April 3, 2013
I kind of feel like Rafiki.
And while we’re here, I want to pose a question.
You know what a farmer blow is, right? Or a “snot rocket”? I’ve been known to blow a few of those in my time, especially while riding my bike. Cuz you know, when you’re climbing faster than you should, you need all your orifices for air.
So I don’t really care what we call that thing. What I’m asking is, what do you call it when you blow the blow? That is. you plug one nostril (for lack of a better word–maybe “blowhole?”), and you blow to enable breathing, and somehow the seal you created at the back of your throat (or the front, if you’re pressing your tongue to roof of mouth–this is not the preferred method) to direct all air out the blowhole, blows. You blow the blow.
And you make a sound kind of like Gollum makes. And if you’re lucky, you also feel like you’ve scraped some skin off the back of your throat.
Okay, all that. So, the question is, what do you call that?
November 12, 2012
Reboots are all the rage these days. And almost always for the better. We’ve got darker, moodier, bloodier Batman, Spiderman, Superman (due out soon), and even a James Bond with Oedipal issues who cries (CRIES!).
Let me go on record–I’m in favor of all of it. Stories are all about execution. There is no story that won’t be interesting or funny or intense or at least watchable in the right story telling hands. Execution is the thing, not the play.Which brings me to something I said about Diet Coke many years ago.
I don’t know what happened between 2002 and 2004 at the Coca Cola think tank, but apparently the right person died, because there’s no way the same dipweed who came up with the crap that is Diet Coke with Lemon and the mess that is Diet Vanilla Coke also invented the sublime flavor bouquet that is Diet Coke with Lime. Somebody in Georgia deserves a promotion. And a big hug. And a night with an expensive hooker. I could go on. I’m just really, really grateful.
Diet Coke with Lime–execution at its finest.
This last weekend we held Fall Moab 2013, and I’m here to tell you, Moab has been re-booted. Maybe I’m late to the party. But somehow I missed the reformation. Somehow Moab changed from Jeep road heaven to singletrack paradise.
Here’s what I think happened–I think somehow the demographics shifted, and the old miner segment with a locals only mentality is finally the minority, and someone had the bright idea that alienating tourists by sneering at them in the grocery store, running them off the road with pickup trucks, and marking remote yet popular trails just enough to get someone into the middle of nowhere but not back again isn’t the best route to economic sustainability.
Someone is embracing the new world.
Because instead of going to Moab and choosing between Slickrock, Porcupine Rim, Amasa Back, Poison Spider Mesa, and Gold Bar Rim (ALL trails that are either old motorcycle playgrounds or abandoned Jeep roads, except for the lower section of Porcupine), we got into town Friday morning, and spent 6 hours exploring all the new trails in the Klondike Bluffs area, which is no longer just a quick and dirty family ride to an overlook and some dinosaur tracks and an overlook of Arches, but instead sports miles and miles of beautifully constructed singletrack like EKG, UFO, Giant Steps, and more.
Saturday, instead of just doing our usual all day outing on Gold Bar Rim (which is awesome), we started at the top of the old Gemini Bridges road, took aim at the Magnificent Seven, and did an endless amount of wicked awesome singletrack descending to the bridges, past the bridges, and up and around Gold Bar, finishing with the old Portal Trail.
And Sunday, we sampled just a portion of the Bar M area, doing Deadman’s Ridge and Lazy EZ and more.
Wow. All I can say is Wow. THIS! I WANT THIS!
Thanks Moab person who decided to re-invent himself/herself. You have raised the bar. The ball is in St. George’s court.
Oh yeah. Fall Moab. Me, Elden, Bob, Paul, Cori, Kenny, Steve, and Kris. (No Brad. No Gary. No Ricky. No Sunderlage. No Sleepy. Booooooooooooooo.) We rode. We had fun. We had seasons in the sun (mostly–the storms kept brushing us without actually hitting us).
Some pics. Jus fer fun.
And finally, here’s me riding a bit. I followed all the standard rules (hands on the bars, feet locked in the pedals), but did poke my heels out a bit to let the rock know I was there.
September 24, 2012
I’ve said it before, I love and hate Strava, as I love and hate myself.
Today, we hates it. Good cloud cover, intermittent drizzle, so I went long (for me), and routed myself to get a couple good warm up climbs before I went for the Strava PR on Clarks for my big finish. I realize my Clarks PR will be minutes slower than some of your Clarks PRs. It’s not a contest.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Okay, it’s always a contest, but it’s not a contest I’m in any danger of winning. That’s why I pursue PRs instead of KOMs. I’m a realist.
So anyway. I hit the base of Clarks from the west, which gives me a nice launching pad, and I stay safely in the Serena zone for the first quarter mile. But the higher I got the more painful it got, and I passed right through the Serena zone, barely noticed the Monica Seles Zone, spent a few minutes in the Maria Sharapova zone, and did the last half mile squarely in the Azarenka zone. I think a badger tried to mate with my leg because of the sounds I was making, but I couldn’t see or feel anything, so it’s hard to say for sure.
I finally get to the garage, I save and upload my ride to Strava, and scroll frantically, looking desperately for the cute little PR symbol.
And Strava acts like I never rode Clarks. I mean, the route map clearly shows I rode Clarks, but Strava shows no Clarks segment.
The other day, I crashed for the second time trying to PR Upper Anne’s, losing my glasses, all the skin on my right knee, and wasting 20 minutes in the Sharapova zone. This is so much worse.
September 2, 2012
Let’s just get this out of the way right up front–I woke up at 5:30 in my brother’s Park City house to pouring rain, thunder, lightning. I went upstairs to look at the radar on the computer, and in addition to the giant thunderstorm over Park City, there was another Isaac-sized storm coming from the west.
So I went back to bed.
Did I mention I hate riding in the mud and rain? I hate riding in the mud and rain. I’m a fair weather racer. Well, I’m not really a racer at all, but I’m definitely a fair weather event rider.
But my day was not without misery. Because when I woke up later at about 9am, the sky was blue and the weather calm. And I hated myself. Despite a morning of pancakes, eggs, and watching the dogs frolic in the backyard, I was in the words of Kim and Holden, “pretty mopey.”
When we decided to head down to Davanzas for some lunch, I declared that before showing myself in public, I would have to remove the category number the P2P folks had sharpied onto my calf the night before. And Liz happily volunteered her Mr Clean Magic Eraser.
The first pass she took at my calf with the wet eraser felt pretty good, and got a good bit of Sharpie off my leg. She rinsed it out, and went in for another pass, which also felt fine and took off most of the number.
But a bit of sharpie remained. So Liz went in for round three, because she’s a perfectionist, and this time, well, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda felt like she had pushed a nail or five through the eraser, and was vigorously scrubbing it up and down my calf. There may have been some shouting and kicking.
Here’s what my calf looked like last night:
Let’s take a closer look, shall we?
You know how in The Mission, Robert De Niro’s character feels bad for being a slave trader, and carries his sack of armor up the waterfall as penance?
I guess it’s like that. But really, I hate riding in the rain.
But just fer fun, here’s the leg today:
August 28, 2012
I need some redemption from some of the catastrophically bad nutritional decisions I made during the Ultimate Challenge ride (that’s right–I’m blaming my poor performance, not on any lack of fitness or toughness, but on bad nutritional decisions). The best way to get that redemption is to suffer through the Park City Point 2 Point race. Makes perfect sense.
So I picked up one of the many entries floating around available from people who entered way back in whatever early season month registration opened (and closed 7 minutes later), but who are too smart to actually DO the event.
Okay, I may not be thinking especially clearly here. I acknowledge this.
Anyway. Sunday, I was helping to set up a bunch of chairs, and I rolled a giant chair cart weighing about six thousand pounds up onto my right foot, most likely breaking my middle toe.
From the bottom:
You know the worst part? Not that this will feel especially uncomfortable this Saturday around mile 70 of 80 miles and 14,000 vertical feet of technical singletrack. (I did a Corner Canyon broken toe test ride yesterday, and while the toe did keep reminding me of its status, it never said “ride P2P and I’ll go gangrenous on you.” So I think I’m good.)
Nope. The worst part is that Eber’s wife, Cicely, looked at the pictures and said “He doesn’t have the prettiest toes to begin with.” Which is more than just mean, it’s so totally not true. I could be a toe model. Well, could have been.
June 30, 2012
I have three kids, and they couldn’t be more different and more similar at the same time.
Maybe I’m overstating just a bit.
But still. Maddy was always very cautious. Not a big fan of danger or exposure.
Holden falls kind of in between. He’ll try almost anything, but only when he’s sure it’s the right thing to do. He’ll drop cliffs Ian drops, after he sees Ian drop them.
But Ian has no real danger filter.
Today me n Holden n Ian headed out to corner canyon for some dirt, and after we dropped Ghost and mid Canyon, we were about to hit lower Rush, which Holden had ridden, but not Ian, and I said to Ian, “okay, there are lot of jumps on lower Rush that can catch you off guard. You’ll hit several in a row that are super smooth, and then suddenly you find yourself launched. So, ease into it. Be careful.” You know. Cuz we aren’t exactly BMX champions or anything.
So Ian just takes off, and while I hang back to make sure Holden is good, I lose Ian.
Until I come around a corner and run over his bike. But not him. Because he’s off the trail and down in a ditch.
(Of course, my first thought was, hey, wait down there while I get a better angle.)
It all worked out.
It just got me thinking. Thinking about Maddy. Then watching Holden and Ian as we were riding home. And thinking.
June 18, 2012
Okay, the title is a bit misleading. I mean, I did see Prometheus, which I loved despite its flaws, but by “weekend in movies” what I really mean is, I did some stuff over the weekend, and I filmed some of it, set it to music, and went ahead and Vimeo-ized it.
I’ll start with the second thing first. Got Ian, his old friend Kolby, and his new friends Megan and Rachel out on the boat Saturday afternoon. A good time was had by all, near as I can tell.
But before we hit the lake, I headed up AF with Eric Bright and Brandon Banks to hit some dirt, with the primary goal of finding our way over to the new-ish Mill Canyon stuff. I heard tell of a 32 switchback climb. Turns out, yes, yes there are 32 switchbacks.
I got a little self-indulgent while I was watching a rough cut (first cut), and I wanted a song on it, so I popped Pink Floyd’s Shine On You Crazy Diamond, and, well, I just couldn’t cut any more after that. Sometimes the best iTunes feature is “sort by song length.”
Anyway, here it is, featuring the mud/mill downhill, and the mill switchbacks. There are 32 switchbacks. I think I got em all, but I don’t feel like counting again. I had a hard enough time counting them the first time.