Scroll down a few posts to see the write-up about Ben and I's trip. Aparently they post them in order of their creation date, not their publishing date.
-w
The Daisy Project
10 months ago
Monday, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Timpanogos
If you haven't been up Mt. Timpanogos I recommend it. The flowers are in full bloom and absolutly stunning. it's definitly a "hundreds enjoy the wilderness solitude simultaneously" type experience on a saturday in July but amazing never-the-less. 6 of us made the trek yesterday.
Maura takes the "I'm building a rock wall" award of the day for bringing up the micro-skis and Dr. martin's to ski the snowfield. Sadly I can't see to get blogger to add the photos right now. while there's a lot of vertical left on the mountain to ski, the report was that it is probably not worth hauling your rock skis the 9 miles and 4600ft it would take to get to the start of the run. (you be the judge)
:-)
Maura takes the "I'm building a rock wall" award of the day for bringing up the micro-skis and Dr. martin's to ski the snowfield. Sadly I can't see to get blogger to add the photos right now. while there's a lot of vertical left on the mountain to ski, the report was that it is probably not worth hauling your rock skis the 9 miles and 4600ft it would take to get to the start of the run. (you be the judge)
:-)
Saturday, July 22, 2006
the new steed
At last, my new bike is finished. Lucky for me, Will decided to rebuild this bike that he found in a trash heap at Friday Harbor. It's too bad we didn't take a before picture of this bike because it's undergone quite a transformation. Some of you saw it: the yellow paint, the peeling stickers. The original plan was to ugly it up even more with the gold and black saddle, orange bar tape. But good taste won out and Will set about to get the thing sandblasted and sanded and repainted to match the saddle: black with gold detailing.
I don't know enough about bikes to tell you the techy details (W. will have to chime in) but it's a single speed. That I know. And it's gorgeous.
There have been many wardrobe suggestions in relation to this bike. From my sister: gold pants. But then she reconsidered because the gold pants might make my ass look big and suggested black pants with a gold top. From Will: a gold helmet with wings along the side. The possibilities are endless, I think.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Bugaboo
Now that the pain in my quads has subsided and the lightning-induced adrenaline has been flushed from my body I can revisit Ben and I's trip to the Bugaboos in the Canadian rockies.
When I first started climbing waaaayyy back in 98 when I lived up in northern Idaho, I remember fliping through Climbing magazine and seeing shots like this one
Even when I was young and full of climbing hubris I realized that the Bugaboos, a mere six-hour drive from my doorstep (I routenly took the eight-hour drive to Smith rocks), were outside my abilities. Some of this was due to poverty because I simply could not afford many of the required peripherals like mountain boots, ice axe, crampons, bad-weather clothes, ect..., which could total 1200 bucks or more to purchase. Also, Ropes, and rock shoes were more disposable items back then as I would routenly took 100+ whips on a rope in a matter of 3 months, so just feeding the rope habit was costly. However, the real obstacle was just the intimidation factor. Those spires looked big. They are hemmed in by glaciers and shouded in unpredictable weather. So then I was comfortable climbing at short sunny crags with overhangs and that posed chalenges that you could reduce to specific sequences of moves over a few feet of rock rather than the manifold logistical challenges involved summiting one of those spires.
But this year I made it happen. This spring I finally booked ahead one week at the Conrad Kain hut, which stands at the base of the Crescent glacier, just at the base of the Snowpatch spire (pictured above) and just a little further, Bugaboo spire. The col pictured to the right of Snowpatch leads to Pidgeon and the Howser spires, which are more of a hike.
behind the hut in the picture is the Hound's tooth, which is the first spire you see on the hike in. I did not seem like many climb this because it is surrounded in difficult-to-pass icefall even in early season.
The hike in was probably the most exhausting day. Both Ben's and I's packs were sub one hundred pounds, we think, packed with food for the week and climbing gear. The great thing about the hut is that you don't need to bring any more camping equipment besides a light sleeping bag. No tents or pots/pans.
We woke up at 4 a.m. the next day to set of on a nine-pitch 5.9 that goes up the west face of snowpatch. Below is a picture of Ben walking up to the col in the alpenglow
On the west face in the morning I was really fucking cold. Once we got climbing we warmed up and the climbing went smooth enough through consistent 5.8 and 5.9 climbing to the top on stellar rock. The rappels took forever and then I realized why I love crags with walk-offs.
After that warm up we wanted to do something with less hiking and more sports action. One of the classics there is the McTech arete, which goes at easy 5.10. From the base the 5.10 flake pitch looks a little intimidating, like you have to smear a blank wall while underclinging a left-leaning flake. Once you get on it you see that the thing is littered with mondo footholds that gives you rest stances all the way up. Ben sent the the 5.10 pitch with style. I got the twin crack 5.9 pitch above that which was 40 meters of perfect splitter hands interspersed with a few roofs: Very fun. After we rapped we took inventory in our energy levels and decided for another climb the next day.
We decided on the Cain route up Bugaboo spire which is mostly hiking/scrambling and one 5.6 pitch. Yet another 4 a.m. start and we were hiking. I did not feel so well. When I got to the top of the col I felt downright sick, but scince I was at the foot of the Bugaboo I just kept going. The higher I got the better I felt, but I never felt good. The whole time I kept marveling at how great the weather had been. In four days of being there we never saw a drop of rain. We scrambled and scrambled going quickly up the low-angle rock till we got to a minor ridge which we traversed. We then had to rope up for a pitch, but still wearing our mountain boots. At the top of the pitch there was another ridge to traverse that leads narrows to an inposing gendarme where Conrad Kain in 1918 in leather mountian boots soloed. Stepping across you could finally see the exposure. We were a good 2000 feet above the crecent glacier and it was really nice to finally be on steeper terain that felt like real rock climbing. The traverse was airy and so Ben and I went across it scarefully. Then I put on my rock shoes and scampered up the gendarme where you could really feel the exposure. After that It was a quick pitch up to the south summit. Below is a shot of ben climbing to the base of the gendarme.
At the base of the gendarme we met up with this great couple of New Zealanders, Lisa and Rob, which we shared company with. We snaped pictures and chatted all the way to the top. Here is a picture of Lisa at the base of the gendarme preparing to second Rob's lead
The four of us were very merry, our attitude casual, and we sort of lost our haste in the party at the top, which was a bad idea in the Bugaboos. Afternoon thundershowers push through on good days and benight parties and give them a hypothemia on bad days. And by the time we summited we were due... The clouds were forming while we were lounging as you can see in the background
The four of us decided that we would team up on the rappels for speed: The leaders would set up one rope while the last in the group would pull the second rope and then leapfrog ropes in between for the next round. We rappeled the gendarme, me going last, and I was able to unstick the snagging ropes soon enough. Everytime you pull a rope up there it is unnerving. You might spend the next two hours fishing it out of a snag. While I was rappelling it started hailing and the thunder became less than distant. At the base of the gendarme again we then had to reverse the exposed ridge and then rappel once more to get off the exposed summit. As I pulled and rapped the ropes Ben took off ahead to set up a rope across the ridge. Lisa then Rob cliped onto that rope and ran accross. We were all working very quickly, hoping to evade any electricity. At the base of the gendarme at least I wasnt the tallest thing around. On the ridge however you ARE the tallest thing around. When rob steped off accross the ridge I saw him jerk about and go "whoa". He said that something hit him in the back of the head, like someone swatting him. He kept traversing and was OK but we all realized that we were not getting off the hook on this one. The whole ridge was electric. The storm reached a fever pitch. Once Rob was safe Ben was to "belay" me accros the ridge. As I stepped into the unknown my ice axe, attached and sticking straight out of my pack began to buzz. At first I thought it was unusual but I knew it wasnt good. Essentially it was electrons slowly being sapped off the metal shaft to the air (or the other way around, I don't know), being pulled along the rather large electric field set up from the rock to the sky, with me and my rather conductive metal axe in between. The ridge, which on the way up I was carefully traversing accross, I was now flat out running and jumping across. Half way across the ridge I found Ben huddled 20 ft. from the belay. Apparently his first choice for belay spots produced lots of buzzing in his axe and all through the rack and the rock was even buzzing, so he moved away from there where he was the only thing buzzing. We exchanged a few words to explain the situation and then I kept running. Each step I was thinking could be the last. As I was flat out running across the ridge I had a "Tom Ames prayer" moment as my brain was trying to work out the limited options it had in dealing with the situation. At the end of the ridge Lisa and Rob just set up a webbing belay around a rock about 10 ft below the actual chain belay which was wayyyy to exposed. I ducked below a rock and yellled to Ben that I was off and I gave him a hip belay to get him over to us. A minute later I saw Ben leap and tuck his legs to clear the bolder and land on our little perch below the ridge. A bold move in such an exposed position. We all rapped quickly and once off the ridge we finally stopped buzzing. We were out of immediate danger. We all told each other to be very careful. The adrenaline served its purpose in getting us off, but now it could make us do something stupid. Every step down was slow and careful. We rappeled another time just to be on the safe side to get us down some terrain that we easily scrambled up earlier. Here is a picture of Ben seconding the gendarme with "lightning ridge" in the background
On the way down the col we spoke with some other parties with similar stories to ours. There was some lady on the top of Pidgeon spire who was having involuntary limb contractions for several minutes before she could rappel down to safety. I think I would have puked...
The lesson learned is that you must be most of the way down by 1 pm. in the Bugs otherwise you are playing with fire (st. Elmo's)
The fourth day was for rest. The weather that day was perfect so it was unfortunate that we were so sapped because good days are precious. On our fifth day we decided to climb sunshine crack, which has some cool offwidthing and is sustained at mostly 5.10. Here is a picture of Ben heading for the overhanging offwidth on the second pitch
About 10 seconds after this picture was taken it started hailing and got really cold. It has rained and cleared earlier that day as well so we thought it prudent to bail. The forcast looked bad for the next couple of days so we decided it was time to leave the Bugs and head to the Sawtooths for some more climbing after some days of rest. So we drove and drove and got up to the Elephant's perch to try our luck on the fine line. The weather looked questionable up there as well but we started up the first pitch, which was the crux at 11c. We didnt do so well on it but we had some fun. The clouds were looming at the belay and so we decided to bail. This turned out to be wise: On our way out rain and lightning could be seen all around and we found out that our wisperlight stove clogged up, which was the third time a wisperlight has failed me in the backcountry. Don't tell me about the cleaning kit and all that, none of that works in the long run. Those stoves just suck major ass.
So are the Bugaboos are great? The answer is yes. Will I go back? I hope so, but I might try for the alpine granite in the Sierras first as I hear the weather is more stable and the drive to the them is much shorter.
-w
When I first started climbing waaaayyy back in 98 when I lived up in northern Idaho, I remember fliping through Climbing magazine and seeing shots like this one
Even when I was young and full of climbing hubris I realized that the Bugaboos, a mere six-hour drive from my doorstep (I routenly took the eight-hour drive to Smith rocks), were outside my abilities. Some of this was due to poverty because I simply could not afford many of the required peripherals like mountain boots, ice axe, crampons, bad-weather clothes, ect..., which could total 1200 bucks or more to purchase. Also, Ropes, and rock shoes were more disposable items back then as I would routenly took 100+ whips on a rope in a matter of 3 months, so just feeding the rope habit was costly. However, the real obstacle was just the intimidation factor. Those spires looked big. They are hemmed in by glaciers and shouded in unpredictable weather. So then I was comfortable climbing at short sunny crags with overhangs and that posed chalenges that you could reduce to specific sequences of moves over a few feet of rock rather than the manifold logistical challenges involved summiting one of those spires.
But this year I made it happen. This spring I finally booked ahead one week at the Conrad Kain hut, which stands at the base of the Crescent glacier, just at the base of the Snowpatch spire (pictured above) and just a little further, Bugaboo spire. The col pictured to the right of Snowpatch leads to Pidgeon and the Howser spires, which are more of a hike.
behind the hut in the picture is the Hound's tooth, which is the first spire you see on the hike in. I did not seem like many climb this because it is surrounded in difficult-to-pass icefall even in early season.
The hike in was probably the most exhausting day. Both Ben's and I's packs were sub one hundred pounds, we think, packed with food for the week and climbing gear. The great thing about the hut is that you don't need to bring any more camping equipment besides a light sleeping bag. No tents or pots/pans.
We woke up at 4 a.m. the next day to set of on a nine-pitch 5.9 that goes up the west face of snowpatch. Below is a picture of Ben walking up to the col in the alpenglow
On the west face in the morning I was really fucking cold. Once we got climbing we warmed up and the climbing went smooth enough through consistent 5.8 and 5.9 climbing to the top on stellar rock. The rappels took forever and then I realized why I love crags with walk-offs.
After that warm up we wanted to do something with less hiking and more sports action. One of the classics there is the McTech arete, which goes at easy 5.10. From the base the 5.10 flake pitch looks a little intimidating, like you have to smear a blank wall while underclinging a left-leaning flake. Once you get on it you see that the thing is littered with mondo footholds that gives you rest stances all the way up. Ben sent the the 5.10 pitch with style. I got the twin crack 5.9 pitch above that which was 40 meters of perfect splitter hands interspersed with a few roofs: Very fun. After we rapped we took inventory in our energy levels and decided for another climb the next day.
We decided on the Cain route up Bugaboo spire which is mostly hiking/scrambling and one 5.6 pitch. Yet another 4 a.m. start and we were hiking. I did not feel so well. When I got to the top of the col I felt downright sick, but scince I was at the foot of the Bugaboo I just kept going. The higher I got the better I felt, but I never felt good. The whole time I kept marveling at how great the weather had been. In four days of being there we never saw a drop of rain. We scrambled and scrambled going quickly up the low-angle rock till we got to a minor ridge which we traversed. We then had to rope up for a pitch, but still wearing our mountain boots. At the top of the pitch there was another ridge to traverse that leads narrows to an inposing gendarme where Conrad Kain in 1918 in leather mountian boots soloed. Stepping across you could finally see the exposure. We were a good 2000 feet above the crecent glacier and it was really nice to finally be on steeper terain that felt like real rock climbing. The traverse was airy and so Ben and I went across it scarefully. Then I put on my rock shoes and scampered up the gendarme where you could really feel the exposure. After that It was a quick pitch up to the south summit. Below is a shot of ben climbing to the base of the gendarme.
At the base of the gendarme we met up with this great couple of New Zealanders, Lisa and Rob, which we shared company with. We snaped pictures and chatted all the way to the top. Here is a picture of Lisa at the base of the gendarme preparing to second Rob's lead
The four of us were very merry, our attitude casual, and we sort of lost our haste in the party at the top, which was a bad idea in the Bugaboos. Afternoon thundershowers push through on good days and benight parties and give them a hypothemia on bad days. And by the time we summited we were due... The clouds were forming while we were lounging as you can see in the background
The four of us decided that we would team up on the rappels for speed: The leaders would set up one rope while the last in the group would pull the second rope and then leapfrog ropes in between for the next round. We rappeled the gendarme, me going last, and I was able to unstick the snagging ropes soon enough. Everytime you pull a rope up there it is unnerving. You might spend the next two hours fishing it out of a snag. While I was rappelling it started hailing and the thunder became less than distant. At the base of the gendarme again we then had to reverse the exposed ridge and then rappel once more to get off the exposed summit. As I pulled and rapped the ropes Ben took off ahead to set up a rope across the ridge. Lisa then Rob cliped onto that rope and ran accross. We were all working very quickly, hoping to evade any electricity. At the base of the gendarme at least I wasnt the tallest thing around. On the ridge however you ARE the tallest thing around. When rob steped off accross the ridge I saw him jerk about and go "whoa". He said that something hit him in the back of the head, like someone swatting him. He kept traversing and was OK but we all realized that we were not getting off the hook on this one. The whole ridge was electric. The storm reached a fever pitch. Once Rob was safe Ben was to "belay" me accros the ridge. As I stepped into the unknown my ice axe, attached and sticking straight out of my pack began to buzz. At first I thought it was unusual but I knew it wasnt good. Essentially it was electrons slowly being sapped off the metal shaft to the air (or the other way around, I don't know), being pulled along the rather large electric field set up from the rock to the sky, with me and my rather conductive metal axe in between. The ridge, which on the way up I was carefully traversing accross, I was now flat out running and jumping across. Half way across the ridge I found Ben huddled 20 ft. from the belay. Apparently his first choice for belay spots produced lots of buzzing in his axe and all through the rack and the rock was even buzzing, so he moved away from there where he was the only thing buzzing. We exchanged a few words to explain the situation and then I kept running. Each step I was thinking could be the last. As I was flat out running across the ridge I had a "Tom Ames prayer" moment as my brain was trying to work out the limited options it had in dealing with the situation. At the end of the ridge Lisa and Rob just set up a webbing belay around a rock about 10 ft below the actual chain belay which was wayyyy to exposed. I ducked below a rock and yellled to Ben that I was off and I gave him a hip belay to get him over to us. A minute later I saw Ben leap and tuck his legs to clear the bolder and land on our little perch below the ridge. A bold move in such an exposed position. We all rapped quickly and once off the ridge we finally stopped buzzing. We were out of immediate danger. We all told each other to be very careful. The adrenaline served its purpose in getting us off, but now it could make us do something stupid. Every step down was slow and careful. We rappeled another time just to be on the safe side to get us down some terrain that we easily scrambled up earlier. Here is a picture of Ben seconding the gendarme with "lightning ridge" in the background
On the way down the col we spoke with some other parties with similar stories to ours. There was some lady on the top of Pidgeon spire who was having involuntary limb contractions for several minutes before she could rappel down to safety. I think I would have puked...
The lesson learned is that you must be most of the way down by 1 pm. in the Bugs otherwise you are playing with fire (st. Elmo's)
The fourth day was for rest. The weather that day was perfect so it was unfortunate that we were so sapped because good days are precious. On our fifth day we decided to climb sunshine crack, which has some cool offwidthing and is sustained at mostly 5.10. Here is a picture of Ben heading for the overhanging offwidth on the second pitch
About 10 seconds after this picture was taken it started hailing and got really cold. It has rained and cleared earlier that day as well so we thought it prudent to bail. The forcast looked bad for the next couple of days so we decided it was time to leave the Bugs and head to the Sawtooths for some more climbing after some days of rest. So we drove and drove and got up to the Elephant's perch to try our luck on the fine line. The weather looked questionable up there as well but we started up the first pitch, which was the crux at 11c. We didnt do so well on it but we had some fun. The clouds were looming at the belay and so we decided to bail. This turned out to be wise: On our way out rain and lightning could be seen all around and we found out that our wisperlight stove clogged up, which was the third time a wisperlight has failed me in the backcountry. Don't tell me about the cleaning kit and all that, none of that works in the long run. Those stoves just suck major ass.
So are the Bugaboos are great? The answer is yes. Will I go back? I hope so, but I might try for the alpine granite in the Sierras first as I hear the weather is more stable and the drive to the them is much shorter.
-w
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Perla's Ridge
Rob and I decided to climb Perla's Ridge on July 4th to celebrate our independence from England (that, and the fact that he and I never have the same days off work). We had been scoping out the line for some time in the previous weeks, and both felt up to the adventure (despite the fact that the only beta we'd heard was, "it's loose and scary, and I don't ever want to do it again"). We scouted our approach, the descent, even key route-finding issues, from various angles down on the road or on the Gate Buttress.
Monday night I got 2, maybe 2.5 hours of sleep. I was set! Rob came over in the wee hours (maybe 5?), and we had a good breakfast (eggs on toast). We got into the canyon (LCC) by 6:15 or so, and were soon on our way. The approach was pretty easy. Follow some boulderers' trails into the forest, bushwhack when they run out, turn uphill at the potsmokers' shack, and a bit more bushwhacking to the talus slope. The talus was all good, and pretty stable. It led us right up into the gully west of the ridge. We knew we wanted to find some expansive white slabs, from our scouting report, and then probably take them up and left to the ridge.
Getting to the slabs involved a couple of bouldery moves in various places. When we got there, it was clear that we weren't going to climb them to the ridge. The looked like about 5.9 or 5.10, with no cracks whatsoever. Maybe we'll go bolt them someday...
Further up the gully, it splits. To the right, it continues as a hike-up, but is becoming increasingly sandy and loose. To the left are some solid granite slabs up a water-trough/corner with sporadic cracks. We decide to go left. It was okay, but not great. Above the initial, moss-covered moves, the trough becomes a perfect slab with no pro (if only we brought a couple of pins for the seam). I tried repeatedly to get up it, as it was probably no harder than 5.8, but the runout was incredible. I just didn't have it in me. I bailed to the right into a "jungle chimney." Zero aesthetics. The pitch ends in a chimney/cave.
Rob tried a few times to lead us out of the cave, but no success. That's okay, he got us past most of the difficult stuff later. The chimney probably goes at 5.8 or so, but it did involve toe-hooking, and head-scumming (simultaneously). It was a lot of fun.
Above this, more hiking up the gully to the grassy slabs below the headwall. Lots of lines on the headwall look promising (5.7 to 5.10), but we opted to solo up the 5.4 slabs left and into the trees. There, we followed game trails up above the headwall, bypassing it entirely.
When we got back to where the trails met the rock again, we took a short break for food and drink. Across the canyon, we could see Erin and Margaret climbing the Hook on the Gate Buttress. They looked so small. In fact, at this point we were higher than the top of the Thumb! We tried giving them a call on Rob's cell phone, but the girls didn't have theirs with them.
Onward. A couple of uninteresting pitches took us up and to the right of the ridge. We were paralleling the huge slabs up there. The third pitch we dubbed "Endless Dihedral," 5.7+. It just kept going and going... Rob thought it was 5.6 to 5.7, but I'm not so sure. In any case, it was fun. Rob led this (and all of the crux pitches). While he was leading, I saw a golden eagle. HUGE bird. We later saw it again two or three pitches higher. I think it easily had a 6' wingspan. It probably came within 50m of us.
Another uninteresting pitch (mine) and we gained this great 5.8 offwidth, right ON the ridge. The rock was a bit crumbly here, but not as bad as Question Mark Wall in Lone Peak Cirque.
Yet another boring pitch (also mine), and we could see the storms moving in. They are brewing over in Big Cottonwood Canyon, droping rain and lightning there. We debate rappeling, or trying to get to the summit before the storm hits (and thus being able to hike down east). Rob decides to go for it. He starts up right on the ridge. He follows this low-angle dihedral to gain a hand-crack through a roof. Only about 700' of exposure! He starts to jam the crack, and I can see that the storm has crossed over Catherine's Pass. I'm watching it race down canyon toward us. KABOOM! "Fuck you!" says Rob. I'm thinking we really aren't in a position to drop the F-bomb on the G-man. Rob sends, zig-zagging up the completely unprotected slabs above the hand-crack.
By now the storm is full-on. Wind, rain, lightning. Rob has set a belay at the top, but it is unclear what our plan is at this point. I try to get him to rap, yelling "Are you going to rappel?" He yells something back. Then repeat...about 20 times. Finally, I just start yelling "RAPPEL! RAPPEL!" He does. I think that was his plan all along also.
So begins our retreat. Rob calls Margaret so that she and Erin don't worry. It's now 3:30 p.m. We are about 300 feet from the summit. It begins to hail.
It takes 9 rappels, and one belayed traverse to get down below the headwall. Another 1000+ vertical feet of hiking, and one more rappel, and we get back to the truck at 10:15 p.m.
The irony is that if we had started later, or had been moving more slowly, we would have been lower when the storm hit, and thus would have returned earlier. If we had been moving more quickly, we might have been eff'd, because we would have been on the ridge between LCC and Bells Canyon.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Mike the Headless Chicken Festival Trip Report
Ok, so before I go into my Bugaboos trip report I have to clear the back log of trips I've taken and not reported to the proper officials. So here goes...
Last May M. and I traveled down to Fruita Colorado for the Mike the Headless Chicken Festival. The Festival got its start with a famous chicken who in the 1930's, give or take a few decades, was decapitated by a farmer in Fruita in just the right way so that the brainstem that controls the basic physiological functions was left intact and connected so the chicken could runabout and live out the rest of its days as a circus sideshow act, making said farmer a tidy sum. Fruita does not have much else to brag about so they made a yearly festival for the chicken. The festival is on par with that of a small county fair, but without the FFA or any livestock competitions. Fruita is also a good place to ride your mountain bike on lots of singletrack. Of course just about everybody there has about 3-6 mountainbikes straped to their cars at all times.
Both M. and I entered in the "Run like a headless chicken 5K", so before the race we did the obligitory small town festival thing and looked at all the classic car stuff. This one was my favorite
but there were lots of other more standard "classic" cars like mustangs and studebakers that all exuded the mid-life crisis anxiety of their owners, with their emaculately detailed and dirtless exhaust manifolds.
I've never run a 5K before so I derived my strategy from bike racing: I'd figure I would make up my time in the corners by finding the "inside line" as I explained assuredly to M.. This did not really work. Perhaps if there were more corners, I don't know... I can't remember what my time was but they had orange juice and bananas at the end which was a bonus...
After the 5K we settled in to some of the best parts of the festival. First there was raw chicken flag football
Neither of us wanted to participate in this event. Salmonilla.... ick! but it was fun to watch. The annoucers for the event had to tell all the kids not to lick their hands and to wash them throughly after the game. The raw chicken football of course landed all over the grass contaminating everything...
ick.
Next there was the wing eating contest that I decided to enter in. I had no ambitions to eat very fast. I just was hungry after the race and free BBQ wings sounded pretty good, so I got in line. Whilst everyone was feverishly stuffing wings in their gullets, I causally nibbled, making sure to get all the meat from the bone, then carfully dabing my napkin to clean the sauce from my lips. The announcer accused me of freeloading but this accusation seemed strange with me sitting next to six other contestants in their orgy of glutony.
After the wing contest there was the most anticipated event for M., the peeps eating contest. Yes, thats right, Peeps, those easteresque, multicolor, shugar-coated marshmallow things. M. loves them, especially she says after they have been left out for a week and are slightly crisp (stale). The contestants all lined up. There was M. and about 20 or so children and a few other adults all vying for the glory. They layed down on three or four folding tables more Peeps than I have ever seen. M. thought is was a glorious sight.
M. did not win despite her love for the Peep. In part because she felt rediculous at 5' 8" and towering over the other excited pre-teen contestants, and in part because she miscalculated her strategy: With Peeps, with their marshmallow properties, stuffing is a more effective strategy than chewing, she found out.
After the festival we did our share of camping, biking, and hiking and all that yuppie REI stuff. Every afternoon though it got so hot that we had to go down to the city beach to cool off and commune with our jet-ski loving, bud drinking, BBQing brothers and sisters.
All in all it was a great trip. Definitely imbuildingarockwallable...
-w
Last May M. and I traveled down to Fruita Colorado for the Mike the Headless Chicken Festival. The Festival got its start with a famous chicken who in the 1930's, give or take a few decades, was decapitated by a farmer in Fruita in just the right way so that the brainstem that controls the basic physiological functions was left intact and connected so the chicken could runabout and live out the rest of its days as a circus sideshow act, making said farmer a tidy sum. Fruita does not have much else to brag about so they made a yearly festival for the chicken. The festival is on par with that of a small county fair, but without the FFA or any livestock competitions. Fruita is also a good place to ride your mountain bike on lots of singletrack. Of course just about everybody there has about 3-6 mountainbikes straped to their cars at all times.
Both M. and I entered in the "Run like a headless chicken 5K", so before the race we did the obligitory small town festival thing and looked at all the classic car stuff. This one was my favorite
but there were lots of other more standard "classic" cars like mustangs and studebakers that all exuded the mid-life crisis anxiety of their owners, with their emaculately detailed and dirtless exhaust manifolds.
I've never run a 5K before so I derived my strategy from bike racing: I'd figure I would make up my time in the corners by finding the "inside line" as I explained assuredly to M.. This did not really work. Perhaps if there were more corners, I don't know... I can't remember what my time was but they had orange juice and bananas at the end which was a bonus...
After the 5K we settled in to some of the best parts of the festival. First there was raw chicken flag football
Neither of us wanted to participate in this event. Salmonilla.... ick! but it was fun to watch. The annoucers for the event had to tell all the kids not to lick their hands and to wash them throughly after the game. The raw chicken football of course landed all over the grass contaminating everything...
ick.
Next there was the wing eating contest that I decided to enter in. I had no ambitions to eat very fast. I just was hungry after the race and free BBQ wings sounded pretty good, so I got in line. Whilst everyone was feverishly stuffing wings in their gullets, I causally nibbled, making sure to get all the meat from the bone, then carfully dabing my napkin to clean the sauce from my lips. The announcer accused me of freeloading but this accusation seemed strange with me sitting next to six other contestants in their orgy of glutony.
After the wing contest there was the most anticipated event for M., the peeps eating contest. Yes, thats right, Peeps, those easteresque, multicolor, shugar-coated marshmallow things. M. loves them, especially she says after they have been left out for a week and are slightly crisp (stale). The contestants all lined up. There was M. and about 20 or so children and a few other adults all vying for the glory. They layed down on three or four folding tables more Peeps than I have ever seen. M. thought is was a glorious sight.
M. did not win despite her love for the Peep. In part because she felt rediculous at 5' 8" and towering over the other excited pre-teen contestants, and in part because she miscalculated her strategy: With Peeps, with their marshmallow properties, stuffing is a more effective strategy than chewing, she found out.
After the festival we did our share of camping, biking, and hiking and all that yuppie REI stuff. Every afternoon though it got so hot that we had to go down to the city beach to cool off and commune with our jet-ski loving, bud drinking, BBQing brothers and sisters.
All in all it was a great trip. Definitely imbuildingarockwallable...
-w
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Climbing Delecate Arch: What do you think?
I'm not quite sure what to think of it. I guess some were outraged. Most don't care. There is a need to protect national monuments. Does climbing it do any harm? Probably a little, but does it warrant the furor?
One thing is for sure: Patagonia, Dean Potter's sponsor, needs to come clean and stop pretending to be a "green" company. The "green" thing is pure marketing with little substance.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Hiking the Gulch With Praying Strangers
Last week Lis and I went down south with a group of about ten folks to do some hikes and backpacking in the Escalante National Monument. The group was a little different that I am used to. It included Lis' father and cousin, and an assemblage of others who, as I came to learn, did not know each other well. Lis' father, Lamar, is an avid backpacker. Aged 69, he can outhike those one-quarter his age. Lamar loves the desert and started backpacking in his forties. He has lead many groups of scouts down there and loves to share with others the wonders of the desert canyons. The others in the group were an odd group of folks whom it seemed were only halfway having any fun. It was odd because many in the group were not very talkative or lively. This is of course relative to myself who could be described as a regular jabermouther who has his own blog and everything. Besides the lack of loquaciousness I found the four-times-a-day prayer gathering a little alienating, but mostly it was the frowns and the stony silence that was a drag. I dont mind thanking god (in lower case) for the food in my bowl, good health, asking for world peace, for ending of human suffering, and compassion. But anyway...
We arrived in the afternoon for a quick hike up to Calf Creek Falls. To the climber's right of the falls there was some very wet and slippery 20-degree slabs. After a quick look-around and obligatory tourist photo-ops I got to work on sending the slabs. Using my chacos, cinched down tight for security, I found small dimples in the rock surface to gain footing. After brushing away moss and dirt I put my tips and finger nails on micro fisures. One slip sent you surfing down the slabs like a slip-n-slide. After many failed attempts I found a line of weakness going to an obvious ledge
I'd give the route a solid 5.7 difficulty rating. Decend the route by surfing down the slope at excessive speed, tripping over a sand bank at the bottom and diving into a somersault, and almost colliding with a tree.
We spent the next two days hiking Coyote gulch by way of crack in the wall to red well. For dinner Lis and I had cous cous with curry powder, shalots, carrots, and cashews. I think the frownypatnsers had those microwave noddle thingys. The scenery was beautiful and all that. I definitely reccomend checking out Escalante if you havent. The canyon was cool and shady, lush and green with numerous arches and interesting formations along the way...
For last day we hiked up brimstone slot, which is next to Peekaboo and Spoky. We didnt make it far up the slot before serious chimneying and wading through sesspools was required. It did not matter though because we had to turn around because team Prozac wanted to leave for home by lunchtime.
All in all it was a good and interesting trip in a naturalistic and anthropological way.
Amen.
We arrived in the afternoon for a quick hike up to Calf Creek Falls. To the climber's right of the falls there was some very wet and slippery 20-degree slabs. After a quick look-around and obligatory tourist photo-ops I got to work on sending the slabs. Using my chacos, cinched down tight for security, I found small dimples in the rock surface to gain footing. After brushing away moss and dirt I put my tips and finger nails on micro fisures. One slip sent you surfing down the slabs like a slip-n-slide. After many failed attempts I found a line of weakness going to an obvious ledge
I'd give the route a solid 5.7 difficulty rating. Decend the route by surfing down the slope at excessive speed, tripping over a sand bank at the bottom and diving into a somersault, and almost colliding with a tree.
We spent the next two days hiking Coyote gulch by way of crack in the wall to red well. For dinner Lis and I had cous cous with curry powder, shalots, carrots, and cashews. I think the frownypatnsers had those microwave noddle thingys. The scenery was beautiful and all that. I definitely reccomend checking out Escalante if you havent. The canyon was cool and shady, lush and green with numerous arches and interesting formations along the way...
For last day we hiked up brimstone slot, which is next to Peekaboo and Spoky. We didnt make it far up the slot before serious chimneying and wading through sesspools was required. It did not matter though because we had to turn around because team Prozac wanted to leave for home by lunchtime.
All in all it was a good and interesting trip in a naturalistic and anthropological way.
Amen.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
west slabs?
Anyone interested in the West slabs of Olympus this weekend? Early start out of the sun. I know nothing about what I'm getting into. It's a long rock route, I think it is pretty easy (5.6?) for Saturday. Sunday is the paddle festival at Little Dell Resivoir. (actually it happens Saturday as well, but I'm only going Sunday) let's see if anyone actually reads this.
Cheers!
Cheers!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
New Big Rock Lyrics
Big Rock Candy Mountains
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
all the climbs are ten pitches long,
the approaches all five minutes,
and you're always feelin' strong;
the protection all is solid,
and the jams are bomber hands;
there are bolted slabs
with cans of Pabst --
you can clip the rope,
and then pull the tabs
in the Big Rock Candy Mountains
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
the ice is made of beer.
You can stop and take a sip,
it takes away your fear.
The campgrounds all are empty,
the ranger's gone away.
And there's a stout
old Becky route
nobody ever knew about
in the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
And for those of you who haven't heard
What'd'ya do with a Drunken Climber?
Chorus:
Way-ay up she's climbin'
Way-ay up she's climbin'
Way-ay up she's climbin'
Ear-lie in the mornin'
What do you do with a drunken climber?
What do you do with a drunken climber?
What do you do with a drunken climber?
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Put 'im on a boulder 'til he's sober
Put 'im on a boulder 'til he's sober
Put 'im on a boulder 'til he's sober
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Make 'im belay your A-four pitch
Make 'im belay your A-four pitch
Make 'im belay your A-four pitch
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Throw 'im on lead on a five-twelve arr
Throw 'im on lead on a five-twelve arr
Throw 'im on lead on a five-twelve arr
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Rope 'im together with the ranger's daughter
Rope 'im together with the ranger's daughter
Rope 'im together with the ranger's daughter
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Vote 'im Prez of the A.A.C.
Vote 'im Prez of the A.A.C.
Vote 'im Prez of the A.A.C.
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Fix 'is friends and clean 'is nuts
Fix 'is friends and clean 'is nuts
Fix 'is friends and clean 'is nuts
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
all the climbs are ten pitches long,
the approaches all five minutes,
and you're always feelin' strong;
the protection all is solid,
and the jams are bomber hands;
there are bolted slabs
with cans of Pabst --
you can clip the rope,
and then pull the tabs
in the Big Rock Candy Mountains
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
the ice is made of beer.
You can stop and take a sip,
it takes away your fear.
The campgrounds all are empty,
the ranger's gone away.
And there's a stout
old Becky route
nobody ever knew about
in the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
And for those of you who haven't heard
What'd'ya do with a Drunken Climber?
Chorus:
Way-ay up she's climbin'
Way-ay up she's climbin'
Way-ay up she's climbin'
Ear-lie in the mornin'
What do you do with a drunken climber?
What do you do with a drunken climber?
What do you do with a drunken climber?
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Put 'im on a boulder 'til he's sober
Put 'im on a boulder 'til he's sober
Put 'im on a boulder 'til he's sober
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Make 'im belay your A-four pitch
Make 'im belay your A-four pitch
Make 'im belay your A-four pitch
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Throw 'im on lead on a five-twelve arr
Throw 'im on lead on a five-twelve arr
Throw 'im on lead on a five-twelve arr
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Rope 'im together with the ranger's daughter
Rope 'im together with the ranger's daughter
Rope 'im together with the ranger's daughter
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Vote 'im Prez of the A.A.C.
Vote 'im Prez of the A.A.C.
Vote 'im Prez of the A.A.C.
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Fix 'is friends and clean 'is nuts
Fix 'is friends and clean 'is nuts
Fix 'is friends and clean 'is nuts
Ear-lie in the mornin'
Chorus
Monday, May 08, 2006
Logging some miles
Stacey and I had a great tandem-riding day last weekend (April 29). We rode from my parents' farm in New Hampshire to Billy and Katie's house in Biddeford, Maine, where Crowder is living for the time being. We faced a fierce headwind on the 40 mile trip there, but the sun was shining and it felt great to be cruising down the road on the long bike. The scenery was mostly rolling woods and fields. We got to B&K's and hitched Crowder to a leash and led him as we rode down to the bike shop where Billy works, 5 miles down the road. Then we rode into Kennebunkport for lunch, back to the bike shop where I got to try out Billy's new tallbike, and then we reversed our course, five miles back to B&K's with Crowder on the leash again, and back home by way of Durham. I was bonking by the time we got to Durham, so we got some cheese and crackers at the grocery store. Although we had good breakfast and lunch, we neglected to pack enough carbs for the road. We had really hoped for an icecream cone, too, but the dairy bar was closed by the time we got there. A quick 3 miles back home brought the day's odometer reading to 96. We contemplated zooming around the block to get an even century, but that thought did not last long in the face of dinner suggestions.
So this weekend, I decided to keep up the momentum and get in some more road miles. Riding from Boston provides some interesting limitations, not the least of which is that there's no room in the apartment for more than 2 bikes apiece. So for a touring bike, I choose between a singlespeed mountain bike (34x19 on wide 26" knobbies) and my fixed-gear commuter (48x18 on 25mm road tires). For riding down to Providence, RI and back I naturally chose the latter. The bike is not equipped with any sort of "rack system", so I stuffed my commuter bag full of a change of clothes, my bike lock, a quart of water and some trail food. Off I rolled on Saturday at 1pm, after a hearty breakfast. I think I covered about 50 miles, maybe a little more, arriving at Mike's house in Providence around 6pm. The roads were mostly flat and smooth and wind-less, so I blame my routefinding on both ends of the trip (getting out of Boston and into Providence) with some delay. And yesterday (Sunday), Mike and his friend Josie escorted me northwards along the Blackstone river bike path, nearly to the Massachusetts border, before heading back and sending me on my way back home. I was on the road for over six hours yesterday, but I think that way was a bit longer, maybe closer to 60 miles. I was careful to stop for food (and icecream) along the way to avoid the bonk.
On another note, in case anyone is still reading this, there's a guy in Cambridge who looks just like Ben. Same hair and beard, orange messenger bag, rolled up pantcuffs, bike shoes - but we figured it must not be him after we saw that his fixed-gear was blue and he didn't stop to say Hi to us outside the grocery store.
That's all for now. I'm going to go home and take a nap.
So this weekend, I decided to keep up the momentum and get in some more road miles. Riding from Boston provides some interesting limitations, not the least of which is that there's no room in the apartment for more than 2 bikes apiece. So for a touring bike, I choose between a singlespeed mountain bike (34x19 on wide 26" knobbies) and my fixed-gear commuter (48x18 on 25mm road tires). For riding down to Providence, RI and back I naturally chose the latter. The bike is not equipped with any sort of "rack system", so I stuffed my commuter bag full of a change of clothes, my bike lock, a quart of water and some trail food. Off I rolled on Saturday at 1pm, after a hearty breakfast. I think I covered about 50 miles, maybe a little more, arriving at Mike's house in Providence around 6pm. The roads were mostly flat and smooth and wind-less, so I blame my routefinding on both ends of the trip (getting out of Boston and into Providence) with some delay. And yesterday (Sunday), Mike and his friend Josie escorted me northwards along the Blackstone river bike path, nearly to the Massachusetts border, before heading back and sending me on my way back home. I was on the road for over six hours yesterday, but I think that way was a bit longer, maybe closer to 60 miles. I was careful to stop for food (and icecream) along the way to avoid the bonk.
On another note, in case anyone is still reading this, there's a guy in Cambridge who looks just like Ben. Same hair and beard, orange messenger bag, rolled up pantcuffs, bike shoes - but we figured it must not be him after we saw that his fixed-gear was blue and he didn't stop to say Hi to us outside the grocery store.
That's all for now. I'm going to go home and take a nap.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Superiority Complex
Robert's job description I think says that he spends most of his time staring longingly at the broad and inspiring face of Mt. Superior while wishing to ski it, and also helping kids off and on the rope tow occasionally. Well, last Wednsday Robert finally got to ski it.
The team: Rob, Ben, John, and Yours Truly.
We woke up early and booted up the 3000+ face, gaining the summit right as the spring corn was softening up. Crampons and ice axes were the order of the day. The skis sat astride our backpacs.
Avalanche debris littered much of the face. Skiing down, we picked our way in between old slide paths to find the untouched sections. The spring corn skied so well it seemed mostly effortless, like on the rope tow where Rob works, but steeper and longer.
All told it was a great day if it wasnt for feeling so gosh darn tired.
Mountaineering: Walking uphill slowly in the snow while not feeling well.
-w
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Super skiing!
YEE-HAW! :-)
Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locamotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound it's, . . Closing day at Alta! I went up to hit up the fun with another person who shall only be known as "snow queen". Fun times was had by all, the cape appears to have super mogul-power as I was doing quite well on the many bumps, with only about 3 wipeouts all day which for me is a record low.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Xtreme climbing for an un-Xtreme girl
I know none of you climbing types will be impressed by the recounting my adventures on a 5.7 crack, but indulge me, ok? I’ve only been climbing twice and the last time was nearly two years ago so what may seem an effete sissy boy climb for some is pretty cruxy for me. Xtreme is all a matter of perspective.
Until yesterday, my climbing experience=a day at the Slips and a day at Dogwood with the novice group at Climb for Life. It’s not that I don’t like climbing, but it’s hard to convince experienced climbers to take on a novice, so I just stick to backpacking and road running (and pretty happily, I might add). But I’m always up for the adventure (and perhaps the embarrassment) so I was excited—and a little apprehensive--for the proposed ascent up Beckey’s Wall. Erin and Bobby arrived before me and Will, so they were already up the first pitch. That meant that I was belaying Will. He’s either really trusting or very confident in his climbing skills—I’m guessing the latter. Of course, as soon as I started up, it started raining and the wind started blowing. I was a bit iffy about the whole thing and I was crying from the dust in my eyes (I promise, it was the dust!) but I kept at it.
Since my previous climbing experiences were with other novices, I was used to climbing with lots of verbal encouragement. As I started up the second pitch, I could hear everyone talking above me, but no one was talking to me. I yelled at them, telling them I needed some company and everyone responded with the appropriate climbing affirmations. I think I’m more of a beginner than the climb demands, but with a lot of cursing, I made it up (with horrible technique and the bruised knees to prove it).
Thank goodness Will is such a sensitive, pink-shirt wearing guy, as he made me feel far less incompetent than I actually was.
After the climb, Erin and Bobby graciously filled us up with burritos and brownies and we watched Return2Sender, which provided me with lots of tips for crack climbing. I even learned that I don’t need positive reinforcement from anyone but myself: “Come on Didier, come on.”
Until yesterday, my climbing experience=a day at the Slips and a day at Dogwood with the novice group at Climb for Life. It’s not that I don’t like climbing, but it’s hard to convince experienced climbers to take on a novice, so I just stick to backpacking and road running (and pretty happily, I might add). But I’m always up for the adventure (and perhaps the embarrassment) so I was excited—and a little apprehensive--for the proposed ascent up Beckey’s Wall. Erin and Bobby arrived before me and Will, so they were already up the first pitch. That meant that I was belaying Will. He’s either really trusting or very confident in his climbing skills—I’m guessing the latter. Of course, as soon as I started up, it started raining and the wind started blowing. I was a bit iffy about the whole thing and I was crying from the dust in my eyes (I promise, it was the dust!) but I kept at it.
Since my previous climbing experiences were with other novices, I was used to climbing with lots of verbal encouragement. As I started up the second pitch, I could hear everyone talking above me, but no one was talking to me. I yelled at them, telling them I needed some company and everyone responded with the appropriate climbing affirmations. I think I’m more of a beginner than the climb demands, but with a lot of cursing, I made it up (with horrible technique and the bruised knees to prove it).
Thank goodness Will is such a sensitive, pink-shirt wearing guy, as he made me feel far less incompetent than I actually was.
After the climb, Erin and Bobby graciously filled us up with burritos and brownies and we watched Return2Sender, which provided me with lots of tips for crack climbing. I even learned that I don’t need positive reinforcement from anyone but myself: “Come on Didier, come on.”
Friday, April 21, 2006
Week's excitement
No photos so I'll try to make the prose colorful.
Boston showed some pleasant and unpleasant sides of itself this week. Tuesday night's bike ride on the trails of the Middlesex Fells reacquainted me and Stacey to trails where you're likely to hit trees and then fall on pointy rocks. Or slip on roots and fall on pointy rocks. Or slip on pointy rocks and crash into trees. But in our 40 minutes of exploration before darkness, we also found some very pleasant smooth doubletrack where I could race the dog and win. Sometimes.
On Wednesday night, I volunteered at Bikes Not Bombs down in Roxbury. It is great to get my hands dirty taking apart bikes that have been donated to the organization, and helping out neighborhood kids with their bike projects. Check out their webpage for more information on what they do - www.bikesnotbombs.org. Afterwards, I cruised down the street to Doyle's Pub where Stacey's frisbee league gathers after their Wednesday night games. As I was parking my pink and purple fixed gear with the dinosaur head on the handlebars, a neighborhood kid came up and grabbed my seat and said something about taking my bike. I held on. The kid's friend was riding a bike and told me I should really just give his friend the bike. I held on, keeping the bike between me and him. This lasted a couple of minutes, neither of us letting go of the bike, then some people came out of the pub and the kids took off. I locked up my bike with shaking hands and went inside. I am a bit surprised at myself that I didn't get scared and let him have the bike, but for some reason I didn't feel too threatened - I did't feel like he was going to swing at me or pull a weapon. If he had, I probably would have dropped the bike.
Last night Stacey and I scouted out another popular area for trail biking, the Blue Hills reservation in Milton. That too promises to provide a good selection of biking fun, though it's harder to get to from our side of town, and we had even less time to ride before dark.
Navigation around the big city, whether on foot, bike, subway, or automobile, is a constant source of amusement. It has been as exciting to get to our recreation venues as it has been to recreate once we're there.
That's all for now.
Boston showed some pleasant and unpleasant sides of itself this week. Tuesday night's bike ride on the trails of the Middlesex Fells reacquainted me and Stacey to trails where you're likely to hit trees and then fall on pointy rocks. Or slip on roots and fall on pointy rocks. Or slip on pointy rocks and crash into trees. But in our 40 minutes of exploration before darkness, we also found some very pleasant smooth doubletrack where I could race the dog and win. Sometimes.
On Wednesday night, I volunteered at Bikes Not Bombs down in Roxbury. It is great to get my hands dirty taking apart bikes that have been donated to the organization, and helping out neighborhood kids with their bike projects. Check out their webpage for more information on what they do - www.bikesnotbombs.org. Afterwards, I cruised down the street to Doyle's Pub where Stacey's frisbee league gathers after their Wednesday night games. As I was parking my pink and purple fixed gear with the dinosaur head on the handlebars, a neighborhood kid came up and grabbed my seat and said something about taking my bike. I held on. The kid's friend was riding a bike and told me I should really just give his friend the bike. I held on, keeping the bike between me and him. This lasted a couple of minutes, neither of us letting go of the bike, then some people came out of the pub and the kids took off. I locked up my bike with shaking hands and went inside. I am a bit surprised at myself that I didn't get scared and let him have the bike, but for some reason I didn't feel too threatened - I did't feel like he was going to swing at me or pull a weapon. If he had, I probably would have dropped the bike.
Last night Stacey and I scouted out another popular area for trail biking, the Blue Hills reservation in Milton. That too promises to provide a good selection of biking fun, though it's harder to get to from our side of town, and we had even less time to ride before dark.
Navigation around the big city, whether on foot, bike, subway, or automobile, is a constant source of amusement. It has been as exciting to get to our recreation venues as it has been to recreate once we're there.
That's all for now.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Escalante in the Spring
M. and I decided it was time for some desert hiking. Unlike most of the time, it was pretty cold all day and there was an extra color I'm not used to down in the desert: Green. We hiked up the Gulch, going upstream with blooming plants, green grass, a high flowing stream, and evidence of recent flooding found in the bent down reeds, flattened plant life, and tangled grass hanging at waist-height off of more stout things. The weather could not have been better and the 10-mile hike in was splendid. After droping packs and setting camp we traveled up a side canyon to see an arch and frolic about.
We topped off the trip with a visit to the Hell's Backbone Grill. Its not what you'd call a dirtbag sort of resturant, even though you can definitely dress like one in there and have nobody care, but after a long hike some gormet food is pretty good. My reccomend: Before you drive home, go in for a cup of coffee and a wiskey and black pepper chocolate bread pudding, which will run you about 10 bucks.
-w&m
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