Human-Powered Mountaineers

Hitch'n Rides in Stolen Cars

2015-08-10T10:38:00.000-07:00

The Hitch Hiker

Hitch-hiking through Washington in the late spring 1997, I was picked up by a drunk ex-con named Darrel in a stolen car. By the time we got pulled over by the police, I was driving the stolen car.

Normally I don't except rides by drunk drivers, and I don't condone driving drunk. It's scary to see drunk drivers on the road, and when Darrel skidded to a halt in the middle of the freeway, locking up all four tires, and skidding the vehicle to a sideways stop - that's when I should have known this was going to be a bad idea.

For some reason I liked Darrel, even though I shouldn't have. The odd shaped fenders, and the poor paint job, made the car look a bit like a Toyota Celica, but the hack-job was obvious. I figured, what the hell, the car's got plates on it, and Darrel seems fun, so I got in.

Offering me a beer, and grabbing another for himself, he asked if I had any weed on me. I said, "of course man, I just flew down from Alaska, and it's like currency up there."

The first ten minutes of the ride I will never forget. Darrel had the throttle pinned, and was working the stick like a rally car wanna-be. Swerving the little black heat-score around traffic at 90 to 110 mph, passing a line of cars on the shoulder of the road, two wheels in the dirt...

OMFG!!! I was kissing my ass goodbye. Bad idea, bad idea.

"Hey man, let's pull over, and smoke this joint I rolled. Maybe you should let me drive, you are a little drunk," I suggested.

I started driving and we're heading all the way to Spokane. Awesome. This day ride was working out just fine.

But it didn't, and one of the most strange, yet erotic things in my life was about to happen. We stopped for gas and more beer, and Darrel paid with a credit card (stolen) he said was his mom's (lie). I noticed a cop drive by while we were inside, but I didn't think anything of it. (Yes I'm dumb and dumber, I know, and very naive - even for a seasoned hitchhiker with a couple long tours under my belt.)

The cop pulled us over one block from the gas station. When the lights and siren lit up, Darrel started screaming in excitement, pounding his fists on the dash, and getting ready for a good high speed chase.

"Go, go, go man, FUCK YEAH!" Screamed Darrel.

I could tell he wanted to go down swinging in this little rat trap of a sports car, and I'm so glad I was driving, or I don't think I'd be telling this story today.

As soon as I pulled over, Darrel became very quiet, and then nothing happened. The cop approached the vehicle, told us to sit tight, and went back to her vehicle. Ten minutes went by, fifteen minutes went by, Darrel and I were not speaking, the cop wasn't doing anything, and I was starting to freak out.

"What the hell is she doing?" I finally asked about the cop in her car. Darrel responded quietly, "it's procedure to wait for back-up, when serving a felony warrant." That's all he said to me, besides suggesting I stash my weed in the car, because it wouldn't affect him, and I might as well not get in trouble too.

Back-up arrived, and with-in seconds Darrel was in hand-cuffs and being driven away in the back of a Highway Patrol car. Then it was me, my dog Rio, and the cops. They had my expensive skis and climbing gear in the car, and were telling me the car was stollen and the plates on it were false.

I'll have to admit this is where things get a little weird, and a little absurd.

The female cop pulls me out of the vehicle, and right away, I'm thinking the Red Hot Chili Peppers wrote a song about this chick. She was incredible. Tall, gorgeous, strong, dark hair, intense eyes, and looked bad-ass-hot in her tight uniform. (To enhance your blogging experience, click on the link and listen to the music while you read. Warning Explicit Lyrics.)

She slammed me down on the hood of her car, kicking my heels wide, and treating me like a seasoned crook,,, like Darrel. She was rubbing her tool belt, and her gun, on my ass, pushing my chest down on the hood of the vehicle, and was shouting at me about weapons, and weed. She was patting me down everywhere, and I mean everywhere, and I was getting really turned-on. The Red Hot Chili Peppers have been my favorite band for a long time, and all I was able to think about was the song - Sir Psycho Sexy.

I felt like I was starring in a movie, because she was too beautiful to be a real cop. But I had no swagger and this chick was looking to throw my ass in jail for something,,,,, anything.

"I thought you said you didn't have any weapons!!!" She yelled at me, as she pulled a pen knife out of my pocket.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry I forgot." I said, and tried to act nervous and not horny. My swagger was still not working and she slammed painful cuffs on me, and threw Rio and I into the back of the cop car, rolled up the windows, and turned the heat on.

They call it a heat-tank, and it's a tactic to break you down if you're lying, and we were in it bad. I couldn't feel my hands from the cuffs, and Rio looked like he was going die from the heat. His tongue was white and hanging out of his mouth, panting like a heart attack.

The two cops pulled out all my possessions from the stolen car, and told me up till this point, I had not broken the law, but if they found anything illegal on me, I was going to be arrested. Then the first thing the other cop pulled out of my pack was my lucky trucker's hat.

Now this bonafide lucky hat said, "DOPE SMUGGLING it's more than a job it's an adventure."

Yep, that's what it said… I was a derelict ski bum living on the fringe of society, and wore stuff like that to look cool in lift lines in Jackson Hole, and muddy parking lots across Alaska. The cop whistled at the other cop and grinned, showing her the trucker's hat, as they dug into my pack and ski bag with added frenzy to bust me for something big.

But they never found it. All they found was $58 dollars in cash, my plane ticket from Anchorage to Seattle, Rio's vet papers, and 150 pounds of smelly ski gear. My swagger was starting to work, and my story was starting to pan out.

OH, he really is a skier and a mountaineer, and not a crook. That's almost commendable.

When the cops released me and Rio from the back of the car, they filled me in on who Darrel was. An ex-con, heroin addict with a record of stealing anything he could get his hands on, and sell them for drugs. They told me he would get me into the city, and steal everything I had, and my dog too, if he could. That's funny, because Darrel had been talking about going into Spokane together. I kept saying no, I'll stay on the highway and push-on to Idaho or Montana. But Darrel insisted we go into the city together…. Hmm?

As the cops drove me and Rio up to the highway, I thanked them for not arresting me. The female cop I was secretly in love with said, "best of luck, and you better know, we just saved you from having everything you own and your dog stollen." She was right, or at least I felt like she was right, and I couldn't get that song out of my head.

"Feel her getting wet through her uniform..." RHCP

Liven Pain

2015-07-18T08:41:00.000-07:00

I run to be here, and here is beautiful.

"…some people say I'm heavy, they don't know what I hide." Ozzy Osbourne (old tunes)

Sprinting over rocks, and roots, I feel connected to the trail. The trail has been there for me lately, or better yet, I've been there more and more, on the trail, with running shoes, my thoughts, and the emotion.

Some days I can't hide it, and I run from the gut. I run the fear and madness away and tap into the sounds of the trail, or the music in my earphones. I don't feel right if I don't get out there on the trail and run. I take everything in my life that's difficult, and I leave it behind me in the dirt, sweat, and tears.

"If the world gets you down, don't be afraid to wrestle it." Birdy (new tunes)

Chris Bender is a Hulk, and he is my strength conditioning coach at Fuel Fitness. As a trainer he is unbelievable. Last month while training for my first trail race, The Old Gabe 50K, I pulled a muscle in my back at the bouldering gym.

My first thought was Hulk would take it easy on me. I'd show up for my weekly session, complain about being injured, and I get away with a light routine. Easy and done, right?

Well, I call him Hulk Bender for a reason. Sure he's the nicest guy in the gym and everyone knows him, and I feel cool just talking to him, but he's been a strength condition coach for more than twenty years, and is amazing at what he does.

The three weeks I dealt with a back injury were some of the best and hardest workouts I've done with Hulk. Outside he had me sprinting up and down the sidewalk, holding handles out in front of me like superman, attached to the heavy car tire I was dragging behind me.

Then I'm inside doing half-squats, where the bar is raised half way up. Hulk is always paying attention to my form, and asking me how I feel, and if everything is ok. Then we move up in weight, until I'm half-squating so much more weight than I've ever full-squated before. And all this with a very painful pulled muscle in my mid back. (Disclaimer: Don't try this at home. Use professional help.)

My back felt better each week, and each session with Hulk made a noticeable difference. As an athlete I know the importance of not letting an injury take over. Growing up as a soccer player, I played some of my best games injured, and felt ripped off if I walked away from a game without a battle wound.

In the fall of 2001 I met Rob Smets in Denver at Larry Lancaster's Rock and Roll Rodeo School. Rob was our bullfighting (or rodeo clown) instructor for the three day bruiser. To this day, I have yet to meet anyone as intimidating, and real, as Rob. He's like a Samurai Warrior in a Cowboy outfit. The way he spoke was direct, and when he called out your name to jump in there and save the fucking day, you did.

Rob scared me. When we first met, I don't think Rob liked my pony-tail, and told me if I was some college drop-out, looking for kicks, to tell some stories, then I'd better get lost and pack my bags, cause I'm just going to get someone hurt…... I liked Rob, and his Texas attitude. I told him I was an ice climber, and just moved from Alaska. Then I told him I'd grown up at Montana rodeos, watching the famous Flint Rasmussen, and this was something I wanted for myself, no one else.

By the end of the three days, Rob and I got along so well that when I got hooked and cartwheeled by a huge bull, he laughed so hard some of the parents commented. Then everyone saw the grin on my face and he said, "look, I've been cartwheeled in front of huge audiences who laugh." Then he pulled me aside and said, "if you want to make a living, and you break some ribs, you have to take shorter breaths, because you don't get paid by sitting down." He spoke from experience, and that was exactly what I came for. Thanks Rob, huge respect.

So on a whim, I entered the Old Gabe 50K. I'd been trail running for about three months, and I was quasi training for something. My life has changed dramatically, and well, I don't do small things. In fact, I didn't know about the race until about three weeks before the event…….. What the hell, right? I'd fallen in love with trail running, and pushing myself feels good - but my backed ached like crazy, and at times I couldn't tell if the pain was down in my hip, or up in my back. Sitting was painful, but running felt good, so I kept at it, and began focusing on the race and wanting to finish strong.

Two weeks before the race I went to Adam Burke @ Spring Integrative Health for a massage. At this point I thought I needed chiropractic help, because things weren't getting better, and the pain sucked.

Adam assured me it was a pulled muscle, nothing spinal. He noted my rotated hip, my dominate right side, and we talked about body work, and how the body aligns for each person. The session was painful and took time to recover from. Thanks Adam. Therapeutic massage is one of the best forms of body work you can do for yourself.

The Old Gabe 50K is one of the toughest 50K's in the country. There's four steep climbs that cover more than 11,000 vertical feet. The trail is rocky, and there is not a single flat section over the 31 mile course. I bonked on the final steep downhill, from pain in my quads, and finished the race in 17th place with a time of 8 hours, 32 minutes. And yeah, I loved it.

It was great to meet the other racers, and my hat goes off to all of you. A few honourable mentions to the overall winners, Peder Anderson, and Becky Wheeler who set a course record, and John Hallsten who placed 15th overall and first in the men's senior. Inspiration, respect, good game, high fives and butt slaps all around.

Chris Bender @ Fuel Fitness

Injured myself bouldering again this week.

Intense hour long work out with torn stomach muscle.
I would never attempt this without a professional trainer.

Every week is a new routine.

Side-stepping sumo squats w/ ankle strap.

Keeping a runner's log.

Life is emotional, so I try to write it down as I go, but mostly
it's a waste of time.

Ran to this lake last week on a whimsical day east of town.

Race Bib, and the Amazing Grass performance enhancer.

Flow or Die

2015-07-10T06:09:00.000-07:00

Setting a pint of Coldsmoke in front of me right as I sit down, the bartender says, "This one's on the house, you look like you've had a hard day." Her voice is beautiful, and I savour the sound in my mind.

Apparently she had seen me coming for days.

I smile and say, "Thann…ks." It comes out slow. I'm trying to count the number of days I've just spent, battling with myself, my desires, and the elements. I wanted to say, "27!", and blurt it out, like a survivor on TV.

But I never did. I was still in the zone, starring at my beer, totally spaced out and unable to ask a beautiful woman for her name.

Long exposure, or high doses, to flow states leave me stupid, and unable to make sentences in my head. It happens all the time on long expeditions, long days in the mountains, running, biking, climbing, skiing, etc...

Technically this is fine, because the brain is shutting down parts it doesn't need.

But sometimes it's embarrassing when I forget how to order off a menu, or why I'm standing in line, under bright lights, around people who smell nice.

But really, flow states are the most rewarding, addictive, and powerful experiences we can have. It's what I live for, and there are so many flow states to go through, so many transitions, lapses with time, and differences in power and effects.

A full force macro-flow state, where time might stop completely, and reaction and super human strength become required - these are often do or die moments. I've had them falling off a roof, surviving an avalanche, and being attacked by two english mastiffs.

In these experiences everything changed. Time changed, thought patterns changed, and the voice inside my head changed.

Make no mistake, finding flow is the most dangerous thing you can do.

When I fell off the roof I was 18 years old and working in Santa Cruz, Ca. I knew I would be fine right away. I'd slipped on a piece of masking paper, and was speeding towards the edge of the building. Below the boss and the home owner were screaming, but my mind was calm. I was ready to take the plunge off the roof, there was no escaping it. I was backwards, with a giant paint bucket in my right hand, but knew if I could spin around, I'd land on my feet or my ass, and not on my head. There was no fear in my body, and I can remember thinking to myself, "would you please stop screaming down there, I'm the one falling off the building."

I landed on my feet, sort of, cracked my left wrist, and didn't spill any paint. The look on the land-lady's face - priceless.

The day I survived being swept in a deadly avalanche in Valdez, was another one of those experiences. It was like I knew how to survive, on a whole different level.

The Spring of 2000 was a dangerous year to be a skier in Valdez. In two short weeks there were so many avalanche burials and rescues it was hard to keep count. Twice, entire guided groups got swept, and many people, including guides, were seriously injured. Thankfully nobody died.

My friend Will and I had spent the night in a snow cave high on Mount Diamond, one of the tallest peaks in the area. Our reasoning for going up high during avalanche danger, was higher and steeper slopes were holding better snow, and most the avalanches were happening at lower elevations and lower angled slopes.

We planned to ski something big that day, maybe off the summit. As we went higher, the danger became apparent and we turned around and were heading down. The slide happened on the final 2,000 foot slope, less than 30º degrees steep.

Will went first, and I waited. There was no safe spot to watch from so I just stood there and waited. When I did approach the edge and start down, I triggered a class 3 avalanche. It was two to three feet deep and propagated a hundred meters to my right, and more than three hundred meters to my left.

The last thing I saw before going into survival mode, was Will in a death-tuck, and the lighting bolt crack of the avalanche propagating towards him, like he had pissed off Zeus. It was real life James Bond. The avalanche cracked over a quarter mile, and Will out ran the lighting bolt by less than ten feet, pushing his skinny telemark skis to the max, and dashing into the safety of an adjacent slope and the comfort of a dense forrest, just in time...

My ride was different. I was in the avalanche, as it had cracked about ten feet behind me. At first it started moving slowly, and there was a moment where I thought I had options. Then I realized the size of the avalanche, and at the bottom of the slope was a deep ravine and a two hundred foot drop into a tight chasm. I had to get out, there was no surviving this ride.

Flow creates action with no hesitation. I can remember everything that happened and everything I did to get myself out of the avalanche, I just don't know how I did it. My mind spoke in the most comforting and soothing way. I was able to produce complete images, that operated like thoughts.

I knew how deep the slide layer was, and the amount of force I would need to puncture through with my ski poles. I knew to choke up on my poles, grab both poles with both hands, and blast downward into the snow, and pierce the hard icy layer underneath. Then I had to hold on for dear life, as the slide washed over my head.

When my ski detached, I calmly reached down with one hand and grabbed it. It was like super-cognition. Like I knew my ski was about to release, because there was no way I could have reacted that fast. No way, right?

Not without flow.

The day my neighbour's english mastiffs attacked me, time stopped completely. I was skiing down the road next to my cabin when the attack happened. At first all I could do was back up and swing my ski poles at the two dogs, and yell at them. But as the attack continued, two things happened - the dogs narrowed their distance and my fear grew like a giant balloon.

The last moment before my blood would have been spilt, time stopped. And I mean - it stopped completely. One hand was above my head holding onto the ski pole, the other hand stretched out in front of me with the other ski pole. The two dogs had me cornered, one was flanked low on my left side and the other was taking point, inches in front of my face with his mouth open and his teeth out.

When time stopped, I wasn't thinking about whether I'd see my family again, I was visualizing how to kill two big dogs with my bare hands. Then I took a pin and popped the balloon of fear inside me, made peace with the world, and prepared for battle.

When I hit the go button, and time resumed, I dropped both of my ski poles and went for the kill. It was awesome, because dogs smell fear, and because I'd lost mine, both dogs retreated, and found me chasing them into their yard, yelling at the owner behind his door,,,,,, "IF I EVER SEE THOSE DOGS AGAIN, THEY'RE DEAD!"

My neighbour was a notorious boxing promoter in Anchorage, a scumbag under most opinions, and probably watching the whole attack. I never did see those dogs again.

So how does flow work, and what is it? I've read a couple books about the subject that I would recommend to anyone. Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi detailing the psychology of flow, and The Rise Of Superman, by Steven Kotler, exploring the potential of human performance in flow.

What I will say, is flow comes from the heart. It is heart-wave medicine, and flow is the reason I consider myself an artist, and have survived more than two decades as a mountaineer. Thanks for reading, now I am off for a run so I can get a cheap runner's high, (or some micro-flow.)

Thompson Pass, Valdez, AK.

Mount Diamond, largest peak center of photo.

Below the north face of Mount Diamond.

DG's cabin @ 19mile.

A Rolling Stone

2015-07-04T08:42:00.000-07:00

I ask a lot of questions. Like how do you be an actual Rolling Stone? Is it possible? I've seen stones fall, and then start rolling. Maybe that's it. Maybe you have to fall?

Early in life, I knew what I wanted, and I had a list of places in North America where I would live. I was a skier, it was the start of the 90's, and I wanted to become a bad-ass mountaineer.

I fell in love with mountaineering by reading Greg Childs' book Thin Air, along with a number of other books. Climbing mountains captivated me in a way nothing else did. The books were covered with words I barely understood and photographs I longed to be in. There was something special about the sport of mountaineering that I identified with. Maybe it was the stark nature of it. The black and white, do or die shit, with no posturing. Just the ability to tell the truth.

When I met Lynn Hill in the Buttermilks, in 2002, the experience changed my life. I'd never met anybody like that before, had never seen muscle tone like that before, and I had never seen anybody bow and greet their friends like a warrior.

I had left Valdez, AK and was moving to Joshua Tree, CA for the winter. One of my best friends convinced me to come down to the desert, and take a winter off from skiing. At first the idea of not skiing for the winter was preposterous. Skiing was how I identified myself as a person, and there was no way I was going to take an entire winter off.

Well,,,, something was telling me it was time. For almost a decade I had skied a hundred plus days each season in Jackson, Girdwood, or Valdez. I was at the peak of my game in 2001, throwing down (heli-free) first descents in Valdez, and living right on the best ski highway in the world. Why move to the desert, and live with a bunch of rock climbers?

Well,,,, this might sound weird, but skiing wasn't doing it for me anymore. American skiers wanted to go heli-skiing, and I wanted to be a mountaineer, in line with the history of mountaineering I knew from the books I read. There was no skiing literature, and ski-mountaineering had not become an accepted art-form in North America yet. I needed something more - a new arena to play in, real heroes, and a fresh twist on living with meaning.

The day before I met Lynn, I was sitting in the boulder field with a group of people, and turned just in time to see the silhouette of a woman standing on a boulder. Immediately, and without thinking, I knew who it was, even though she was far away. Startled and in awe, I didn't know what to do, and didn't say anything to anybody. It seemed powerful, to have such an instantaneous realization.

The next day Lynn walked up while I was at the Iron Man Traverse. There were only a couple of us there, we exchanged pleasantries, and climbed together. I can't say how, or what, because I was flailing at the boulder problem, but Lynn noticed something in me, and mentioned it to her friend. I wanted to cry and thank Lynn, because I felt lost without skiing in my life at the time, and I was having identity issues.

Lynn is considered one of the best climbers ever, male or female. She told me she spent an entire summer climbing in Yosemite on $50. I'd read her book, and knew the legacy of Yosemite climbing. I was a dirtbag myself, and honour what it takes to be a renegade in the sport you love. Thank you Lynn. Our brief encounter has guided me in ways I can not repay.

That winter in J-Tree I forgot about skiing for minutes, hours, and even days at a time. I was living in a tent in the national park, climbing everyday, and working at Crossroads Cafe in town. I had hitch-hiked to California, and had no plan for the future, or for skiing. I started dating a hot climber chick named Sue Cramm, and thought I might follow her to the Tetons in the spring.

I didn't know it then, but one chapter in my life was over, and a new one was beginning. My days of just being a ski bum were numbered, and I was about to go on my first "human-powered" expedition. Looking back, it seems so perfect, but during those months in J-Tree I was a wreck. When I did think about skiing, it was with a deep sense of loss. I felt like I had lost a close friend, and I wanted to go back to the way things were, but knew it was impossible.

I feel stuck in a similar place these days not being on a bicycle. Like I've lost another friend, and I can't go back to the way things were. I rode a bicycle to go on skiing, rock-climbing, and mountaineering expeditions for eight years before using the tag line "human-powered." Then I chased sponsors for another five years, becoming obsessed with being a professional. Frankly, I don't know what's easier - chasing sponsors, or painting houses, and working in cafes?

I do know it's all worth it. The constant moving, chasing dreams, and falling from grace.

It's ok to lose your identity every ten or fifteen years, as long as you move on, and keep listening to the stones.

Came across this amazing spring, complete with serving cup.

Revisiting old haunts.

Bought a motorcycle.

Justin Short, ultra runner and counselor at Spring Integrative Health.

To do what I do as an athlete and an artist, I have a network of doctors, counsellors, therapists, and trainers as a support team. It's no secret about my crazy childhood, drug addiction, friends dyeing, depression, rage, and all the pressure that goes with wanting to be the best.

I don't know what this next chapter in life will be. So for now I have picked up trail running, and I love it. I feel young again, like a weight has been lifted off of me, and in fact I have no desire to carry, haul, drag, or pull a heavy pack around for awhile. Cheers,

Kiss the Artist

2015-06-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

Posing with Bugaboo Spire in the background, 2011.

I was forced to consider quitting recently. No shit, and pardon my French. It seems I have reached the end and a new beginning. I have not ridden a bicycle in months and don't know what the future of cycling will be for me.

Over-use, injuries, obsessions,,,, it all snuck up on me at once. To spare the gory details, and my personal drama, I can't sit on a bike seat and peddle a bicycle without getting painful, bloody, and pussy saddle sores. Hope that was gory enough, and I have consulted my doctors.

I've ridden a bicycle as my main source of transportation for decades (in Montana!),,,,,, I train as an athlete on a bicycle,,,,,, and,,,,,, I go on exodus on a bicycle, for months and years at a time on quasi ski and climbing expeditions to the most bad ass stuff in the US and Canada…..! (anyways) Something had to give. Something had to break. It was to much, and I have reached the end of this period in my life.

Needless to say, dyeing sucks, and this year, I huge part of me died. I questioned myself, I questioned my future as an athlete, and as a human-powered mountaineer. Was it all in vain? It's not like I made a finical killing and can walk away fat and happy. I set out to make my world a more meaningful place by becoming human-powered, and maybe take a few other people with me. Now that chapter in my life is over, and I have to find a way to put meaning in my life again.

I spent months hating myself, hating my blog, and the name human-powered. I'd lost touch with myself, I had become obsessed. The cause I was fighting for betrayed me. I'd been fighting the good fight for so long I'd lost sight of what I was doing. Friends laughed at me, and quizzed me on how much I make. I couldn't handle it. I wanted to escape. I wanted to punch my friends in the face as they laughed at me. And mostly,,,, I wanted to go climb on some rocks, be in the mountains, and get my passion back.

I'm a professional I say, an artist. And if you ask me, you take the first dollar you make at what you love, and you nail that fucker on the wall, call it a career, and never look back. Riding a bicycle to the Bugaboos in 2011, and climbing the NE Ridge of Bugaboo Spire, and 13 other routes, (without a rope) was my form of artistic expression. Did I make much money yet? Why do I feel judged by the amount of money I make, and not my accomplishments?

Big deal right? It's not about the money. But we all know it's the one reason most artists quit, and the rest never try. It's called money.

"Big deal bro, you got pro-deals and free gear. Right???….. "

Yeah, but it gets harder every year. There's more competition. More spoiled college students at REI that can get a "pro-deal" from patagonia, and then posture up next to me like they got balls.

Then we act like posers on facebook. Some of the pros are the biggest posers, and the industry is pushing for pop culture heroes. We have image with no substance, and a ton of fluff to mask our real feelings. We act like heroes, but we are not heroes unless we are fighting for someone or something else.

The world is changing, some of it for the good and some of it for the worse, but the construct for success is the same. We can only change what we deem as success. Believe in yourself, kiss your inner artist, and remember, respect is sexy.

ps. Don't worry, I will ride a bicycle again. There's no rehab for people like me, only the fear of mediocrity.

Mount Moran posing behind Jackson Lake, Tetons 2002.

Posing with my lucky button, Rainier 2004.

The Poser, Yosemite 2006.

Schlepp posing infront of Mount Robson, Canadian Rockies 2009.

The Ride Home

2015-03-26T08:28:00.001-07:00

Week four of the Fat-Bike Ski-Mo Sufferfest. My hands and feet ached constantly, along with the screaming saddle sore on my taint. This is a sufferfest, and we suffer until it's fun, or we suffer the whole way home.

In the land of wolves.

Riding through Yellowstone on the return ride was 5º with a -15º windchill. Once again the wind was in my face, serving me an ice-cream headache between the sunglasses and helmet.

I had 50+ miles to ride to get through Yellowstone Park. Camping anywhere besides Mammoth would be illegal, and I had been warned by the rangers before.

Pushing hard across a wild and beautiful landscape, it felt raw and primal to be cycling past bison, elk, and a pack of six wolves. I saw eagles, bighorn sheep, foxes, moose, ducks, geese, coyotes, muskrats, beaver, hawks, herons, ermine, mice, squirrels, ravens, a few birds I didn't identify, rabbits, deer,and mountain goats. Then I howled at the wind. I love this place.

The ride home is when I let go, and truly savour the experience.

In the winter, the cold bonds all life in the wild together. It is the time of death, and the hunter Orion is highest in the night sky.

At the end of the day's ride, with the moon overhead, and the temperature dropping again below zero, I stripped naked, and soaked in the hot springs. My mind wanted to explode as I took in the night sky. Was this my reward? I drifted off, and imagined myself becoming part of the landscape. A man, wild in nature again.

Days later, I got my ass kicked, riding 14 miles up Bozeman pass from Livingston. Yeah, it's not a steep pass, but it's long, and the wind is in your face almost every time.

How many times have I done this ride with ski gear? Six, seven, eight? I've lost count, and think how absurd it is I'm riding a five inch wide tire fat bike. Getting slower, not faster.

Haven't I learned anything? Maybe I should buy a mo-ped, move to the beach, and pick up surfing!

The Black Keys keep rocking on the earphones, but I log a slow pace. I'm fighting the wind to stay upright, and cursing to make sure it's not a one sided battle.

"Is that all you got, you fucker?"

There's no shame. I'm sure of that. The wind doesn't care, and will take you down if you let it.

Mind numbing fight with the elements.

After three hours, I'm still miles from the top. I scream. This is the way home, and I'm not stopping. I must look like a mad man with tourette's, screaming profanities at nothing.

Doesn't matter, because there's nobody around. It's lonely on the bike. Days on end of sitting in the saddle, growing weaker, getting mad at the wind and the traffic, pushing ahead, wondering how far till water, or camp, and always thinking about food.

It's a miserable way to taste freedom. But keeps me coming back.

Making it over Bozeman Pass on the frontage road, I chose to ride the long way home on the state highway, over Jackson Creek, and down to Bridger Canyon. This added another four miles of hill climbing, and all with a mind-numbing headwind.

Making over the last big hill. I screamed, "Yee-haw!" The Bridger Mountains shown bright in the afternoon sun. I felt comforted by the familiar sight. I was close to home.

The big tires lumbered down the pass, bouncing like a large tracker gaining speed. My taint screamed louder, as I tried to find a comfortable place to sit in the saddle.

Why am I doing this? I don't enjoy pain, and I'm not impervious to the cold.

Is it the adventure? The need to feel alive? The struggle? The unknown? I surely don't know, beyond the abstract sense of that which guides me, I'm an addict. Addicted to flow.

Catching a tailwind into Livingston.

Another cold morning for a bike ride.

Feeling the flow.

Elk crossing.

Ice on the Yellowstone River.

Riding with a full moon.

The Kin Ring Face

2015-03-24T07:49:00.000-07:00

The Kin Ring Face, Yellowstone.

Week number two of the Fat-Bike Ski-Mo Sufferfest, and camping conditions take a dive. -25º Fahrenheit is a brutal temp to be outside camping, and anyone who wasn't ready, went home.

The daytime temperatures hover at -5º, a cool operating temp for climbing, and skinning through the forrest, but the wind on the ridge tops and the summits, caused gloves to freeze solid, cameras to quite automatically, boots to get stuck in walk mode, and snot to freeze sideways.

I still don't have feeling in the tips of my toes. While at the same time, my face is sunburned and chapped, all the way inside my nose. Feels like fried-icecream.

Week number two I moved camp and joined the scene in the dump. I had my bike locked up in a friends cabin, and was glad to be off the saddle, and closer to town for a while.

One of the most difficult parts of my trip, was carrying a bike and heavy packs through the snow, multiple times, in and out of camp, away from the highway, out of sight. I also love being in the forrest, and deeply value my time there. (Thank you camp-site.)

Some nights were humid, and -7º, freezing everything in my tent together like a pancake. Painful cracks running across my fingers got superglued shut. If it was clear out, it was guaranteed to be below zero at night, even though the forecast never predicted such cold temperatures.

Growing up in Montana, I know Yellowstone can be the coldest, most brutal place in winter. When I'm camping for weeks or months at a time, I don't pay attention to forecasts, because I've learned to pay attention to the weather, it's patterns, and being spontaneous.

With help from friends, and great snow conditions, I skied off three major peaks right out of town; Republic, Abiathar, and Wall. And, I opened up a potential new line on the far side of Amphitheatre.

My second day out, skiing alone below a formation called The Submarine, the left boot froze in walk mode, and a buckle snapped. From then on, I became known as Bootstrap Bangs to my friends. In part to do with the novel of pirates and slave ships I was reading, but also because I had a ski strap cinched down to replace the broken buckle. I skied that way for the next three weeks.

Sitting in the bar one night, I kept looking at pictures of Amphitheatre and the face hiding on the far side of the mountain. Ben, from Beartooth Powder Guides, had pointed it out to me, and I took the photo when we were standing on the summit of Republic together, after chasing his ski-mo friend Tim to the top.

"Never been skied. Not that I know of. You could name it the Bangs Face." Ben said.

Name it or not. I wanted to ski it. And at the same time, she was the best looking thing in the bar.

The face looks like a giant stingray, airborne, flying straight out of the water. I saw steep snow, ice, and rock bands. And I started feeling the initial impulse of the flow state, well up in the back of my spine.

Earlier in the week I skied the east face of Abiathar. Same aspect, similar face, but not as steep. It had snowed twice since then, but only about 3-6 inches at a time, and everything was still bonding very well.

Conditions were right. "Time to sack up Bootstrap."

Nate joined me on the tour out to the far side Amphitheatre for an attempt on the face. Not carrying crampons or an ice axe, Nate wanted nothing to so with climbing the flying stingray, and offered back-up for the day.

It was one of those days where you never know what's going to happen. We walked around the wrong direction on the approach. Stopped to warm Nate's feet for half an hour. And almost vomited butterflies, as if I'd had them for breakfast.

It was a good day. We pressed on. The temp was -5º, and I brought over-pants, hot soup, and toe warmers, so Nate could stand around and take pictures.

Looking up at the top of the face, the snow was stable and almost perfect, only a little wind.

Reaching the face, I scrambled up quickly, excited to be swinging my ice axe overhead into solid ice. On less steep climbs, ice doesn't exist, or it's buried by snow. But on steeper routes, there's ice, and the secure feeling of kicking and swinging the ice axe and crampons into the frozen mountain.

As I neared the top of the face, where the angle is steepest, I continued to gage and read the snow. Was it forming layers, or loading near the edge of the saddle? I climbed higher and looked down between my legs a thousand feet. If the route were to slide, this would be the place.

Skiing into the wave on the face, looked like a tranquil moon, but where it rolled over, and I rolled into it, everything around me started sliding at free fall speeds. As the snow moved faster, I peeled across the face right to left, skiing hard and fast to out-run what I could.

"Stay in control Bootstrap. No mistakes." I told myself.

Half way down the face, my sluff passed me like a runaway freight train. Surreal, angry, and loud. It wanted to be a real avalanche and chased its self like horses trampling each other, gaining volume, searching for me.

As it exploded off the lower cliff band in a cascading visual, I thought about Nate. He's far enough away isn't he? We both knew this thing was coming down, but when you see it for the first time, it's like, "holy shit, dude! Get back."

After I got down, Nate said, "holy shit", and "Bet you're glad…" a dozen times.
"Bet you're glad you didn't ride that one." "Bet you're glad to be alive." "Bet you're glad to be,,, holy shit dude, that was awesome."

Thinking about it, I would like to name it the Kin Ring Face. Named after Kin Ring Sackett, the man in the novel I was reading during my expedition. But first I need to realize this isn't my mountain. Others may have been here before, possibly making this the first recorded descent.

Either way, a face this pretty needs a name. A warrior's name, and something to be remembered by.

The Kin Ring Face, on the climb.

Avalanche on the face.

View of Amphitheater, and the Kin Ring Face, left of center.

Nate on the long tour to the far side of the mountain.

Starting the climb.

Nearing the top of the climb.

Camp life.

Sunny, sunburnt, cold and frost-nipped.

The warm up run. East face Abiathar.

Racing snow down the mountain.

Stoked, and comin' in hot.

Looks steep. Got crampons?

Editors Note:
Ski-mo, is short for ski-mountaineering, and is a popular term amongst people who race up and down mountains in ski gear, or spandex.
It's a growing sport, where the boots cost $5,000, and the spandex is not free.

Sufferfest Sled Skiing

2015-03-17T06:00:00.000-07:00

When in Cooke City, you go sledding. Even if you're into climbing mountains and traveling by bicycle.

Rolling into town on my bike, I see 50 sleds in tight formation, parked down main street. The sleds were here long before the skiers and the climbers. And long before I rode in.

Now days, it's skiers and snowboarders with sleds that's the hot ticket. Packs of them everywhere, like wolves once were.

I've been to Cooke enough to know I wouldn't be riding my fat bike up the sled trails. At least not to go skiing, and not on this trip.

People asked if I was riding up Henderson, or other groomed roads for sledding. The answer is, no, I did not. I came here to ski and climb peaks. I rode the bike from home to trailhead. That was it. That was the plan. I don't identify myself as a cyclist, and never have. I'm a skier and a climber, and a dude riding a bike to get somewhere.

Starring at the bike, one strange man spoke about all the places I was riding to go skiing, with out looking at me. I think the bike hypnotized the guy. By the time I told him, "riding up a snow trail, with 25 pounds of ski gear, is slower and more difficult than walking," he was out of his trance, but didn't trust me. Like I'd suddenly made mountain biking up hill easy, because the bike got bigger and cooler looking, and there's snow involved.

Maybe it's the idea of cycling up sled roads, to go skiing, that gets people excited. I tried it years ago on my first fat bike, with ski gear, and didn't make it anywhere. I could still see the parking lot when I stashed the bike and switched to skinning.

I have no problem with going sled skiing, and I do it once or twice a year. Doubling on a sled is tough, with one person standing on one side of the sled, and the other person standing on the other. I've got the brake, he's got the gas, and we're flying up hill at 40 mph, hanging sideways off the running boards, stretched out, pulling as hard as you can on the handlebar. It's a rush, and I totally get it. It's one of those sports that requires an aggresive attitude, the smell of motor oil, and a nip of whiskey.

Still balks in comparison to the art of solo mountaineering, but most things do.

I also uderstand why sleds are so popular amongst skiers. We all want to ski the backcountry and the bigger lines, but can't get there easily. Even with a sled it isn't easy. But now the sleds are better, the riders are better, the routes identified, and everyone is getting after it…. If you got a sled.

I didn't have a sled, but I have a friend named Nate who wanted to ski with a partner. We skied a few days together, tailgated it at the dump in -25º weather, and spent one night camped at 10,000 feet in white-out condition.

It was great. I learn a lot from the younger generation, with their funny shaped skis, and weird ideas. How else would a guy like me, who doesn't own a car, or cell phone, stay in touch with the modern world, and get a chance to go sled skiing?

Skinning around to the top.

Off the summit, the highest place you can ski from.

Nate picked a good run.

Tailgater scene at the dump.

Camp at 10,000 feet.

Fat-Bike Ski-Mo Sufferfest Week One

2015-03-15T18:43:00.000-07:00

Silver Gate, MT.

From Louis L'amour's book The Warriors Path. The book I read on the trip.

"Yet all men can fail, and each man must somewhere find his master, with whatever strength, whatever weapon. So we must be weary, we must use what guile we had, for it was upon my shoulders that nothing we had ever attempted or done was so fearsome a thing as this we would now try."

Feb. 10, 2015

It's 30º degrees and snowing. The camping conditions are ok and I take a day to rest. I post up for the night at the dump, in my small tent.

The next day I rent a cabin down the road in Silver Gate for a few nights to dry my stuff out, and plan my attack for the month. The 150 mile bike ride from Bozeman felt great, and I silently thank my trainer Hulk Bender for the last year of torture.

It's quite in Silver Gate compared to Cooke City. Actually, it's quite in Silver Gate compared to anywhere. There's nothing going on here, just a few people who stay the winter, and a few cabins open for rent.

Everyone tells me I have to meet the local hero Jay, "cause he's climbed everything around here." So I meet Jay, and like any gruff old school climber, takes one look at my bike, and cusses me out and calls me stupid.

"What the hell are you going to do on that thing when it snows four feet? You moron!"

Days later when we aren't drinking, Jay is nicer, and lets me store my "dumb" bike for a week at his place. I knew I would like it here.

My plan of attack is to ski and climb, but first I have to find a safe place to camp for about a week. Then I'll move camp again, just to be safe and lawful.

After three nights at the cabin, and days spent climbing ice falls behind town with a bunch of great friends, I set a camp on the outskirts of Silver Gate near Amphitheatre Mountain, and the mountain called Abiathar.

Abiathar was High Priest in the Court of King David, and the mountain its self sits upon the earth like an emperor in his thrown. Ridge lines stretch between the two peaks for miles, arching up and down in a giant crown shape, overlooking all of Yellowstone Park from the north.

I had seen these peaks thirteen years ago, maybe earlier. From the first moment, I knew I wanted to go up there. Some peaks do that. They call out, and beg to be climbed. There's passion buried there, and I could feel it.

Climbing is scary and takes skill and courage. For me, the amount of emotional effort must be greater than, or equal to the climb, every time, or it's dangerous. Hell, it's always dangerous.

So why do it? What am I going through during a lonely day in the mountains?

There's the cold, and the cold must be dealt with, and excepted. When you're alone, you can't allow yourself to get cold, but you will, and you have to except it.

I don't mess around. I slam in toe warmers in the morning, and sleep with my boot liners. It's painful and smelly, and not romantic, but that's how I deal with cold feet.

Then there's the mountains. When climbing with someone else, we're always talking about the line, and where we're going. It's what we do.

Climbing alone, there's no conversation. My eyes look up and follow the lines of the mountain. My mind sees the hazards, the safe spots, and the obvious pathways that exist. I love it. I feel totally connected to what I'm doing. My mind's chatter goes away, and I simply observe my surroundings, judging for danger, looking for signs of avalanches, and listening.

If I don't feel safe, I turn around and go home. I pay attention to my gut feelings, and I'm searching for that sense of flow. If I find it, I follow it.

The day I skied off the summit of Abiathar by myself, was one of those days I found it. I climbed between spindrift avalanches that were coming down the face in ten minute intervals.

My sense of purpose for the day was direct, as it would have been hard to talk me down, or ask me not to go up there.

After climbing one ridge line, and dropping south into the giant basin made up of Amphitheater Mountain, and Abiathar, I got my first close look at the face.

I stood there long enough to have a smoke, and I watched the light spindrift avies wash down the face. I was in the zone, feeling the flow, and knew I would be safe, (as long as I didn't wreck.)

Skiing big remote lines that require climbing skills, stable snow conditions, and the right gear, are rare. Skiing them in the winter in boot-top powder is even more rare. And more rare still, is doing it by yourself after riding a bicycle 150 miles to the trailhead.

This is one of the reason my batting average as a human-powered mountaineer kinda sucks. I'm batting at about 220 for skiing big lines, but because I'm one of the only people doing it, by a modern fair means approach, I feel like a top contender, gunning for a shot at the title.

Fire going at camp one. Week one.

The outdoor bike garage at camp one. Needs a roof.

Locking the bike in the forest near the Highway.
Switching to ski gear and skins from here.

Kyle climbing the falls on the right.
A party from Jersey climbing the falls on the left.

Jack standing below on belay.

Sam on Hydromonster.

Adam on Hydromonster.

Abiathar, and the north couloir.

Nate climbing up the north couloir.

Traversing below spindrift gullies on the climb up.
And skiing the 50º east face of Abiathar in boot-top powder.
Boo-yeah!

Ski tracks on the East Face of Abiathar.

Fat-Bike Ski-Mo Sufferfest Part One:

2015-03-13T13:47:00.000-07:00

Fat-Bike from Bozeman to Cooke City

Day 4, mile 140.

Why did I call it a Sufferfest, and give it a name like Fat-Bike Ski-Mo?

Day one; leaving from home and yet still in town, the back-rack explodes off the bicycle, and skis and 50 pounds of camping gear jam into the tire and frame like a woodchipper gone wild.

Oh my! Is this really happening? I read somewhere that expeditions can make you neurotic. Is having a total breakdown in Lindley Park on the first mile of an expedition qualify? At least I have music.

There was a family walking by in the cold who offered help. I'd taken everything apart and was attempting to fix the problem, feeling like a fool, and thankful someone was taking pity on me.

I hadn't even left Bozeman. Did I have the resolve to keep going? A lot of effort was put into getting this expedition together, and it's hard not to get emotionally attached to the success of pulling it off.

Of course the problem was pilot error. I'd forgotten to tighten down all the nuts holding the rack in place, and I didn't use loctite like I'd told myself I would.

After 30 minutes I had the rack fixed, and was ready to go again. The skies were grey and ominous, and there was a strong wind blowing on the ridges. I had chills already, both from the cold and my nerves running amuck.

Keeping morale high can be more important than reading weather reports.

I chose to ride a six mile stretch of Interstate 90, and then the Frontage road, putting me in Livingston in as short of time as possible. Turning south into a strong head-wind and towards the Paradise Valley, I thought, "oh shit, here we go again."

This area of Montana is known for the high winds that can rake through the valley like a constant jet-stream. Paradise Valley is both a beautiful and harsh landscape, and the people who live here reflect it.

My plan for the day was to ride about 50 miles to Paradise Campground on the Yellowstone River, but the intense wind was slowing me down. I ended up camping at Loch Leven instead, 3 miles from Paradise.

Day 2 of the Sufferfest never started or ended like a day should. I didn't sleep at all over the night because I was holding a tent pole with one hand, and covering my ears with the other. The wind blew back and forth, bashing my tent around, smacking me on the head, and making it almost impossible to cook or do anything.

Day 2 of the Sufferfest I rode for 6 hours into that fierce wind, and covered 19 miles. Good thing Chico Hot Springs was at mile 13, and I had good soak, and drank a few beers. My nerves were fried, and my brain could barely hold a conversation.

The best part of the day was when a small 4-Runner unloaded about eight or nine people I didn't recognize and cheered and shouted at me like I was winning the tour de France. I didn't stop, or look happy, and I was riding about 3 mph, just able to keep the bike in a straight line.

I remember trying to smile and wave, but I almost crashed by attempting to take one hand off the handle bars, and I think I made a face at them like, yeah this sucks, thanks though.

Day 3 and the wind was still blowing. I had lunch in Yankee Jim Canyon, and I was getting closer to Gardiner, and Yellowstone Park, and the idea that this wind would somehow stop, or slow down, or go the other direction.

Day 3 offered a soak in the Boiling River, and I camped up the hill at the Mammoth Hot Spring Campground. The wind was still blowing. And camping conditions still miserable. Morale was still high.

Brutal conditions, and beautiful too.

Day 4 was the best of the worst. Why had I called this a sufferfest? Did I really wish this day upon myself? And what good was to come of it?

Day 4 started at 8am and in a light rain. I rode for two hours getting soaked, because I didn't have hard shell or rain gear with me. I didn't expect rain in Montana and Northern Wyoming in February.

I had only soft shell clothing and down layers for insulation. I dressed light so I could ride hard, but I was getting soaked to the bone and could barely feel my hands or feet. As I rode higher into the park, the rain turned to snow, and I stopped at a rest area and I stood under an awning to dry out. I put my down layers on over my wet layers, and slammed in toe warmers in my running shoes.

I told myself this is what separates the men from the boys, and it was going get real hard for the next few hours. These conversations with myself help. I don't know how, because I feel like a crazy person talking to myself. But the conversations help when I get scared, and when things get real.

My neoprene overboots were soaked. My shoes where soaked. My gloves were soaked and the temperature was dropping. I had 35 miles to go, and rode on.

By the time I got to the Lamar Valley it stopped snowing, but became cold and the wind was blowing again. This time it was a tail-wind and I was on my way to Cooke City at last. Oh yeah! Just keep riding.

The Rangers in Yellowstone that day who were betting against me, lost big. Not only did I make the 53 miles to Cooke in one day, I made it before dark and the bartenders at the Minors Saloon bought me drinks and welcomed me into their little town. Thanks Josh, Danny, Brian and Chris for stoking the fire and keeping the morale high.

Looking back at Bozeman on day one.

Elk crossing in the river.

Sufferfest selfies.

A solid fuel stove burning on a rock, in a tent, in a wind storm. Careful.

Another Elk Crossing ahead. And you can almost see the wind in your face.

Breakfast stop on the river. Day 3.

Stoked on healthy things that resemble candy bars. Thanks Amazing Grass!

Stoked on big Bison in Yellowstone.

Light rain, morning of day 4.

Ready to take on day 4.

Fat-Bike, Ski-Mo, Sufferfest

2015-02-05T14:29:00.003-08:00

Training starts at Bridger Bowl.

This February, I am riding from home in Bozeman, to Cooke City, MT on a custom 5" wide tire fat-bike, with skis and camping gear for a month.

This will be my seventh human-powered expedition, over 13 years. And my first expedition in winter.

My goals are:

To re-connect with the natural world in a way John Muir would respect.
Ride 150 miles in the winter on state highways, through parts of Yellowstone and the Paradise Valley.
Ski and ice climb in the Beartooth Mountains for a month.
And ride home, all under my own power.

(I plan on shipping extra socks, and food. Maybe even climbing gear? Just don't tell anyone.)

Will it all fit on the bike?

Spending time in the office.

Staying powered with Amazing Grass.

I will also be doing a ton of other stuff. Like test riding backcountry skis for Caravan and promoting a local brand in Bozeman.

Also made in Bozeman from Sklar Bikes, I'm using a brand new ski rack that's compatible with a Dyanfit ski binding. Hopefully this little beauty it will be on the market by next year. Yes, a tech ski rack for your bike.

The custom bicycle from Sklar Bikes is boasting many new features and a sexy new look. It's a second generation fat-bike with wider 5" (non-studded) tires, a one-by-ten gear ratio, Jones bars, XTR, and painted deep purple.

Traction on these bikes are incredible, and I will be attempting historic fat-bike mountaineering descents. This will be the comical trend of the year.

My camp, the dirtbag Shangri-La, will consist of one tent, and a snow cave with solar power. I will lock up my bicycle in the forest when I need to, and/or store it in town for a fee.

I will be near the towns of Silver Gate, and Cooke City, and I am excited to get to know the locals and be shown around town, and the mountains. I love Montanans, and it will be a cultural experience by getting to know the people. (And maybe I'll do a slide show at their school?)

Got out skiing and ice climbing last week with friends.

Riding the sluff.

Following a fun pitch.

Found a new hat for the expedition.

Re-connectting with the natural world, I will be promoting human-powered endeavours that enrich our lives and enrich the world around us, without leaving a toxic footprint.

I will also be documenting the abundance of wildlife in the area and noting the existence of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem. This is the largest ecosystem of it's kind in the US, and there are MANY issues in Montana right now with the rapid growth of endangered species, caused by the constant pressure of our industries upon wilderness habitat.

As an athlete and storyteller, I find solace in the protection of the world we live in.
Thank you for reading. And thank you for caring.

I will return in a month, and I leave you with a quote from Elizabeth Gilbert's book The Last American Man;

"I think he's reached a plateau in his life. He's pushed himself as far as he can go using his charisma and courage, and now he needs to go on a spiritual journey. He needs to do something that is private. He's postured himself in public for so many years that he doesn't know himself. There are parts of his soul he can't begin to understand, and until he learns these things about himself, he'll never be the nomad he's meant to be. He's a brave man, but he's not a spiritual pilgrim yet. Until he goes out in the world, all alone, and cuts away the ropes and publicity and ego and bullshit and does something truly heroic, he's just blowing smoke up his own ass..."

Sklar Bikes

2015-02-03T04:47:00.000-08:00

Last week I went down to visit Adam Sklar finish welding my new bicycle frame. So stoked to see this fat-bike come together. Then we went to the powder coaters and picked out the colour to match my new Caravan Skis. (My idea not Adam's.)

Awesome! My new bike is being made less than 3 miles from where my skis where made, and less than 5 miles from my house. Yeah! I love this Montana life.

The old GT Zaskar, packing for California in 2006 at dad's ranch in Missoula.

When I first started riding a bicycle to go skiing and mountaineering, I had no clue what I was doing. I borrowed a bike trailer and inherited a 13 year old hard-tail mountain bike from dad.

The trailer said it would hold 70lbs, so I packed 80. Roads in Montana aren't plentiful (thank god), so I rode on the Interstate Highways.

I didn't think anything of it. I just packed ski gear, ice climbing gear, and rock climbing gear onto the trailer and rode south to the Tetons. 500 miles later, my ass was sore.

My girlfriend allowed me a month long stay at the American Alpine Club Climber's Ranch right below the Grand Teton. I was starting to think I had it made. Then we broke-up, and I rode back to Montana.

By the end, riding north on I-15, then west on I-90, I consumed so much food, I ate my self out of house and home. At one cafe, I order lunch, then I order lunch again, and still wasn't full.

My dollars turned to pennies, and I wondered how much further I was going to make it? I hadn't worked in 6 weeks, my savings were dry, but I didn't care. I was on the open road, slowly crushing it, feeling like a million bucks.

It was also the start of summer, and my house painting business would be waiting. So would the stern eye of my parents and the loud echo of, "get real job, in the real world," as it floated through the Missoula valley.

So how do I get a real job, and be in the real world like my parents, and still be true to myself, and my wandering spirit? Still working on it.

First-known tech ski rack for a bicycle.

Here comes big-fatty.

Fat-bikes have sexy back ends.

Just a set of wheels and a fork.

Final touches.

Metal.

Adam the Metalworker.

Spring Integrative Health/Josh Overcash

2015-01-29T08:54:00.000-08:00

About four or five years ago I met Josh Overcash and his awesome family. They were some of the first people I met in Bozeman when I moved here.

Josh told me about Body Talk over dinner one night, and said that he could teach it to me; or better yet, I could see him as a therapist, after those good body thrashings I'm into.

I logged the information in the back of my mind and moved on. Then a year later, after a number of good body thrashings, I bumped into Josh on the street.

I laughed and complained about the woe's of being human-powered; hoping to get a rise out of him. It didn't work. I like Josh, so I boasted and tried to impress him with tales of vertical heights, and dangerous mountains.

Nothing. It was awesome. He wasn't impressed at all. Or at least I couldn't tell if he was.

That settled it. I booked an appointment to see Josh. I wanted to know more. I was also a walking pinball machine, and ached all over.

I had chronic knee pain from two climbing accidents, and twenty years of ski bumming down the Rockies, Canada, and Alaska. My feet, fingers, and shoulders bothered me; and I was starting to show signs of aging.

But it was also the kaleidoscope view of life I needed help with. Let's face it. We are living in a different world today. Our understanding of life is changing almost as fast as our technologies. (Which came first?)

That first appointment three years ago, Josh used a combination of Craniosacral Fascial and Body Talk therapies to clean up old scare tissue in my knee. The therapy was so effective and profound, it changed my life.

For less than a hundred dollars, I was pain free for the first time in ten years. I couldn't believe it. I almost kissed him.

Starts to work on my knee by moving my head around.

Still moving my head around.

As an athlete, I don't claim to understand how Craniosacral Fascial, or Body Talk therapies work. I've listened to Josh explain how he's manipulating cerebral spinal fluid in the brain, 'to help the brain breath,' and how that circulates cerebral spinal fluid to the connective tissues throughout the body.

This, with his help, is directed towards my knee. Then Josh changes one of his multiple hats, and goes from being all soft and gentle, to getting kung-fu.

After a couple minutes of discomfort, (which is fun if your into mountaineering) he let's go of the grip on my knee. Woe dude? What was that? The first time it happened, when my knee was scared, it swelled up like a ballon.

"That's the cerebral spinal fluid clearing out the scare tissue."

Directing cerebral spinal fluid to my knee.

The kung-fu grip on my knee.

This is one cool dude, I thought. I started recommending my friends see Josh. Then I met other people who agreed Josh is the real deal. As the word spread, I met therapists, doctors, and health care professionals that all had the same consensus. Josh Overcash has the healing touch.

Amazing Grass Challenge

2015-01-24T10:11:00.000-08:00

In good company with The Green Darner and The Bicycling Electrician.
They have real names too, but I like their super-hero aliases.

This month Amazing Grass is holding a 5 day V-Tox Challenge; with recipes and articles on eating a plant-based diet, ambassador spotlights (I'm on day #2, check out my spotlight here), and a daily challenge; with exercises and activities to keep you excited and stoked on getting healthy, fit, and ready for life.

(Click on the link and sign up with your own email account.)

Recipe #2. Red lentil and butternut squash soup.

I have been working with Amazing Grass now for a few years and I love their products. I know how easy it is to struggle with eating the "right" foods and staying on track with my "diet."

In fact some of that stuff about eating right and being on a diet, bugs me. Why can't I eat what I want? Right?

Maybe it's not that simple. Maybe food has changed. And with all the people who now have food intolerance's (mine are potato, corn, and processed sugar), eating is even changing.

As an athlete, my health is very important to me. I got into eating a more plant-based diet when I was still a teenager, but I also lived a hard life for many years; drinking and doing drugs. My health suffered because of it. When it came time to restart my life, and focus on the what I loved to do; ski and climb mountains, I had a slew of health problems to deal with that all came directly from my poor diet.

So it's not simple. Not for anyone. And I don't pretend it is easy either. Good luck.

Amazing Grass is the wheat grass company, and they make the best tasting wheat grass powders available. I love these little flavour packets on the trail, at home, and they make a great hit at parties. (Yeah, that's how I party. Hunter S. Thompson did grapefruit. I shoot wheat grass.)

Happy Trails

2015-01-23T06:44:00.001-08:00

"The happiest people are not the ones with the most, but the ones that make the best with what they've got."

I read this quote somewhere, and thought about all the things

I am not bringing on my next adventure.

a cell phone, laptop, or itinerary

Those new cold weather cycling boots I was eyeing with clipless peddles. Nope, didn't buy those. Sorry Mercedes; this trip is more Mitsubishi.

Still don't have decent bike lights, or a decent headlamp; been looking at that purchase for about ten and a half years.

(Umm, did he say he doesn't have decent bike lights? )

Yeah, this trip I'll still be enjoying some darkness.

And maybe someday my bike will come with lights.

Be like selling a car without lights. That would be odd.

Some day my bike will be run with a computer, power-inverter, lights, and a bad ass sound system. But first I'm going to pull off this expedition, and get all human-powered and shit.

Then I'll get back to imagining about things and stuff, and what I really need in my life.

Like a $20,000 bicycle, with a bad ass sound system.

I know that might sound funny, but I want to be the first to own a real autocycle.

Sign me up 2015, here I am. (Did I just coin that shit?)

The beginning of the dream. Imagining the $20,000 autocycle.

Caravan Factory Tour

2015-01-21T15:38:00.004-08:00

This February I am going to the Beartooth Mountains on my first human-powered expedition in winter. Cycling hundreds of miles on frozen highways to attempt skiing on mountains that must be climbed.

(Stupid I know, please leave comments at the bottom.)

I don't really have a plan beyond that. Bike a long ways, go skiing for a month in the Beartooth Mountains, and come home. Simple as that. Trailheads and laundromats will appear, no doubt.

And yeah, I end up wondering about wandering a lot. Who do I think I am out there by myself, hundreds of miles from home, with a bicycle and pair of skis?

What am I trying to prove? Or save? Do I have a purpose? Does my mother know what I do?

Well, I go to the mountains because mountains are honest, and show emotion with stark benevolence. And I need that for some reason. I'm drawn to it.

Getting stoked at the Caravan Skis Factory.

This year Caravan Skis made the Daily Drivers their best selling ski. An all mountain ski that likes to go fast and can hold down the throttle. I demoed a pair of Daily Drivers early in the season, and now I'm testing a prototype for next year.

Zeph, the man at Caravan, has lightened the ski with carbon-fiber, trimmed the tip and tail to make the ski more slashy, and I get to test them.

The selected wood core gives the ski a liveliness I haven't felt before. The hand made feel also gives the ski a sense of being something new and different. Both things I like.

The filming of LONU

2014-12-29T16:52:00.000-08:00

Last year I made a ski film, or really, I sat around on the edge of making it and watched. Occasionally getting to ski and act silly. The film is credit to Henry Worobec and his crew of talented friends.

"Land Of No Use" was born a bumper sticker by our old time conservative brethren, and re-born into a ski film by our younger generation. (Click this link to watch Land Of No Use on vimeo.)

There has been debate about the making of our film, because of the whole Wilderness thing, and thus the making of a non-commercial film. I mean, why? Do we hate money? Is this supposed to be an environmental documentary, a ski film, or what?

So here's the skinny and the dirt behind the making of an outlaw film, and the three things I don't ever say to Henry.

Why make a non-commercial film about skiing in designated Wilderness?

Many big production films have segments filmed in Wilderness, but as long as they don't exploit the area; i.e. name the peaks, valleys, trails, trailheads, and try to sell you a guide/book/souvenir/movie,,,, then the Feds don't seem to mind so much.

But it seems if you start naming things and laying claim; the Feds want in and want money, and require expensive permits to lay your claims. And this is where it gets sticky, because big productions can easily pay the $15,000 for a permit to film.

So why not make a big production out of it? Pay the fees, and make a rad film about the meaning of Wilderness and what it means to us as skiers, Montanans, and passionate people with a voice. (And pay our bills, and make some money in the process, like the rest of us?)

Because big budget projects; can, have, and will be denied by the Feds for filming in Wilderness areas.

Probably because it becomes propaganda, and propaganda is also sticky. So is the Constitution to someone like me who doesn't know much. But what I understand, is that the Feds are able to control all commercial Wilderness propaganda, but can not control the Freedom Of Speech.

Meaning we can make a film. Anyone can, about anything. We just can't promote it to the world and profit off of it. If we did that we could be held at fault and sued by the Feds for breaking their rules.

And they have rules, so that's why you can't buy our film. That's why it's FREE now and forever. The Feds made it that way, in a way.

Now here is one of the things I don't ever say to Henry. For a ski-bum we skied and partied all winter, and not in that order, and then you come up with this non-profit status with Cottonwood Environmental Law Center to protect yourself and gain leverage.

I thought you were a ski-bum. What, did you actually go to college? And here's number two; the aloof thing with the ladies, is annoying. Every time we go out, all the ladies are like, Oh Henry wanna go float some rivers,,,,, piss off Chris.

And the third thing I wouldn't say directly to Henry. Sure you ski better than me, big deal, but you grew up in Boston, and that makes no sense; so I'm torn between loathing you and loving you for it. Peace.

The Knowledge Route

2014-12-17T06:40:00.000-08:00

My climbing mentor and I couldn't have been more different than one another. He slept with a gun under his pillow, frequently pulling it out, and soloed like he was pointing it at his own head.

I felt lucky though, because he liked me, the town hippie, and he was willing to show me the steep side of ice climbing around Valdez, AK.

When I first met "The Climber Who Shall Not Be Named" he had just soloed, Keystone Greensteps, Bridal Veil Falls, Simple Twist of Fate, and The Glass Onion; in his first three days in Valdez.

Some of the locals were pissed, because that's Valdez. Who was this guy? Did he ask permission to come in here and crush our routes? These are the biggest climbs we have. Damn him.

The guy had Montana plates, and looked to be living in his truck in the winter. Kindred spirits, I thought. I walked up immediately and asked him….. WTF dude? Where's your partner?

Like any good recluse, he avoided bragging at all cost and looked at me and said, "don't have one, just kinda made my way up." He didn't even know the name of the route he just crushed. I did.

I lived in a shack just up the road from the canyon. I asked DG; my ski partner, landlord, and resident sourdough, if our new friend could join us and stay at the compound. He said yes.

Then I made another no-brainer. I asked to go climbing. I said I had three years experience, was self taught, my gear was outdated (even for 1999), but that I would be willing to follow anything. Trouble started with the next breath.

Let's hop on Royal Ribbons, he suggested. My heart fell out of my ass and ran away. Royal Ribbons I trembled. Right now? I'd never climbed a multi-pitch mixed route. I don't even think I knew what mixed climbing was.

The climb looked spectacular. A 150ft pitch of beautiful blue/green ice leading up to a roof, where the ice ends as it emerges out of cracks in the rock.

From there, the climb traverses right on loose rock for 30 feet to reach a tiny ribbon of ice that spills down a blank vertical wall from above, for a pure 100 feet of perfect climbing. The Royal Ribbon.

I remember thinking, this is my first hanging belay, and shouldn't there be more than two ice screws. And when buddy kicked off a huge piece of ice on the second pitch, and it started oscillating at 150mph, making a loud hissing noise as it arced through the air…..

Well that's when he started screaming. At first my ass fell out again, but then I realized what he was saying. THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME!!!!! Yeah it was. I saw this huge grin, and about a 50 foot run-out from his last piece.

Welcome to the real world of ice climbing, I thought. Now let's pass the initiation exam….. It lasted two years.

I know that I am lucky to have found an old school, old world, and traditional coach in the sport of climbing. Funny thing was; he's 2 years younger than me.

HydroMonster; Yellowstone NP. 2010

Well now the exam is over, and while my mentor moved further into the AK bush to quietly push the limits of extreme alpinism; I moved back to Montana, and have been holding classes of my own.

My first attempt at mentoring ended poorly; with a broken leg, a ten year limp, and my best friend moving to Sacramento.

But then I met Kyle Rott. A goofy 17 year old kid from South Dakota that wanted to climb so badly, he was willing to try anything. Ice, rock, big walls,,,, he wanted to climb it all. So we did.

Maybe someday Kyle will start holding classes of his own, but he might have to move out of his truck first.

Kyle Rott, Avalanche Gulch, 2014

The Prodigal Dirtbag warming up on the choss in Hyalite Canyon.

Kyle of Expanding Horizons, during The Bozeman Ice Fest.

Making it to the ice on Expanding Horizons.

Grotto

2014-12-13T08:49:00.000-08:00

The Fat One
photo: Pat Claton

How is it possible that riding my bicycle to Canada took less preparation than riding 22 miles up The canyon south of town?

I ask because it baffles me. Why am I so freaked out to ride my bike to the Grotto trailhead and go ice climbing?

I've ridden hundreds of dirty winter roads, and I've gone climbing in many amazing and awe inspiring places. So why does my backyard scare me and freak me out so much?

I don't know. But I love it. I love the interconnectedness I feel about the place. The history. The climbing. The people. The animals. The trees. And the way I feel when it's snowing in the middle of a route. Awesome.

The place is made of heroes. They're there every day. And unlike many hot-spots on the climber's radar; to me, this place is not just a proving ground; it's just a special place.

Sure The canyon comes with a reputation. And sure, every climber who's ever climbed in The canyon, should know the reputation and how to act appropriately.

It's like the first day you climb in Yosemite, the first day you ski in Valdez, the first time you're like, Oh shit,,,,, am I really doing this? Oh yeah!

Certain places and mountains make us come alive. And not just us climbers and skiers who forgot about mainstream life. But for anyone who goes there and goes there frequently.

Hello Grotto.

The 29er+ mid-fat wheel size is great for long distances.

The 3" wide tires aren't quite fat enough to be a snow bike.

Best ride into The canyon yet.

Fully loaded for an overnighter and a day of ice climbing.

There are so many new tire sizes now for bicycles. I've been riding a 4" wide tire on a 26" wheel fat-bike for a few years now in the winter. This was the orginal size for fat-bikes, and great for snow riding, but slow over long distances.

This year I'm riding a 29er+ with 3" wide tires, and I've been calling it my mid-fat because it looks like a fat-bike, but really it's not.

The 29er+ has very low rolling resistance and is great for long distance travel. The 3" wide, low volume, tires on the 29er+ make for an extremely comfy ride, and allows adjustments in air pressure (10-25psi) to match changing road conditions.

Riding up The canyon, I was not worried about the icy paved section in the narrows. Sure, steep mountain roads, with icy corners are dangerous, but I was worried about the last three miles past the reservoir.

Would the ruts be to big to ride through? Would the snow be to deep for my skinny 3" tires? I didn't want to come up short, and not make it to the trailhead. Realistically I could stop and camp anywhere near the reservoir, and walk the rest of the way into The canyon to climb some ice.

But that's not the plan. The plan is to be ABLE to make it to the trailhead, relatively EASILY, from home, in winter weather and changing road conditions.

Well it's not really a plan, yet. More like an idea or a wandering gaze across the arctic circle where the earth curves. The sort of vision that alters reality, and the sort of reality that alters vision.

I wouldn't say human-powered mountaineering, during it's inception, has been a constant vision quest, or that to be a human-powered mountaineer I've had to wake up every morning and remember why I swallowed the red pill.

But I will say that I have an active imagination, and that's mostly what it takes. I think. I guess. I don't know?

Ski & Flu Season, and the Athlete's Dark Cycle

2014-12-01T10:18:00.000-08:00

Adrian Dingle; Rock Skier

Many of us have been hiking in the mountains this year. Skidding and sparking the rock skis off the rocks. Swinging ice tools in slushy moss. And getting ready,,, cause it's almost WINTER... Yeah!!!

And if you're like me, you love winter, and you hate to get sick. Winter comes and everyone starts coughing up yellow, green, and brown phlegm-balls, and passing it around like lunch.

So for years now I have been taking immune support tinctures in the late fall and early winter. This boasts my immune system for these cold and dark months when we are forced to close all the windows and stay inside.

True, I stayed healthy living in a tent in Joshua Tree, CA. for two winters. But that's southern California desert, and there were lots of people around to climb with. (and hide from rangers with)

But, I got sick as a dog living in a damp teepee type tent-structure in Girdwood, AK. Don't worry, I was young and dumb. Little phased me then. I was in Alaska to ski and I wanted real experiences. They found me.

Examples of immune support tinctures;
Astragalus, Echinacea, GoldenSeal, Ashwagandha, Hawthorn

Oil of Thieves
For robbing graves and surviving plagues.

PLEASE NOTE: Always consult your doctor and health care professionals before taking any new form of medicine or drugs.

Now when the flu bug comes through town; I feel it. But I don't go down anymore. No more insane bronchial infections. No more lingering colds that last for weeks on end. And no more worry about my health.

I know how to take care of myself now. For centuries our culture has practiced preventive health care. It's cheap, easy to learn about, and can make a difference in your ski season.

I also know the importance of taking time off each year from being hard core and intense. As an athlete it is important to take brakes, both mentally and physically.

I call this the Dark Cycle. For me it comes in late August and lasts for a month or two. This year, the dark cycle lasted two and half months. I'd burned myself out, and I needed a huge break.

I broke my strict diet, stayed up late, drank beer, socialized, and generally forgot about being cool all the time.

It was amazing, healthy, and some-what controlled. In the past, when I didn't know to take breaks; I would burn-out and not know why. I'd get frustrated, depressed, fall off the wagon, and end up hitch-hiking around the west coast with hippie girls in need of drug rehabilitation centers.

This year, the dark cycle allowed me to see changes in my life I was not expecting. At first it sucked, and I had to keep myself in check. Mentally I felt like there was a need to go out and keep proving myself. But physically I was flat.

The struggle (to chill-out) lasted over a month. Then when the feeling of being content came, there was this beautiful realization of having meaning in my life that I could see. Yeah, a small victory!

Dealing with the ego is difficult. As athletes, we pick up the sword, we wield our strength, and we attract certain demons because of it. How we deal with our demons determines champions.

In the gym with my trainer Chris Bender.

Coming out of the dark cycle with Amazing Grass smoothies.

IT IS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING HOW MUCH ENERGY GOOD FOOD GIVE YOU!!!!!!

The Courage to Speak Softly

2014-11-27T11:45:00.000-08:00

Who wants to talk about divorce? It can be a painful subject, and it's what I went through last ski season. I'd quit blogging, and shut off parts of myself to the world for 10 months.

I was also making a ski film with all my heart and soul; going to therapy, and working to maintain friendships.

It was the most difficult time of my life. I divorced a woman I shared great love with, and saw all the ugly parts of myself come to the surface.

What's next for me? I didn't know if I would continue to pursue my dream of being a skier and a mountaineer. I didn't know if I had it in me still, and I was really looking.

I joke that I have the hardest job in the world; but the hardest part of my job is the soft human stuff.

It's the times I spend in the dark, alone, thinking about stuff I can't express any better than the fumbling mistakes I've lived through and endured.

So what's next for me? I don't know. Hind-sight is never there it seems like. Going forward, I guess it's ok to be unsure about what's next. And maybe, I like it best that way.

The mid-life crisis bicycle.

Another morning in the mountains.

I bought the mid-life crisis bicycle in May and focused on cycling for the first time in my life. Regularly going out and putting the hurt on myself. 60 to 80 mile days on dirt trails became normal.

In August I attempted to climb Mount Cowen in-a-day from my house. A 126 mile round trip effort, with close to 11,000 vertical feet of gain and loss would be required. With no support.

My plan was to ride 50 miles to the trailhead from my house during the full moon in August. From there run/walk to the summit of Mount Cowen (the highest peak in the Absaroka Mountains at 11,211 feet) and back. About 26 miles.

Then finish off with another full moon 50 mile dirt road ride over Trail Creek Rd. Again unsupported.

I almost pulled it off; turning back just shy of the summit in slippery running shoes on dangerous snow conditions. And I made it home in just over the 24 hour mark at 24hr 20min. Bummer. I was so close to being cool.

The best part came at 4am on the first leg of the trip. I felt awful, and wrapped myself up in an emergency blanket for an hour on the side of the road.

I laid there hoping to sleep, but I was scared to let myself relax. Finally I gave in and passed out for 20-30 minutes. It was amazing. For those moments it didn't matter if I climbed the mountain or even if I made it home under my own power.

I was right where I needed to be. Laying in the grass, feeling crazy and content with the madness of my life.

Happy to put the hurt on; Mount Cowen.

I have lots of news going forward. From new partnerships, sponsors, a new film, and some fun product design and testing in the new human-powered world of outdoor adventure sports.

I am honoured to say I've joined Caravan Skis here in Bozeman and will be riding for them as an athlete. This is an awesome shock to me. My first real ski sponsor!

In my twenties I mangled at least 3-4 pair of skis a year. And somehow always ended up with a new pair of used skis in better shape than the ones I broke. It happened so many years in a row, that I made reference to being sponsored as a soul member of the world team. I loved it.

Yes, there was lots of ramen noodles and smoky nights spent in snow caves. And yes, hind-sight was never there as I blazed through Jackson, Girdwood, and Valdez as a young ski-bum.

Sure was fun though...

Caravan Skis, Bozeman MT

Ashley and the crew at Chalet Sports are stoked on Caravan Skis.

So what is next for me? For human-powered mountaineers? I have no idea. So stay tuned.

Dreamers!

2013-11-10T07:06:00.003-08:00

Ennis, MT. fishing access.
First morning on our summer trip to the winds.

This year I had the most fantastic opportunity to be a part of Therm-a-Rest's new 'Dreamers' program.

Here's the blog I wrote for them. Part 1: The Bike Ride (on Therm-a-Rest's blog)

http://thermarestsleepingbags.com/part-1-the-bike-ride

Therm-a-Rest, the leader in sleeping pad technology for the last 20-30 years, is now making sleeping bags, and integrative sleeping bag/pad systems.

I tested the Antares 20º bag; weight 1lb. 15oz.

the NeoAir All Season pad; weight 1lb. 3oz.

Awards.

More Awards!!!!

The combination of a new tent and sleeping bag/pad system

lightened my load by over 4lbs.

Sleeping with the bag secured down to the sleeping pad,

(with 2 flexible fabric bands,)

allowed for a more comfortable night sleep,

with less cold spots inside the bag,

and more freedom to move.

Making for a warmer and more comfortable night out,

with less weight.

Yes it won outdoor industry awards,,, again!

Just make sure you wake up on the right side of the sign.
(And look at the thickness of that sleeping pad!)

And, how do I say thank you enough,

to the American Alpine Club (AAC), and

the 'Live Your Dream' grant for helping support

our 2013 human-powered expedition to the Wind Rivers

& the Tetons…!

Big Love,

From team Sweet-Bangs

Beartooth Bust

2013-07-16T08:21:00.000-07:00

Hello Friends,

I made this for you.

For you to laugh at,

wonder about,

and feel inspired by.

I hope you like it!

p.s. Spending a week in the rainy tent w/ vertigo sucked!

But somehow Gillian Welch (soundtrack) makes it all better.

Crazy Peak Montana

2013-07-09T09:41:00.002-07:00

posted by Chris Bangs

The final attempt in my latest and greatest project.

Crazy Peak...!

One of the hardest things on these adventures is knowing how to pace myself.

And how much TIME I'll need to complete a climb.

Last day of the 'Kick My Own Ass' project...

Last week was a good example of the difficulty in pulling off a human-powered
adventure on a limited amount of time.

The bicycle ride into the Crazy's proved to be a lot more challenging than I had hoped for.

The 90 mile bike ride from my house to the trailhead was dripping with sweat.
The 90º+ temperatures and humidity from the thunderstorms
added to my misery.
(I already miss winter!)

Crazy Peak on far left.

The final leg of the ride was up a dirt road for 15 miles with no shade in the unbearable heat.

And for anybody who hasn't towed a heavy bike trailer up a dirt road....

Well let's just say, IT AIN'T EASY!!!!

If I ever wonder why more people are not jumping on this "band wagon to freedom,"

I realize that this is my answer.

It ain't easy,

and only fools like myself find the

freedom in hardship.

SO I'M A HOSER,
and Crazy Peak skunked me....!

She skunked me so hard I'm bashful about it.

I got to the trail head, with only one day planned for the climb and ski.

I knew the approach to the climb was supposed to be tough,
but once I got there and looked at it....

I actually said "SHIT, THAT SUCKS!"

The plan for the climb (with my limited amount of time)
was to make the approach at night,
but that would have me
bushwhacking up a mountain side for 5-6 miles in the dark,
by myself,
in a place I've never been before.

To change my plan would have required me to ride 26 miles back to Big Timber,
call Justene and tell her my new plan,
buy more food,
and then ride 26 miles back up that boiling hot hill.

I may be crazy,
but call me stupid and I'll shove a case of
HOSER BEER down your throat.

The Beartooths, Granite Peak, & Five Nights Of Vertigo

2013-06-18T11:02:00.001-07:00

Posted by Chris Bangs

North Face Granite Peak

Some where in my altered state,

sleeping for 5 nights with vertigo,
rationing handfuls of food for days,
I shouted, "THAT'S NOT GRANITE PEAK...!

I might not know where I am,
but I'm not lost,
and that.....
That's not Granite Peak...!"

And really,,,, that's where the story begins and ends.

I rode my bicycle,,,
(again, I know, right?!)

150 miles to the Beartooth Mountains.
Home of Granite Peak, 12,807 ft.
(the highest peak in Montana)

There I was hoping to climb and ski
the Notch Couloir on the north face (!)...

But...
I spent days in the rain.
(Going crazy in my tent)

The bicycle riding sucked!
Getting sprayed
by semi-trucks on the highway.

Pouring water out of my riding boots.
Camping with the wet smell of myself...
AHHH!!!

Then the vertigo kicked in...!

And I looked like this hoser here...
Strung out on calories,
and looking for a good time.
("Hey babe!
You look like a sexy Mountain!")

The Map

Days earlier I left the map (!) with a friend by accident.
Now I was spinning around with vertigo,
camera in hand,
taking pictures of mountains that I had
no idea about.

Which mountain is this?
Which mountain is that?

Five days later, after being home in Bozeman.
Google Earth is kind enough to tell me,
that was Granite Peak.

I was right there!
If only I would have turned around,
and looked up!

Possible 5 toes, (wolverine?)
Whatever it was, there were multiple tracks playing in the snow.
And an obvious wolf track that I followed for 2 miles.

Schlep broken down completely and stuffed into a small car.

Even a week later, I hate this photo!!!!

Durring the bike ride back to Bozeman,
the vertigo tag teamed me with some heavy hitting virus,
and I lost control of reality for a few hours.

The sunset came that night
as I lay spun out in my tent.

On day number ten of this strange adventure,
I was faced with
non-stop rain on a busy highway,
fighting the vertigo and this bitch virus,
or,
the terrible thought of putting Schlep in a car
for 50 miles...

Which is worse?

Climb for a cause!!!!!
Please support ( $$,$$$ )
My Peak Over Poverty
"Seven Summit of Bozeman" project.

Your contributions make this possible...!

Even the smallest donations add up, so
please dip into the weekly beer fund.