches of fresh. April 8th. About 2500 feet of north facing vertical, beginning with a steep tight chute at the top. The new snow was sluffing freely, and the first 500 feet or so were more like surfing than skiing. Rick and I both got knocked off our feet by the deep, fast moving sluffs. He simply disappeared for a second. I, on the other hand, encountered a tree when the sluff broke. No harm done.

We were back to the car by 8:00, to work before 9:00.

I. Love. Life.

There, I said it.

We met up with Dustin Butcher of Voile, the splitboard company, at the parking lot, and decided to hike together. Dustin had a camera. We’re going to ask Dustin to come next time too.

Photos:

This is me, hoping to catch Rick and then kill him.

Rick, almost at the top, taking it easy.

Rick went first, and the snow was good. Very good.

But the sluff was bigger.

You can just see my ski sticking out from the tree. The sluff is long gone.

But it’s all good.

Fighting a new sluff to get to the ridge.

To infinity and beyond:

Remember The Crying Game? It came out in 1992, took the world by storm, got nominated for a bevy of awards, including best picture, won best screenplay at the Oscars, it’s got a 90 on metacritic, and on and on. I don’t know if it was THAT great. I mean, I remember it, I remembering liking it, and I remember thinking it was like three different movies in one, and I remember thinking, Hey, this Forest Whitaker fella, wasn’t he in Fast Times at Ridgemont High?

But mostly, I remember thinking, This movie is good, but I really, REALLY have to pee. So I got up to pee. Now I’m a fast pee’er. People notice. I’ll come back from peeing at a movie, and people will comment. Usually they’ll say something like “You did NOT just go pee, you’ve been gone like 10 seconds.” But they’re wrong. I mean, who would do that? Who would say they’re going to pee, then just stand in the hall for a minute, then come back? All so people think you’re a fast pee’er? That’s just stupid.

But this time, when I came back from peeing, Kim did NOT comment on how fast I’d been, nor did she ask me if I’d REALLY gone to pee. This time she was as agitated as if she’d just seen a ghost. She was practically jumping around in her chair, her mouth was agape, and she couldn’t even talk (normally a good thing in a movie theater).

I had left at the beginning of what appeared to be a standard movie-fare sex scene, where Stephen Rea and Jaye Davidson (how’s that for an ambiguous name) are about to get to know each other a little better. No big deal, seen it a thousand times.

Kim couldn’t seem to find a way to express to me what I had missed. I looked at the screen, and clearly there was no love happening there, and both characters seemed a bit out of sorts. Finally Kim composed herself long enough to point at Jaye Davidson on the screen and say “That woman there, THAT ONE, she has a penis. And she showed it to us.”

See? You can NEVER pee fast enough.

I used to hang out in bike shops a lot. In fact, back when I worked at Novell in Provo, I used to get food and head to Frank’s Bikes for lunch almost every day, where we would eat, lounge, and invent crazy games (like flaming water bottle catapulting), have 4-up kid bike races in the shop, and such.

Anyway, I also saw a lot of bike shop customers (we didn’t consider ourselves customers–Jeremy probably didn’t see us that way either, come to think of it), and we heard lots of crazy customer stuff. In particular, we used to hear what customers would say when they brought their broken, recently purchased bikes in for repair (and, hopefully, warranty).

So if you’re a shop guy reading this (that’s unlikely, since the only person reading this is probably Kim, who is definitely not a shop guy), you know what’s coming, right? There’s a phrase I learned at the shop that every customer seems to think is original to him or her–Just Riding Along. It even has its own acronym–JRA.

You don’t even have to say the whole thing. Crash your bike and break the fork? JRA. Ride over a waterfall and lose your bike underwater for an hour? JRA. Drive into your garage with the bikes on top? JRA. And the Shop guys look knowingly at each other, and reject your claim.

Which makes what happened to me yesterday so weird. I was riding the Walt Works (disclaimer: this Walt is an old, already-warrantied frame with a lot of miles. In fact, it’s one of the first Walts ever, number 3, if I understand my history correctly (Brad’s the original owner, not me). I have no complaints about Walt’s bikes (or Walt himself, for that matter).:

Me, Brad, Kenny, riding Corner Canyon in Draper. On the first twisty downhill, I felt all over the place, like I just couldn’t point the bike straight, and as I caught up to Brad and Kenny at the bottom, I said “Jeez, I feel totally off my game today, just can’t get a grip.” They seemed to think that was perfectly normal.

So later, I was just riding along (JRA):

and I heard a distinct CLUNK. We were on the final downhill, the high East singletrack just above the equestrian center in Draper. I knew something had broken, but figured it was my pedal or something like that, so I dropped to the last bridge, maybe a quarter mile above the parking lot, and Brad and I took a closer look.

Yup. Right below that Chris King headset, the top tube is broken clean through. Let’s see that from the other side:

Clean through. Not sure I could have done it cleaner or better with a hack saw. Come to think of it, I don’t think I own, or have ever owned, a hack saw.

Anyway. Seriously. JRA! I haven’t crashed all year.

After a neighborhood guy movie night this week, I decided to come up with a list of movies I like. I want everybody to see the movies I like. I wouldn’t recommend movies that suck. That would be mean.

I likes me some movies. I would say much (most) of my conversation, thought, and interaction is heavily influenced by the movies I see. That is, I sprinkle references and examples from my movie history into my conversational present. I, in fact, “liken the movies unto myself.” I don’t care if you get it or not, it bubbles out on its own.

Okay, that’s not entirely true, I DO care if you get it, and I can’t help judging you if you don’t. But I try to keep the judgment light and ephemeral. And I realize you might know more about movies than me. No biggie. I live in a bubble.

But if you don’t like any of these movies, I don’t think we can be friends. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s okay if you like movies NOT on the list, it’s okay if you would rank them differently, and it’s okay if you haven’t seen some of them. But if you actually DISLIKE any of these movies, well, I get angry just thinking about it.

The movie list is a work in progress. But by progress, I mean the list can grow, it cannot shrink. Eventually a movie list will be circumscribed into one great whole. But it is not this day. And let me be clear, I have seen all of these. To post movies I haven’t seen, well, that would be icky.

P.S. Of course, now that I’ve posted this list, every couple of minutes I slap myself on the forehead as I remember a movie I should have listed. For those movies others remind me of, I’ll go ahead and list them, adding an asterisk (*) so we can all enjoy how stupid I was in the first draft. I don’t mind thinking about stuff, but if anything takes me more than about 15 minutes, my mind wanders. It’s beginning to wander now.

Comedies

There’s Something About Mary
Spinal Tap
40 Year Old Virgin
Life of Brian
A Fish Called Wanda

Honorable Mention: The Sting, Blazing Saddles, Holy Grail, Swingers, Raising Arizona, Planes Trains and Automobiles, When Harry Met Sally, Young Frankenstein, Dr Strangelove, Moonstruck, Talladega Nights, Ghostbusters, High Fidelity, Groundhog Day, the Princess Bride, Wayne’s World, Knocked Up, American Movie, Team America World Police, Clerks, Animal House, Flirting With Disaster

Drama

Chinatown
The Shawshank Redemption
Children of Men
Pan’s Labyrinth
One Flew Over the Cukoo’s Nest

Honorable Mentions: Glengarry Glenross, Hamlet (Kenneth Branaugh), No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, Casablanca, The Hustler, Shawshank Redemption, Do the Right Thing, Taxi Driver, Marathon Man, 12 Angry Men, History of Violence, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Sling Blade, Mystic River, Traffic, American Beauty, *The Graduate (thanks Tyler, I’m an idiot. Although, does this belong in Drama or Comedy? I’ll leave it in drama.), Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet, Lone Star

Mafia

Godfather
Godfather II
Goodfellas
Miller’s Crossing
Pulp Fiction

Honorable Mention: Heat (I really want to put Heat in the top five, but what are you gonna bump?), Mean Streets, Bound, Scarface, the Usual Suspects, North By Northwest, Snatch, the Grifters, the Departed, Out of Sight, the Untouchables, True Romance

Woody Allen Movies

Crimes and Misdemeaners
Annie Hall
Manhattan
Bullets Over Broadway
Hannah and Her Sisters

Honorable Mention: Sleeper. Is Woody Allen still making movies? I’ve stopped paying attention.

Creepy

Alien
Sixth Sense
Silence of the Lambs
Seven
The Shining

Honorable Mention: Jaws, Misery, Trainspotting

War

Saving Private Ryan
Apocalypse Now
Patton
The Thin Red Line
Letters from Iwo Jima

Honorable Mention: The whole Band of Brothers series, Dr Strangelove, Platoon, Shindler’s List, Bridge Over River Kwai, The Third Man, Henry V (Kenneth Branaugh), Full Metal Jacket, The Deer Hunter, The Dirty Dozen, Stripes (ha!), The Great Escape

Dystopia

Children of Men
Bladerunner
Dark City
Clockwork Orange
The Matrix (yes, just the first one)

Honorable Mention: The Terminator, Blade Runner, Gattaca, Mad Max (all of them), Robocop, Brazil, Escape from New York (and LA)

Horror

Alien
The Exorcist
The Shining
28 Days Later
The Ring

Honorable Mention: The Thing (1982), Scream (all three), Evil Dead, Poltergeist, Halloween

Disaster Movies (borrowed, I guess, from guilty pleasures–None of these movies is great, but it’s disaster movies–what are you gonna do?)

Titanic
The Poseidon Adventure (original)
Armageddon
Independence Day
Airport (original)

Superhero

Batman Begins
Superman (original)
Superman II
Iron Man (on the list with a bullet!)
Unbreakable

Honorable Mention: Batman (michael keaton), Spiderman, Spiderman II, Hellboy

Action/Adventure

Raiders of the Lost Ark
The Empire Strikes Back
Die Hard
Terminator 2: Judgement Day
The Road Warrior

Honorable Mention: The Matrix, Aliens, Speed, Superman, Batman Begins, Predator. LOTR (all), Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, the other Star Wars movies, Hero, First Blood

Cop Movies

48 Hours
Lethal Weapon
Bladerunner
Fargo
Die Hard

Honorable Mention: The Fugitive, The French Connection, LA Confidential, Training Day, Beverly Hills Cop, and ToLive and Die In L.A., just for the amazing car chase.

Hitman Movies

The Professional
Pulp Fiction
Grosse Point Blank
Collatoral
Kill Bill (first)

Honorable Mentions: Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Prizzi’s Honor, Lucky Number Slevin, The Bourne Movies, Reservoir Dogs (not sure if this is hitman, but it’s great, an egregious oversight in the initial list)

Thriller

A Simple Plan
Seven
Body Heat
The Manchurian Candidate (original)
The Fugitive

Spy

Goldfinger
Casino Royale
La Femme Nikita
Bourne Identity
The Lives of Others

Honorable Mention: The Conversation, 3 Days of the Condor, Mission Impossible, The Spy Who Loved Me, From Russia With Love, Ronin

Sports

The Natural
Bull Durham
Caddyshack
Hoosiers
Raging Bull

Honorable Mention: Rocky, Field of Dreams, The Hustler, Bend it Like Beckham, Friday Night Lights, Breaking Away, Victory

Food

Babette’s Feast
The Big Night
Like Water for Chocolate
Chocolate
Tampopo

Teen

Say Anything
Juno
Election
Breakfast Club
Ghost World

Honorable Mention: Some Kind of Wonderful, Pretty In Pink, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Clueless

Children’s Movies

Matilda
My Neighbor Totoro
Spirited Away
Princess Mononoke
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Honorable Mention: Iron Giant, Toy Story, James and the Giant Peach, ET, The Incredibles

Foreign (whatever “foreign” means)

Pan’s Labyrinth
Ran
7 Samurai
Au Revoir Les Enfants
Three Colors (Blue, White, Red)

Honorable Mention: *Run Lola Run (thanks Shelle, I’m an idiot for forgetting this), Amelie, Amores Perros, Paris Paris Je T’aime, La Femme Nikita, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Like Water for Chocolate, Indochin, House of Flying Daggers

Western

Unforgiven
McCabe and Mrs. Miller
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
Shane
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

Honorable Mention: The Searchers, The Outlaw Josey Wales, My Darling Clementine, 3:10 to Yuma (new), Jeremiah Johnson, True Grit

Coen Brother’s Movies

Fargo
No Country For Old Men
Raising Arizona
Oh Brother Where Art Thou?
The Big Lebowski

Honorable Mention: Miller’s Crossing, Blood Simple

Movies I Thought of After I Made the List and Categories

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Being John Malkovich
Rushmore
Steve Zissou and the Life Aquatic

Guilty Pleasures

Doomsday
Hudson Hawk
Wild Things
Joe vs the Volcano
Last of the Mohicans

Pretentious Movies I Like, But Can’t Say I Love, Cuz That Would Be Lying

The Seventh Seal
Wild Strawberries
Citizen Kane
My Dinner With Andre
Wings of Desire
Gosford Park
Triplets of Belleville

Movies I’ve Seen Recently, And Love, But Can’t Rank Yet, Which Means This Section Will Grow and Shrink As I Move Them Up Or Out and Add New Ones

Once
Eastern Promises
The Savages
Atonement (great movie, except for that virtuoso, yet interminable Dunkirk shot–did it really have to last that long?)

Other Movies I Love But Don’t Feel Like Putting In the List Because I’m Lazy Or Because They Don’t Really Merit It (Mostly Cuz They Don’t Really Merit It, Plus, You Know, Tick Tock, Game’s Locked)

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Pumpkin
My Life As a Dog
The Razor’s Edge (yes, the Bill Murray version, though I like the Tyrone Power version too, but not as much)
Lost In Translation
Shoot Em Up
Sin City
Unbreakable
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
New York Doll
Diner
Spellbound
Murderball
WordPlay
Rounders
The Limey
Limbo

For the last 23 years or so, I have lived within riding distance of Sundance Resort. Just go to their website—how can you not fall in love with this place? On the backside of Mt. Timpanogos in Provo, UT, Sundance looks like a postcard from the Alps. Remember Jeremiah Johnson? Of course you do, didn’t you watch it over and over and over as a kid? Um, neither did I.

But the buzz is that Robert Redford filmed the movie Jeremiah Johnson with Sydney Pollack way back in 1971, totally fell in love with the mountain, and bought the whole shebang, or at least as much as the Forest Service would let him. (If you don’t know where the actual resort name came from, well, all I can say is, you need to see more movies). Can’t say I blame Mr. Redford; if I could, I’d buy Mt. Timpanogos myself, lock, stock, and barrel.

And what has become of the beloved mountain? Let’s sit back and take stock. And by stock, I mean, let’s do some rippin’, cuz I’m really not very happy.

Access

If, by access, one means easy or hard to get to, Sundance would get an easy 10 out of 10. From Provo, you just drive 15 minutes up Provo Canyon, and you’re suddenly at Sundance Resort. I’m not sure what your access to cool stuff is, but by most any standard that doesn’t involve “how quick can I get to the nearest toilet,” 15 minutes is pretty good.

However, that’s not what I mean by access. By access, I mean, can I get on the mountain to use it as God intended (and by “as God intended,” I mean, of course, however I want. Me.).

The answer? No. No I can’t. Let’s review:

About 15 years ago, Kim and I heard about a free jazz concert series to be held at Sundance, out on the lawn at the base. So we figured we had our next 10 Sunday afternoons booked. We head up, throw out a blanket next to everybody else, and start grooving. No more than two minutes passed, and a guy ambles over to tell us that only people buying the food at the BBQ pit get to sit on the lawn.

Well, we brought our own lunch. “Then you can’t sit on the lawn,” says the guy. Where can we sit? “You can’t,” says the guy. But the concert is FREE, we say. “Yes,” says the guy, “but the lawn isn’t.”

I admit it, the well has been poisoned ever since. I hate Sundance.

Maybe 12 years ago, Jeremy Smith and I drove up to Sundance to do some mountain biking on their brand new trails. We pulled into the parking lot, and some guy (in fact, I’m pretty sure it was the same guy) ambles over and asks for money to park.

“We’re just here to bike,” we say. Yeah, well, then it will be more, he says. “We have no money, we are but humble mountain bikers,” we say. Yeah, well, then we really don’t want you here, he says.

Seriously, you can’t make this kind of stuff up.

At Deer Valley, by most any account a much swankier place to ride, ski, and eat, they build more and better trails than at Sundance. They have better skiing, better food, host Norba National events, and the occasional World Cup event. And, they don’t charge me to park or ride, unless I’m riding the lift.

But at Sundance, they have a guy (almost certainly the SAME guy) who rides the trails, checking to see if you have your little wrist band that means you paid their tax. Like a sondercommando. You see how angry I am about this? I just used the Holocaust to make a joke.

One final thing about access (although, really, I could go on all day. But you already knew that.): In winter, Sundance grooms a bunch of trails for cross country skiing and snowshoeing, including a route to Stewart Falls, a large, beautiful waterfall on Forest Service land. In winter, I go night snowshoeing a fair amount, and we like to start at the Aspen Grove trailhead, about 2 miles farther up the canyon from Sundance, where there’s another trail that takes you to Stewart Falls. Just over halfway to the falls, the trail from Aspen Grove hits the groomed trail from Sundance. No big deal, right? Except, they post signs that say, unless you have PAID Sundance resort for the right, you risk PROSECUTION if you walk on this packed down section of trail to the falls. They want me to step into the brush, and avoid their little section of groomed trail.  

To this day, I have never seen an actual Sundance resident or paying guest on this trail. They just like the idea of empty trails. Okay, I’m taking my crazy pills, let’s move on.

Accomodations

I’ve only stayed at Sundance once. Can you feel it coming? I’m off on a wild-eyed rant here, can’t stop myself. I booked a suite for our anniversary. We had a kitchen, two bathrooms, balcony looking at the mountain, little creek running by, the works. When we finally got to bed, the first thing we noticed was the uncomfortable sensation of falling into the crack IN BETWEEN THE TWO DOUBLE BEDS PUSHED TOGETHER WITH A KING SIZED SHEET HOLDING THEM IN PLACE!

But that’s okay, right? I mean, the room only cost about $300 a night.

I’ve had trouble watching The Sting ever since. I just want to reach into the screen and rip Bobby Redford’s heart out. I cheer the ending scene of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid every time now. Die, Sundance Die!

Food

Sundance has two restaurants, the Tree Room, and The Foundry Grill. Both have financing available, although, you may need the lease with an option to buy at the Tree Room (so named, because there’s a huge dead tree trunk poking up the middle of the Room. So, Tree, aaaand, it’s in a Room. Get it?).

The food is fine. Really, I’ve never gotten sick from eating at Sundance.

But once, a loonnng time ago, I took a date to the Tree Room, a girl who wanted to be the next Meryl Streep (but, sadly, was destined to be the next wannabe Kathy Bates). We were seated right next to the tree, which is quite an honor.

Over in the corner, seated with a largish posse, was none other than Bobby Redford himself. My date was smitten, but I was already jaded, and determined not to be a dweeb. We sat and ate and talked, they sat and ate and talked, and gradually his posse was whittled down to him and a woman. We outlasted them, though, and eventually he made his way past us to the exit.  

He stopped right at our table, since we were the only ones left in the restaurant, and stood there, presumably waiting for me to look up and say something adulatory. My will is strong, though, and I continued poking at crumbs on my dessert plate. And finally, he gave up and walked off.

Yeah! Take that you elitist, faux environmentalist poser. You and your Sundance Film Festival (which, by the way, takes place pretty much all in Park City, NOT at Sundance), your stupid groomed snowshoeing trails, and your nice lawn I can’t sit on.  

Like K,k,ken, in A Fish Called Wanda, I want REVENGE! Well, here it is, from Hell’s heart, I stab at thee—Sundance gets a 1. I have no idea what the scale is, but unless it’s 1 out of 1 (it isn’t), 1 sucks.

A while ago (okay, a loooong time ago) Elden wrote about a ride that he dramatically named “The Gauntlet!” (I added the exclamation point. It just feels right.) You can read about his little Gauntlet! Ride here.

Last week my friend Joe (the only friend I’ve introduced to mountain biking NOT to have been seriously injured) asked me about doing the Gauntlet! But, well, with a little twist—When Elden did it, he rode up Provo Canyon, did Squaw Peak and South Fork, rode up the Sundance side of the Alpine Loop, then down to Cascade Springs and back, and down the American Fork side, doing the Tibble Fork spur on his way down.

Joe contends that’s cheating, since Elden didn’t go back UP the American Fork side. And he proposed that this was like Sir Edmund Hillary only getting to the Hillary Step, but not all the way up. I think that’s airtight logic.

And thus 7.5 hours of intense suffering was born. This morning, Joe Jensen, my brother-in-law Rick Sunderlage, and I did the Gauntlet! II—This Time It’s Personal!

A bunch of others came along, but since they had no intention of completing the entire ride, well, they don’t get a mention. Even though some of them are famous, and most of them can kick my ass up the hill.

I will review the Gauntlet! II—This Time It’s Personal! one climb at a time, along with a general score. In other words, my review shall contain scores. That’s how I roll.

Tibble Fork, American Fork Canyon (cat 2—3 miles, but only the last mile is steep)

We met at the mouth of American Fork Canyon at 5am, and were rolling by 5:15 (still AM). It was not as light as I would have hoped. In fact, it was downright dark.

We felt good, we rolled fast, and made it past Tibble Fork reservoir to Granite Flat in about 10 minutes.* Total climbing to Granite Flat was about maybe a couple hundred feet.* The descent was very cold, but jolly.

* Perceived time and distance

Score: 3 out of 4. I’d like to rate it higher or lower, but jeez, it was the first climb of the day. Kind of like when you skate first in figure skating. The judges have to save the good scores for later. And no, I’m not French, effete, and I don’t wear fur.

American Fork Canyon, Main Climb to Summit (hors category—11 miles, and mostly very steep)

We still had about 6 miles and 2,000 feet to get to the main summit of the Alpine Loop. Not to mention that we then had 4 major climbs after that. So I thought it imprudent of Rick to just fly off the front and pretty much get all Lance Armstrong on Joe and me on this climb. Turns out I was riding with Spiderman and Batman (Joe and Rick). Which brings up an important point—who would win a fight to the death between Spiderman and Batman? I say Batman. He’s older, more experienced, wily, and has unlimited resources. My kids disagree. Well, except for Maddy—she’s a daddy’s girl.

Anyway, I took it easy up this climb (as easy as you can ride on an average 9% grade), and rejoined Rick and Joe at the top, where they began their ritual of saying, “Hey, nice going, we’ve only been here for about a minute,” which was just mean.

I think we climbed this in about 20 minutes. (I’m totally pulling your leg. This is a little known measurement I like to call “perceived time and distance—so from now on, * means “perceived time and distance.” I think it will catch on.) The elevation gain might have been about 500 feet.*

Score: 5 out of 6. I love this climb, it’s my favoritist in the whole world. But, still early in the ride, so I can’t go overboard.

American Fork Canyon, Cascade Springs (hors category—7 miles and wicked steep)

From the summit, we headed down the backside to Cascade Springs, a 7 mile descent, losing about 2000 feet. Justin was with us for this descent, and took off fast, showing us what he’s got. The road was a bit gravelly and sketchy, but since I was climbing so slowly, I felt it important to show the one road biking skill I have. I believe Justin’s exact comment to Rick at the bottom was “your bro-in-law is F#$%ING NUTS!” So, I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

The climb back out of Cascade Springs fills me with a sense of dread. It’s long and steep, and I was with fast guys. Luckily, I also had Mr iPod with me. You may have read the Fat Cyclist rail on riding with iPods in groups over on his obese site. The Fat Cyclist is a ninny and a Quaker. Riding with iPods is the bomb, and may have saved my life today. I’m thinking of writing a letter to Steve Jobs.

This climb took a little longer, maybe 40 minutes, and gained more like 8,000 feet in 7 miles.*

Score: 3 out of 7. This is a good climb, but by the top, I was feeling a bit spent, and started worrying in a big way about the 3 climbs to come. On the other hand, I got to listen to Fergie sing My Humps 3 times on this climb, so maybe I’m being a bit harsh.

Interlude

At the summit again, we relaxed for a couple minutes, munching on whatever we had. While we were standing there, some kind of nexus of ride buddies occurred. Rick Maddox, who had started late, came over the hump from American Fork, and joined us. And Elden suddenly appeared out of nowhere on his mountain bike, having just climbed Tibble Fork, descended Joy, and climbed back up. He couldn’t join us, since he needed to get to work and act all impressive.

Anyway, this is an example of how cool this area is. We are at the summit and center of maybe the best riding in the universe on a Monday morning, and suddenly, 70 percent of the friends I ride with appear. Maybe it’s just me. Am I babbling? Okay, I’ll stop.

We descended the Sundance side, pushing the pace hard. The top of this descent is twisty and densely wooded, and the lower section below Sundance has sections where you can push over 55mph pretty easily. I like it. This descent gets a score: 9 out of 10. Cuz this is MY review (with scores).

Provo Canyon, Squaw Peak (cat 1, but only because it’s short—4.5 miles, and brutally steep)

Rick M rode out Provo Canyon with us, but, like the churlish dog he is, bailed on Squaw. Rick S, Joe, and I started up. Now, the fastest I’ve ever climbed Squaw, at my absolute best, is just under 30 minutes. But as we were in the middle of the Gauntlet! II—This Time It’s Personal! I figured we’d soft pedal up and save our energy for the final climb up past Sundance.  

Well, I did that, but Spiderman and Batman had other ideas. I’m not even Robin or Mary Jane to these guys. I got to the top in about 38 minutes, not really a bad time, considering. Rick, of course, immediately says “we’ve only been here about a minute.” He’s obviously lying, since he had a roaring fire going, and was barbequeing the goat he had killed and skinned. I hate Rick. They climbed the sucker in about 31 minutes. Yeah, I always go for my personal best on the middle climb of a SIX climb ride.

The Squaw Peak road used to suck, with large, bus-sized potholes and lots of gravel, making every descent white knuckle. Not any more. Now it’s a recently-paved descending paradise. Still white knuckle, but for different reasons.

Score: 1 out of 10. Did I mention that I hate Rick?

Provo Canyon, South Fork (cat 3—four miles, but very gentle)

South Fork was like a vacation compared to Squaw Peak. Or at least it would have been if it weren’t climb number 5 out of 6. At least Rick and Joe weren’t setting any personal bests on this one.

I have very little recollection of the South Fork climb, maybe because it came sandwiched between Squaw and Sundance, and was fairly pleasant. Apart from the fact that my legs were starting to feel like Jello that hadn’t set yet.

Score: 0 out of 0. Since I don’t really remember it at all.

Provo Canyon, Sundance Side of Alpine Loop (hors category, 8 miles, and the first half is mind-bendingly steep, and I’m told the second half is very pleasant. I wouldn’t know, since I had already gouged my eyes out by the time I got to the second half).

As we started up the Sundance side, once again, Batman and Robin receded into the hazy distance ahead of me. Whatever, I hope they get hit by a dump truck.

Until today, I would never have imagined being able to soft pedal up the Sundance side. But given the exigencies, today was the day. I started hallucinating early, and not in a good way. Elvis (the fat Elvis) was riding on my handlebars.

After somehow muscling my way up the steep stuff to Aspen Grove, I spent the next 3 miles telling Elvis (the fat Elvis) to F#&K OFF! He kept telling me I needed to sit down, just for a minute. But I knew, if I got off my bike, even for a second, chances were good I’d never remount again. Ever. We had this same conversation 8,000 times in those 3 miles. The tunnel of pain got narrower and narrower. Do you know what got me through?

My iPod, of course. Turns out, Fergie singing My Humps is the best climbing song in the world. It’s good for other stuff too, but Fergie saved my life today. That tears it, Zinedane Zidane is out, and Fergie is IN.

Score: negative 100 out of 1,000. I will never climb the Sundance side again. And not just because I hate Sundance (which I will review at a later date, but here’s a little hint: it doesn’t reflect well on Sundance), but because climbing that side made me want to die. And that violates the greatest cliche in the world: Tomorrow Is Another Day! And I don’t even remember the descent, maybe my favorite descent in the whole world. And that’s just a crime.

On the other hand, that shower I railed on a few weeks ago? I take it all back.

The Gauntlet! This Time It’s Personal! Final Score: 6.

The Numbers: 7.5 hours (slightly less for Rick, since he dropped us hard on the final climb to get to work because he’s VERY IMPORTANT!), 87.5 miles, and about 13,000 feet of climbing.

Mr. Stephen R. Covey (who does this, includes their middle or initial initial in their name? I’ll tell you who does it, people hoping to impress you do it, people hoping to make themselves sound important but not urgent, they do it. I would like to introduce a guideline—if a name isn’t important enough to spell it out, it’s NOT IMPORTANT. Except, maybe, as a differentiator. That is, if you’re afraid you’ll be confused with another person of the same name, like, let’s say your name is Saddam Hussein, I can see how you would want to add a Z to the middle or front, so you add the initial to clear up any identity crisis. Otherwise, PLEASE DROP THE INTIAL.) not only found enough time in Quad 4 to come up with the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, but apparently had time after lunch to come up with four “Quadrants” that define our lives.

I think this falls under any of the 5 examples of different types of Quad 4 activities—Trivia, Busy Work, Time Wasters, Unproductive Activity, and Everything Else. I guess writing this review might fall in there too. It’s hard to differentiate, most of my life seems to be inside that room.

Anyway. What do you say we review Covey’s Four Quadrants?

Quad One—Important AND Urgent

These are the words Covey uses to describe Quad One—Pressing Matters, Crises/Panics, Fire-Fighting, Deadline-Driven, and Projects. Now, I know I’m supposed to put first things first, right? And if this quadrant is Important AND Urgent, I spose that means everything inside comes first. Quadrant One contains the stuff that MUST be done.

But I don’t like people telling me what must be done. Screw those people. Plus, who says things like “pressing matters?” I can see people on Gosford Park saying things like “I have more pressing matters to attend to.” Try telling that to a client sometime. Or your wife.

Rating—Quad One is a refuge for cowards and the weak minded.

Quad Two—Important but NOT Urgent

This is just stupid. Anything important is urgent. Covey claims that that we’re supposed to prioritize our lives with important stuff, not the urgent stuff. Silly semantics designed to make him sound like Confucius, and make him and his 18 kids lots and lots of money.

Covey even uses pretty alliteration to make Quad Two sound more high-minded: Prevention, Planning/Preparation, Professional Knowledge. Then he throws in “Relationship Building.” At least Quad Two has room for hooking up. But I’d call that more Urgent than important.

Rating—Quad Two is a sham, a marketing cover for hiding in your office claiming that you’re working on “VERY IMPORTANT PLANNING THAT WILL SAVE THE COMPANY SOMEDAY.” Which, I think we can all agree, is a mighty fine way to cover for your web surfing. I like it.

Quad Three—Urgent but NOT Important

Apparently this is the quad where stupid stuff happens. Stuff like “some calls, some meetings, some whatever.” Looks like some of my stuff is important and some isn’t. Oh, and Stephen R. also includes “popular activities.” What, like Porn surfing?

You know how I can get a handle on what’s important in my life? Here’s how—I can buy a book by Will Edwards called The Deepest Desire of Your Heart. And I can buy Will’s Quanta Training. Because, turns out, Covey’s training isn’t deep enough for me to really get my life under control. Turns out, I need Quanta Training, and someone to help me figure out The Deepest Desire of My Heart.

Rating—Quad Three finally helps me spend more money. Yeah me.

Quad Four Not Important and Not Urgent

This is like Disneyland. Trivia. Time Wasters. Unproductive Activities. Everything Else. They have something to help us with this too. It’s called the World Wide Web. What we need to do is use the habits and the invaluable Quanta Training to help us rise far enough in our respective organizations to remove all controls on web surfing, email, and instant messaging, so we can disappear into our offices, log on, and play World of Warcraft.

Rating—Quad Four rocks. I’m never coming out. Ever.

I didn’t want to have to do this, but I feel I must review my neighbors. Not all of my neighbors, just the ones across the street from me. To be more specific would be pointless, because, on the one in a trillion chance (so yes, there’s a chance) that my neighbors ever read this page, much less even know who I am, well, everybody on my street will know exactly which neighbor I’m talking about.

Anyway.

I guess what I’ll do is just list the incidents, the stuff, the grist, that sort of thing.

First, the house. The neighbor, let’s call him, hm, George Webber. George built across the street from us, on the view side of the street (we couldn’t afford the view, so we’re stuck on the lame side of the street), so he has the walkout basement, the huge deck overlooking the valley, the hot tub on the deck, the works. George’s house is cool, lots of cool colors, cool paintings, cool lighting, all that. The problem is the color. Sort of. The base stucco is a nice earthy yellow color. But in a botched attempt to make the house look like an Italian villa, George had the stucco done with dark streaks, to simulate 500 years of sitting in a Mediterranean climate. That didn’t work out so well–it looked more like a child had taken black oil and splashed it on every wall. For a year we referred to it as “the haunted house.” Made it very easy to tell people where we lived—“oh, we are across the street from that gross haunted house.” Slam dunk.

After about a year, George went out with his kids and painted over the stucco using a base, earthy yellow color. Not professionally done, but still. Better than haunted.

Last year, George had the yard landscaped, but he burned through several landscape companies, because he kept changing his mind, en medias rex–they couldn’t stand the flip flopping. He also spent some time shopping for a landscape company that wouldn’t balk at violating all of the HOA’s rules and regulations. Just when he got the yard about, but not quite, done, his last landscape company up and quit on him–They’d had enough.

Let’s do the family. I don’t really have much of an idea, after two years, what exactly the family make-up is. At first I thought I knew, I thought it was George, his kids from previous marriage who only came up to visit, and George’s girlfriend, hairdresser girl, and her kids from previous marriage, who seemed to live there during the week, but not on weekends. But this last winter, girlfriend disappeared, George came and went sparingly, no kids, and another crazy man seemed to live there, coming and going only during the oddest of hours. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of that. Except the oddest of hours part. That can be a problem. More on that in a minute.

Oh, and recently, George seems to be back, with girlfriend hairdresser girl, but no kids. But now with an entourage.

Okay, how about some of the, er, activities. First, crazy winter guy. All during the winter, crazy winter guy would come out of the house at about 3am, and fire up the generator and the water compressor, and start power washing the driveway. Seriously. Like 3 times a week. I should mention that January was very cold, sub zero for many days at a time. So crazy winter guy would power wash the snow and ice from the driveway, and create large piles of ice at the bottom of the driveway, on the sidewalk, from all the power washing.

The power washing was particularly fun, because we would be fast asleep, and awakened by the generator, only to go to the window to see crazy winter guy in boxer shorts and a white sleeveless t-shirt, power washing his driveway. In January (about 0 degrees). At three in the morning. Good times all around.

Speaking of three in the morning. George, in his infinite wisdom, spent well above $50,000 (you read that right, fifty thousand dollars. American.) on a house-wide custom sound system, with wall mounted flat screens, the works. Who wouldn’t want that? Especially with the hot tub overlooking the valley in the backyard.

Well, there is a downside. The axiom we live by is, the more expensive the sound system, the harder to figure out. Which isn’t a problem when it’s your neighbor’s sound system, unless he’s installed very large, very expensive speakers in the eaves of his front porch. Pointing roughly at my front door and bedroom window.

The first time Kim and I were awakened at 3am, it was to the strains of the Carmina Burana. And it was so loud our windows were shaking. I stomped across the street, banged on the door, rang the doorbell, and stomped around a good ten minutes until crazy winter guy finally saw me through the window. He sheepishly came to the door, dressed in his traditional sleeveless white t-shirt and boxer shorts. I mutely pointed up at the speakers. He held out his hands, helplessly, and said “dude.” Except he said it like it was a 20 letter word—“ddddduuuuuuuuuuude. It’s a $50,000 sound system. I don’t know how to turn it off.” Eventually we got it turned off. Only to have it turn on when I got back to bed. And then off again. And so on.

This happened several times over the winter. We called the cops a few times, since it was way too cold to go stomping over each time. But the cops would show up, bang on the door, flash their flashlights in the window, and nobody would ever come to the door. But the music would turn off, and the cops would just shrug and leave. Nice. I’ve seriously considered going over with a hose, and spraying the speakers until they short out, or even just a broom handle, and punching out the woofers, but I figure anybody with a sound system like that also has closed circuit security cameras, and I don’t fancy starring on America’s Dumbest Criminals.

A month ago or so, we got into bed around 11pm, only to be jolted back awake by the soundtrack to the movie “300.” I knew it was that movie, because it was the scene where the Spartans push the Persians into the ocean. I stomped across the street, and a teenage girl answered. “How’s the movie?” I said. “WHAT?” she yelled. “I don’t live here!” “I don’t care! I just don’t want to watch the movie with you!”

She figured out how to turn it off.

I don’t want to go into each incident. But the most recent one was pretty good. Last week, again, around 11pm, we had just gone to bed, and the music started up. Each time this happens, we lay there in bed for a minute, waiting to see if they’ll realize the problem (they never do).

So I got up and started across the street. Lots of cars, lots of noise (the new thing, now that George is back with entourage, is hot tub parties). I got across the street, and was starting up the driveway, when a dwarf in a swimsuit came running around the side of the house, soaking wet, and ran right in front of me, then disappeared behind the other side of the house. Like I said, hot tub party. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Oh, and he may not have been an actual dwarf, but at first I sure thought he was. Turns out he was more like an 8 year old boy. Same diff.

Just as I started back up the driveway, a woman came around the side of the house, clearly in pursuit of the boy. She was also soaking wet, but unlike the boy, she had no swimsuit. Instead, she was stark naked, and in a full run. She saw me, and without breaking stride, she placed both her hand over her breasts, muttered “this is just too much,” (amen, sister) and continued her way around the house.

Normally that would have been enough to send me back home, but there was no way I wasn’t going to the front door now. I knocked for a minute or two, and when the door opened, I was greeted by a woman I had never seen before, dressed in just a towel, and not a big one. Oh, and Kid Rock’s hat. No kidding. Kid Rock’s black top-hat, except it was furry.

I said “Hi. Do you think you could keep the music on the inside of the house?”

She just smiled, said “sure,” and closed the door. No invitation to stay. I’m quite offended.

Funny thing is, now when I tell people about the neighbors, the women laugh, but the men invariably ask for the address.