Self-powered Life

Hike like an Egyptian: Pyramid Peak

2013-08-28T12:28:00.000-07:00

The Aspen forecast called for rain most of Sunday, clearing out by 9 or 10 pm. Monday looked like a perfect day for a climb up one of Colorado's shorter (but more challenging) 14ers.

Mark had been to Pyramid Peak before, soloing to 13,600 feet or so before turning back. But this wasn't a grudge match. There's no room for vendettas when you love the mountains this much. It was just an opportunity to get out with some friends and enjoy a day or two of late summer hiking in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness. Several people were invited to come along for another attempt, but for various reasons I was the only one able to make it out with him.

Either we were operating under outdated information, or the guy working the entrance gate was new. We arrived at the gate around 4:30, and he told us that, even though we were overnighting, we needed to wait until the last busload of day visitors had run before he could let us drive through. So we parked on the side of the road and spent a few minutes in bafflement. But before too long we were allowed to pay our ten dollars and cruise up to the overnight lot.

The Maroon Bells from the main parking lot

I was amazed to see that the location where so many people photograph the Maroon Bells, their burgundy peaks reflecting alpenglow on the still waters of Maroon Lake, was less than one of my meager stone's throws away from the parking lot. Surely you're supposed to hike at least fifteen minutes to catch a glimpse of such rugged natural beauty.

The light wasn't going to yield any postcard-quality photos this day.

The hike to Crater Lake, our destination for the evening, was uneventful. Low-hanging clouds clung to the peaks that surrounded us in all directions. The rain we were promised sometimes sprinkled but never poured down. We took note of the location where the trail to Pyramid intersects with the main path, anticipating that we may have to find it in the dark the next morning.

Looking back at Maroon Lake

There are eleven camp sites near Crater Lake. Arriving late on a Sunday would have given us dibs on any one of them. Mark had read good things about the last two, so we bypassed the others without any inspection beyond a glance at the signs marking their various turn-offs. By the time we reached our spot, we had gone well beyond the lake and were as far from the Pyramid trail as the main trailhead is.

Campsite 10 above Crater Lake

A view from our campsite

For once I didn't feel like I had over-packed for our one-night trip. In fact, I under-packed due to some carelessness before leaving the house. When we met at his place, Mark lent me a puffy jacket. My own was still on the back of my chair at the kitchen table and would have been sorely missed once we got up above 12k feet. I had enough food, but my spork had gotten misplaced and I left my cup with the spare camp stove in the back of my truck. A spoon carved out of deadfall pine and a Ziplock freezer bag converted into a bowl would make up for those oversights.

The weather held out as we went about the business of settling in, and it didn't begin raining in earnest until after we were ready to turn in for the night. But it kept up through the time our alarm woke us at 4:30 the next morning. Fortunately, it was just a gentle rain, without so much as a distant grumble of thunder. Laying in our sleeping bags for an extra few minutes, we briefly discussed the potential complications to our climb that would arise if the rain persisted. But it soon abated, and we ate breakfast and made ourselves ready for the hike.

We left camp at 6:00, the sun just beginning to brighten the horizon to the northeast. The cloud cover above us remained low, but the weather looked otherwise promising. We decided to get at least as far as the Amphitheater, where we would discover whether the night's rain had turned the trail up to Pyramid's northeast ridge into an impassible mudslide, or if we would be able to proceed.

Crater Lake at dawn

Pyramid's peak was never fully visible during the approach. A wisp of cloud draped around its angular shoulders as we clambered up the talus field.

Pyramid peak from the talus field below the Amphitheater

The 1000-foot climb out of the Amphitheater was in good condition, but brutal nonetheless. My heart raced and my calves burnt. Every few minutes I paused to allow my biometrics to return to more normal levels before pushing on. If such an effort had to be maintained for much longer than it did, I wasn't sure I would be in shape to attempt the summit.

But the ridge was gained without a full physical failure, and we took a break there at 13,000 feet to rest and contemplate the gloomy ceiling of cloud that now fully enshrouded the peak.

Heavier cloud cover obscuring Pyramid's summit

A mountain goat was nearby. For some time she just sat at her leisure, but after a while curiosity got the better of her and she came over to see what we were about.

We weren't certain how the reduced visibility would impact our summit bid, but we decided to move on and find out. We went around the corner, made the leap of faith, and edged along the ledges toward the white rock. We were well into the mists by that time. Mark asked how I felt about the conditions. "The view sucks, but it doesn't seem to be impeding our progress." So we pressed on.

Going into the clouds. Photo: Mark K

On the ledges (on the way out). Photo: Mark K

The term "goat path" is often used in a figurative sense to describe circuitous and questionable routes, but at the top of the white rock we found ourselves very literally in a maze of goat paths. And it seems that every hapless soul that has made its way along any one of these saw fit to build a cairn marking the route that surely is the correct path up the mountain. Fortunately, it doesn't really matter exactly which way you choose - the only wrong way to the summit is down.

We arrived at the top of Pyramid Peak on the north end of the summit around 10:30, where a cairn of a more reliable variety stood faintly visible through the fog. The air was unusually still and there was an unsettling feeling that the world below us had altogether ceased to be. A misstep over the precipitous edge could send a person falling forever into a bottomless void.

Mark at Pyramid's summit

On the edge of nothingness. Photo: Mark K

Refueling on the summit. Photo: Mark K

On top of Pyramid Peak

As we shed our packs and engaged in the time-honored tradition of breaking bread where stone and sky meet, a white shape materialized - something more solid in the sea of vapor that surrounded us. The mountain goat from the ridge had followed us up to the summit. I like to think that she was there to ensure we made it safely up the slopes that are her home.

In time we departed the top of Pyramid, leaving our ghost-like guardian to her unyielding solitude as we made our way back down the various winding goat paths to where the route becomes more certain.

The life of a mountain goat must, at times, be very lonely

We retraced our steps down from the ridge, across the Amphitheater, and down the trail to reconnect with the one which would lead us back to camp. At some point along the way we caught our first clear glimpse of Pyramid's summit. The cloud cover had lifted some time during our descent.

Pyramid peak, now clear of its mantle of cloud

A pika on the cairn marking the trail junction

On this trail we also encountered the first people we had seen all day. While we toiled in the upper elevations, the more accessible areas of the wilderness had been filling up with other visitors. Some were just out for an afternoon of light hiking. Some were embarking on, or returning from, adventures of their own. All of us were in awe of the majesty of the mountains that surrounded us.

Slow and Steady

2013-07-29T08:13:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I'm out riding my bike or running or whatever, the old tagline moral from The Tortoise and the Hare crosses my mind: "Slow and steady wins the race."

The next thing that crosses my mind is, "What a load of hogwash!"

I mean, slow and steady will always get you to the finish line (unless you're in the mountains and some heavy weather starts moving in - struck-by-lightening loses.), but the truth is, fast and steady wins the race.*

At the first 10k I ever ran, I overheard some guys talking a little way off the starting line. "All these people start out too strong. But they'll all tire out before they're halfway through and then we'll be passing them." Once I'd passed, I didn't see them again.

Don't get me wrong: in general there's nothing wrong with slow and steady. Sometimes just making it from start to finish is what it's all about. But don't let that adage be an excuse not to push yourself to your full potential. I'm not out there to win; I'm out there to see what I'm made of.

But isn't it supposed to be about having fun? Yeah, that too. The thing is, there's a certain confidence and gratification that comes from finding out that you are capable of more than you previously thought. And that feeling, to me, is a big part of fun.

So get out there and push it. Hold today's performance up against what you think you can do. As long as you're beating that self-image, you're winning.

* I'm not here to spray about how great I am. For the record, I'm much more in the "moderate and steady" category.

Pedal Terminology: there, I fixed it.

2013-07-16T16:29:00.000-07:00

Today I found myself getting all fired up about bicycle pedals. Specifically, the names we have for different types of pedals has always bothered me.

It all comes from not being able to see the future. But maybe that's not where I should begin.

Okay, so let's look at what we have. First is your basic platform pedal.

Platform pedal

You may find these in the bottom of a spare parts box. They were removed within five minutes of some newly-purchased bike's homecoming (right after the pie plate behind the cassette was taken off, but those are never saved). They can also be seen on cruiser bikes (as witnessed above), or fancier models might grace the cranks of a BMX or trials bike.

The second kind of pedal is still basically just a platform pedal, but it has "toe clips" on it.

Pedal with toe clips

These are employed on hipster-style fixed-gear and gentrified randonee bicycles. Okay, and also track bikes, maybe. And in this case, my daughter's WeeHoo 3rd-wheel trailer bike thing. The straps mostly just keep your feet from being thrown from the pedal when either your bike decides it's going to keep going whether you want it to or not (fixed-gear); or when you find yourself out of your depth, cadence-wise (all other types). They are also a training mechanism for the dexterity needed to graduate to the next evolutionary stage of foot-bike interface....

Finally, we have pedals which lock onto cleats on the bottom of special-purpose cycling shoes.

Clipless pedal and cycling shoe with cleat

In one form or another, these are found on most road and mountain bikes. Aside from the obvious revenue boost to the cycling apparel industry, this kind serves a couple of purposes beyond the toe-clip variety: 1) they allow a greater amount of upward force to be applied when pedaling, which increases efficiency; and 2) they cause new would-be bike racers, having failed to wrangle their foot free in time, to fall over when they come to a stop. The latter helps the cyclist learn the humility required to be seen in public wearing brightly-colored Lycra during future bicycling ventures.

So back to my terminology gripe.

Platform pedals are reasonably named. They do, after all, provide a platform for you to push your foot down on just before it slips off and your shoelaces get caught in the chain.

But the second two types cause some major problems. You see, through an unfortunate lapse in foresight, the things that hold one's feet to the pedals of the second type were called "toe clips" rather than "toe straps." Little did they know that some genius would come along some years later and invent a pedal that you actually clip into. So once the final pedal came along, eliminating the "clips," this piece of technology came to be known as "clipless" pedals.

That's right. You clip into clipless pedals. How confusing is that?

So here's my proposal:

Clipless pedals should be known as "clipful"
Pedals with toe clips will be called "strapish"
So long as we're renaming everything else, let's call platform pedals "backups" or "spares" or "little Billy's ticket for a new pair of shoes"

I think you'll have to agree that this arrangement clears up a lot of confusion.

You'll note that there's not a single Wikipedia reference or Sheldon Brown citation here. That's because all bike geeks suddenly know all of this stuff the second they walk into their first bike shop. Please just accept everything here as unquestionable truth.

Eating Vegan in Korea and Japan

2013-07-16T13:12:00.000-07:00

One of the things many people have asked about our trip to Korea and Japan last month is how did I maintain a vegan diet while we were there. Those countries are heavily reliant on seafood, and even in dishes that are not inherently meat-based, some kind of fish sauce is often used in the preparation.

When planning the trip, the details of how I was going to eat were something that gave me a certain amount of anxiety. Even if vegan-friendly dishes are on the menu, the language barrier would make it difficult to ask the wait staff (if there is any) about them. Some people have blogged about how to travel and stick with a strict vegan diet. That's not what I'm doing here. Before we left home, I decided that the best way to approach the situation was to just do the best I can with it.

Fresh vegetables are easy to find in Korea.

While staying at my sister's house in Korea, things weren't so difficult. For meals that were prepared at home, we generally knew what was going into them. But that wasn't always the case. At one of the open-air markets we went to, I bought a few different items from a kimchi stand. When we served them with dinner that night, I found that one of the big piles of seaweed on my plate was saturated with fish oil. I ate it anyway. It freaked me out a little, but I figured that as long as it was there, I may as well have the culinary experience.

Udon!

The scenario would repeat itself to lesser degrees at various restaurants - the udon might be prepared in fish stock; the baked goods may or may not contain dairy or eggs; the rice and vegetable dish might have shredded dried fish as a garnish. I decided that I wasn't going to let that be too much of a hang-up.

Tofu and bean curd vendor in Pyeongtaek

So did I "cheat" on my diet? I wouldn't say so. When people talk about cheating, I imagine it to mean that there's some forbidden thing they just couldn't find the willpower to resist. But in foreign countries, there are some food dishes that are just intrinsic to the culture. I'm not sure it counts as cheating to make a calculated decision to experience that aspect of the journey despite the fact that it doesn't hold up to the standards we would keep while at home. And the classic definition of veganism allows that the best we can do is make every reasonable effort to avoid the exploitation of animals. It doesn't say anything about having your super-powers revoked just because you can't speak the local language.

Anyway, the short of it is: I didn't want to turn the family vacation into a frustrating exercise in foraging for food in a land where the notion of veganism is as foreign to them as their traditions are to me.

Ad for a Vegan phone (yeah, I know...)

That said, I think it went pretty well. We managed to find soy milk at the 7&I convenience stores (7-11 equivalent, to those here in the US).

Japanese soy milk - the picture of the beans is a give-away, but also look for "大豆" (soy) or "豆乳" (soy milk)

They also had steamed rice and seaweed with sesame oil in the refrigerated prepared foods section. At grocery stores we found everything from fresh produce to breakfast cereal to eat in our hotel room that were known to be vegan. When eating out, there were always tofu and vegetable dishes that appeared to be fish-free. And I discovered that an extra helping of steamed rice does wonders for one's sense of satiety.

Oh... did I mention we found some yerba mate at the street market in Pyeongtaek? The vendor had a big jug of it (iced) and was handing out samples. We bought a bag of yerba which came with a pack of paper filter baggies and instructions (in Korean) for preparing it. Not quite the same as sipping it hot from a bombilla, but it was a refreshingly cool twist on something I learned to love during our visit to Argentina a couple of years ago.

Happy is on the road: bicycles in Korea and Japan

2013-06-25T08:01:00.000-07:00

Transportation in Korea, at least outside of major cities, was a free-for-all. We saw everything from cars, trucks, and bikes to tractors, 4-wheelers, and gas-powered wheelchairs on the roads. Bicycles were common, but I can imagine riding there to be a risky prospect.

"Happy is on the road" - almost enough to make me start carrying a purse.

Old man with a bicycle at the street market in Osan, South Korea

In Japan, transportation seemed to be much more regulated. Bicycles were much more prominent, and it was interesting to see how they integrated into pedestrian and vehicular traffic. They freely flowed from sidewalks to streets as necessary, and though it felt like it would be easy to get hit by one while walking, it was probably never unsafe.

A typical Japanese town bike at the playground of the Imperial gardens, Kyoto, Japan

Bike parking at a train station

A small shop that sold wire bicycle models. I really wanted to buy one, but resisted the urge to accumulate more useless stuff.

I got the impression that there wasn't much of a bike culture, per se, but that bicycles were just part of the larger culture in general. But in both countries, along with the masses of people using bikes for practical purposes, there was some evidence of an enthusiast camp who rode for fitness and sport. That is to say, they also have roadies in Lycra and mountain bikers pounding down the unpaved trails. And as evidenced above, there were accessories for people who just love bikes.

Nearly all of the town bikes had kick stands attached to the rear hub which allowed the bike to stand freely (visible in the playground picture above). I almost bought one of those to bring home and put on my touring bike. The two-legged stand I have on there now gets in the way of the chain a little bit.

Some bikes also had arms extending from the handle bars with a clamp on the end to hold an umbrella, but it was more common to see people just steering with one hand and holding their umbrella in the other. When not deployed for protection from sun or rain, the handle of the umbrella was hooked onto the seat post while the other end ran back between the wheel and either the kickstand or fender mounts.

It was also not unusual to see people riding around while smoking cigarettes. On town bikes, squeaky chains and brakes were the rule. I'm not sure any of them actually cared, but I wanted to get a big bottle of Triflow and put up a sign advertising free bike lubes.

My observations of Asian bicycle security were interesting, too. The approach seemed to be that, as long as someone couldn't hop on the bike and ride away, the bike was safe. So cable locks were often wrapped between a wheel and the frame, but it was rare to see a bike actually chained to a stationary object. I wish bicycle theft were as small a problem here in the US.

The First Day of Summer

2013-06-21T12:27:00.003-07:00

While I don't remember all of the ways I spent my summers when I was a kid, I can definitely remember the way summer felt - the anticipation leading up to the last day of school; the long days playing in the woods behind our house; big slices of watermelon on the back porch; week-long trips to visit my grandparents' farm.

As adults, we generally don't get to revel in summer the way we used to. It would be easy to get lost in nostalgia and feel like something has been lost. But for me, it still kind of has that exciting feel to it, and I want to do everything I can to make the summer live up to the expectations set by my childhood.

True, there isn't as much time to spend playing when most of the days are spent earning a living. But most of us still have mornings, evenings, and weekends to live to their fullest. We still have vacation time accrued to compress into a week what used to take a month to do.

The Solstice - the official start of summer - was late last night, which makes this the first full day of summer. The kids have been out of school for about a month, now, but the last field trip for my mountaineering class is tomorrow (it's my last day of school!), which will free up some time to pick and choose how I'm going to spend my off day each week. And the other weekend days when I'm taking care of the kids are full of promise, too.

As far as I can see, this summer is going to be all about climbing, hiking, slacklining, biking, skateboarding, and teaching my kids what I can about all of those things. What are you doing this summer?

Korea and Japan: a late Yule present

2013-06-18T21:22:00.001-07:00

Back during the winter holidays, I didn't get any gifts for anyone. And I mean that literally. Nobody got anything from me. At all.

Part of it was that I didn't make the time to do any shopping. And part of it was that C made sure that the people who matter most got gifts from our family. But mostly I think it was because everyone I would have bought gifts for doesn't need anything. On the contrary, most people I know complain that they want to simplify their lives rather than accumulate more stuff.

But I didn't want to be a Scrooge, so I told my family that my gift to them would be an all-expenses-paid adventure to the destination of their choosing.

I spent the next several hours arguing that Disney Land did not count as an adventure.

This heated debate subsided into the kind of subsurface boiling that lava might do after a violent volcanic eruption. A few days later C turned to me with narrowed eyes and said, "I want to go to Japan." I'd been called to account, and now I'd have to put my money where my mouth is. "Sounds fun," I replied.

Of course we couldn't actually get away until after the school year was up, so we planned the trip for the first two weeks of June. Which means that at the time of writing, I've had just enough time to recover from jet lag.

The trip actually entailed a week in South Korea - visiting my sister, who is stationed there right now - followed by a week in Kyoto. It was probably the best vacation we've had.

We flew out of Denver on a Thursday, caught a connecting flight in Seattle and landed in Seoul on Friday evening. The time zones are such that you lose a day in transit. My brother-in-law picked us up from the airport and took us to their home in Pyeongtaek. Travel is exhausting, and I don't sleep well on planes. So we had just enough time to settle in and hang out for a bit before going to bed at a pretty normal local time. We all got up the next morning feeling more or less adjusted to the new time, which was a pleasant surprise.

The next few days were spent going all over the place, seeing museums, visiting temples, going to amusement parks, walking through markets, and playing at a water park on the US Army post where they work.

One particularly nice coincidence was that their neighborhood, comprised largely of Americans working for the military, held a barbecue one evening while we were there. We enjoyed a sense of community that I haven't felt in a long time. There's a unique bonding that takes place when you're all strangers in a strange land, or so to speak, that doesn't happen much here in suburban US of A.

C and M at a street market, Osan, South Korea

Korean War Memorial, Seoul, South Korea

Korean War Memorial, Seoul, South Korea. A trove for AFV enthusiasts.

Tofu vendor at a street market, Pyeongtaek, South Korea

Traditional dancers and musicians, Korean Folk Village

Buddhist temple, Kwang Duk Sa, South Korea

Kwang Duk Sa, South Korea

T-Express roller coaster, Everland, South Korea

Our week in Korea flew by for me. Before I knew it, we were being shuttled back to Seoul to catch a flight to Osaka. From there we traded in our pre-paid vouchers (acquired from a stateside travel agent) for rail passes and took a JR train to Kyoto. The train station is essentially part of the airport, so it was much less stress than I thought it would be. Still, I'm glad that we insisted on fitting everything into a single suitcase plus backpacks. Shepherding two kids through public transportation is challenging enough without a lot of extra baggage.

Even though we didn't manage to do much more than one destination per day, Kyoto was a whirlwind of palaces, temples, museums, and trains. It was a great choice for first-timers in Japan, as there is so much history there, and the city is quite manageable in size. I think Tokyo probably would have been a bit overwhelming.

Nijo-jo (a shogun's palace), Kyoto, Japan

Tea house, Imperial gardens, Kyoto, Japan

M and some monkeys, Iwatayama Monkey Park near Kyoto, Japan

A train station somewhere north of Kyoto, Japan

Trees at a Buddhist temple (Yasaka?), Kyoto, Japan

Kiyomizu-dera, Kyoto, Japan

Waterfront, Toba, Japan. We were on an island, so the kids wanted to see some water.

A Katsuya Terada work at the International Manga Museum, Kyoto Japan

Imperial Palace, Kyoto, Japan

It was a great experience being a visitor to such very foreign countries. I mean, everything from the landscapes and architecture to the languages and alphabets were completely new to us. It's really humbling to immerse oneself so thoroughly in the unknown.

The flight home was from Osaka to San Francisco, and from there back to Denver. It all went smoothly enough, but while we once again arrived in the evening and should have gotten a good, on-schedule night's sleep, I was slower to adapt back to Mountain Time. Hopefully tonight I won't wake up again at 03:00 wondering whether I'll be able to coax myself back to sleep for a couple of hours.

There will be more about this trip to come. There was simply too much to encompass in a single blog post.

SPL T-shirts

2013-05-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when we go to the climbing gym, F gets pieces of scrap paper from the counter and draws little pictures of me while I'm climbing. I love those "climbing cards", as she calls them, but if you've got kids you know it's not always easy to know what to do with all the keepsakes that accumulate. After a while, an awesome idea struck me.

Behold, the very first Self-Powered Life t-shirts!

F in her new shirt

Me in mine

I kept the project secret so I could surprise F once the shirts actually arrived. Whatever it cost to get them made (it wasn't that much, really), I was more than repaid when I presented the shirt to her. She thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I'm really proud of mine, too.

These aren't available for purchase, though I guess you could email me of you really want one. I just had these two made, since demand would never be able to keep up with supply if I ordered them in bulk.

Imagining other people going around in SPL t-shirts is kinda novel, but what I would really love is for you, dear reader, to find something that uniquely celebrates your own self-powered pursuits, put that on a shirt (or whatever), and send me a picture. I promise, it will make you smile way more than having somebody else's logo on your chest.

Riding in the Rain

2013-05-15T16:12:00.000-07:00

In Colorado, as in many places, it's the rainy season right now. For some people avoiding being caught exposed to the elements means that the bike has to stay at home while they drive to work. For my part, I'd rather take a chance with an afternoon shower than miss a perfectly good bike-commuting day. And honestly, riding in the rain is kinda fun.

But there are a few small things you can keep handy to improve your experience. My backpack always has the following in it.

A light rain shell
Rain pants
Trash bag
Quart-sized zip-lock bags

The rain shell came with a stuff sack, so it packs down pretty small. The pants and trash bag get rolled up and bound with a rubber band to keep them tidy and out of the way. If it's raining when it's time to hit the road, I wrap my laptop inside the trash bag. Phone and wallet go into a zip-lock. Anything else that can be damaged by water should be sealed up as well.

Or you could spend a bunch of money on a solidly weatherproof backpack. In some parts of the country that kind of investment makes a lot of sense. But it just doesn't rain that often here.

What to do with the wearables should be obvious enough. I like to put my helmet on over my hood, since it tends to get blown back if I do it the other way around. If you're worried about your feet getting wet, you can either get waterproof shoe covers, or you could put plastic bags over your socks and allow your shoes to get soaked while your feet stay relatively dry (except for some extra sweat).

Another thing to take into consideration when riding in the rain is safety. Puddles can hide road hazards and can sometimes be deeper than they look, so avoid them when possible. And use caution when a fording is necessary.

Lightning is a serious risk, especially if you have to ride through open terrain. So try to choose a route that minimizes the time spent being the tallest thing around, and haul ass through any unavoidable fields. You're not going to outrun lightning, but you can limit the time spent exposed to greater risk of a strike.

Finally, rain inhibits visibility, so make sure you're equipped with appropriate lighting and reflectors if you're going to be riding in traffic.

If you're always prepared for a little stormy weather, you can bike your commute without worrying about gambling with the forecast. The weather is going to happen; just roll with it!

Bunnies to Blacks in one season

2013-04-26T20:08:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned previously, my major goal for the winter was to learn how to ski. It seemed silly that I've lived in Colorado for as long as I have without taking my place in the Sunday afternoon traffic jams on I-70. I felt left out. And it was also a logical next step in my mountaineering aspirations.

While there have been plenty of Spring powder days lately, the season for me is over. My weekends for the next month or so are spoken for by field trips with a class I'm taking with the Colorado Mountain Club, and the teasingly warm days we've had are drawing my mind to other pursuits. So now I'm reflecting on how things went, and whether my goals were met.

All said, I'm pretty happy with my progress this year, though there are a few things I didn't get to that I would have liked. So this post is about how I approached my first year of skiing. I think some of it probably applies to many new endeavors.

Riding up chair 4, Loveland Basin

0) Humble yourself. Everyone is terrible at first. Don't let pride prevent you from even getting started. Give yourself permission to suck. But don't worry. Falling isn't really all that bad.

1) Put yourself on the hook. For me, this mostly turned out to be in the form of a financial commitment. I bought all of my gear instead of renting, which obligated me to make the investment worthwhile. Telling people what you're doing can also help add a little pressure not to give up.

2) Start early. Skiing is obviously dependent on the weather, so there's a limit to how early in the year you can start. For me, this meant the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The snow wasn't what you'd call good - it was all machine-made, hard-packed corduroy - but it was enough, and I wanted to be off of the bunny slopes by the time the season was in full swing.

3) Start with lessons. Preferably from a professional instructor. You might have friends that are really good, but being good at something is not always the same as being good at teaching it. The first three times I went skiing, I took at least a half-day lesson. Make sure you take time either before or after the lesson to work on your own and just have some fun.

4) Go often. Most of the time I was only able to go once per week. And since that one day was my only day for doing things on my own, I had to give up some of my other favorite winter activities (e.g. snowshoeing). But I was up there every chance I got.

Hanging out at Ptarmigan Roost cabin, Loveland, during Spring Break

5) Go with friends. They say the best way to improve is to ski with somebody better than you. The couple of times I was able to go with other experienced skiers, I learned quite a bit. Jim taught me how to ski trees and moguls, and now that's some of the stuff I enjoy the most.

Me skiing with Jim at Winter Park

6) Learn with friends. I spent a lot of time skiing by myself, but I also talked my whole family into learning with me this year. It's fun to be able to spread around your beginner's enthusiasm. And sometimes, like Presidents' Day and Spring Break, this allowed me to increase the frequency of my ski days.

C at Loveland Valley

7) Ignore ratings. I know: the title of this post is all about difficulty ratings. We outdoors people seem to be obsessed with rating systems. And they can be useful for risk-assessment, tracking progress, and motivation. But I'm working on a universal scale that I can apply to pretty much any activity. It goes something like

Boring
Fun
Fun But Scary. Or maybe interpret it as "fun, but I expect to fail."
Too Scary to try yet

This is a scale that grows with us as we progress in our pursuits. And if you want to get better at something, try to stay in the FBS range. Eventually you'll gain enough skill and confidence that things in the TS category start looking like FBS.

Looking down Over the Rainbow at Loveland Basin

8) Explore new places. This year, Loveland was kind of my home turf, or so to speak. But I learned a lot on the occasions I was able to ski other mountains. And not all mountains rate their runs the same way.

Maybe it was because I was seeing all of Loveland's black runs while I was still just beginning, and that first Too Scary impression stuck with with me longer than it should have. But in my experience, the black runs at Copper Mountain were much gentler than the blacks at Loveland. So going to other places might allow you to break through the mental block and smooth out the transition from one level to the next.

9) Never fail to have fun. That's not to say that it isn't hard sometimes. But if I wanted to do something that feels like work, there's plenty of that waiting for me at home and the office. Fun is what motivates me to get out and learn something new.

Loveland Basin from the top of chair 1

S is for Spring

2013-03-20T20:30:00.000-07:00

S is for...

Seeds (and some transplanted seedlings) that I planted yesterday in my community plot at the office. Chard, Brussels sprouts, and cauliflower. Yum!

An pre-sunrise spinning workout on my trainer in the basement - there is an end in sight. I'm so looking forward to riding outdoors again.

Shaving the winter beard, but leaving a sweet trucker 'stache. F says I should keep it indefinitely. My wife thanked me for giving her such a good laugh first thing in the morning.

Slacklining in the front yard after work. (I still suck, but I have fun!)

A special family supper, with sweets for dessert. Sauteed greens, asparagus, roast, and sweet potatoes. And of course, the bunny cake with skittles for the eye and nose.

Vegan roast & sweet potatoes

Chocolate bunny cake

Skiing tomorrow. Seriously, it's a work-sanctioned event - I'm not playing hookie. The imminent end of ski season makes the arrival of spring somewhat bitter-sweet. But there are plenty of other things to do. I can't wait!

Happy Spring, everybody!

Fatties vs. Studs

2013-03-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

It's not often that I embrace controversy in my SPL posts, but today I'm writing about a fairly contentious topic: Fatties and Studs. That's right, the question is whether it's better to have a wide, chunky girth, or more svelte and angular.

For bicycle tires, I mean. For winter commuting.

For the past couple of years - excluding last year, which was so devoid of snow that I never had to change out of my 28mm Gator Skins - I've been using 35mm studded tires on my touring bike for my winter commuting. But this year I've done a lot more riding on my mountain bike with its fat 26x2" tires. It's got me thinking about whether it's worth it to invest in those expensive snow tires, or if it's better, assuming you have one in the stable already, to just use a mountain bike.

Skinnies, studs, and fatties.

The studded tires are designed to give superior traction on ice, of course. And for that they perform admirably. And in my experience, the narrower tire cuts into deep snow better.

I haven't really gotten a feel for what the fatties do on black ice. And in fresh snow of 5 inches or so, they get mired and bogged down, forcing me to walk the bike to a plowed/shoveled surface to remount.

But what happens on the rutted, frozen footprints from school-kids, crusty ice kind of conditions I mostly see on the multi-use paths on my commute? My snow tires often failed to ride up the edges of those ruts, instead either rerouting me wherever the previous path user was headed, or sending me into an emergency foot-dip to avoid a topple. The mountain bike tires, on the other hand, gain a better purchase on the sides of the ice and allow me to go up and over the ruts without too much trouble.

Another annoyance, which I was not industrious enough to solve definitively was that the fenders on my touring bike were installed with normal-sized tires in mind. So the wider 35mm studded tires often scrubbed the inside of the front fender, making an awful racket. In wet conditions, I guess that's better than having no fenders at all, like on my mountain bike. On the other hand, the mtb has disk brakes, which work decidedly better in those same wet conditions.

So in conclusion... I don't really have a conclusion for you. I think that both kinds of tires have a place for winter commuting. But unless next year is snowier than this one, I'll leave the skinny tires on my touring bike and use the fatties on snow days.

Family Ski Weekend

2013-02-11T20:56:00.000-08:00

F's school had a couple of extra days off last week for parent/teacher conferences and a teacher work day, so we decided to all head to the mountains for a little while.

Thursday we went to Loveland. F had an afternoon lesson scheduled with her amazing instructor, the inestimable Jungle Jim. I honestly can't say enough good things about this guy. If you've spent much time at Loveland, you've probably seen him - he wears a stuffed snake on his helmet, so he's pretty easy to spot. And F is crazy about him. She's been taking individual lessons with him ever since her first group lesson (with a different instructor) didn't go so well.

After dropping F off in the Valley, we hoped to get M into daycare for a little while so my wife and I could get some skiing in at the Basin. But it turns out that you can't really do half-days in the afternoons due to some kind of nap-time policy. So instead we went back to the Valley and rented some gear for M as well. He and I spent the afternoon doing run after run on the beginner hill with him between my skis, gripping the poles that I held horizontally in front of us. I'm certain he liked that better than daycare.

After the Loveland lifts shut down for the day, we drove up to Keystone to a one-bedroom condo we had reserved for the next two nights. It was pretty sweet, with plenty of extra sleeping space in the living room for the kids. The next morning we headed up to Keystone's Summit Learning Area for more skiing. Jungle Jim had arranged to meet us there for another lesson with F.

Meanwhile C, M, and I did our thing until around 1:00. Skiing for two is kind of tough work after a while, but it was a lot of fun.

We were all pretty wiped out, but after lunch and some rest time back at the condo, we made a half-hearted effort to get back up on the slopes. The wind had picked up and it was getting dark, so that outing didn't last long.

The living room of our condo in Keystone

Saturday morning we had to pack up and check out. We had planned to do some ice skating at the lake there in Keystone, but the parking situation was kind of crazy, so we just decided to hit the road. On our way east, we stopped by the Herman Gulch trail head to play in the snow for a few minutes.

Herman Gulch Trail

A weather system had moved in on Saturday, bringing some much-needed snow to the mountains. So on Sunday I just couldn't help myself - I was back at Loveland for a morning of solo skiing. In truth, it was the only chance I had to get any normal skiing in for the weekend. It was amazing and beautiful. The snow was good enough that I was emboldened to try some runs I hadn't done before (I think I found a new favorite); by noon I had run myself into the ground and it was great!

At the top of lift 6, Loveland Basin

And I got back into town just in time to meet the rest of the family at ABC Kids Climbing in Boulder to belay my kids on a couple of routes before going home to relax. Sometimes it's hard not to feel like the luckiest man in the world, but I hope that everyone is out there having this much fun.

Bike Law

2013-02-05T08:07:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was kind of a big day for bike news here in Colorado.

The first item was that an ordinance in the casino town of Black Hawk from 2009, which banned bicycles from most (all?) city streets was overturned by the Colorado Supreme Court. Cycling was declared a "matter of state and local concern" which couldn't be arbitrarily restricted. The state law says that roads may be barred from bicycle traffic only if there is a reasonable alternative route within 450 feet (137 meters).

I will concede that there are probably very few cyclists who, while pedaling through town, will stop to play the slots at Harrah's (or whatever it is they have there). But Black Hawk is along one of the more obvious routes for riders going from Nederland to Golden. So it's nice that Clear Creek Canyon (Hwy 6) will again be an alternative to Coal Creek Canyon (Hwy 72) when riding down Peak-to-Peak Highway.

There is enough bike traffic in that area that towns along the way should be able to capitalize on the passers-through. The revenue may be dwarfed by that brought by gambling, but it's better than alienating the outdoor-recreational demographic.

The second piece of news was that the city of Aspen is considering a law which would allow cyclists to treat stop signs as a yield. There are already places that do this in other states (e.g. Idaho), also downgrading red lights to the equivalent of stop signs for bicycles.

This mostly makes a lot of sense. The article discusses several of the reasons such a change may be a good idea. I can say from personal experience that stop signs are often a source of confusion for both cyclists and motorists. And when the only traffic at an intersection is behind me, coming to a full stop does nothing but slow everyone down. I do the best I can to obey stop signs and red lights, but from the standpoint of courtesy, I think the best thing I can do when I'm riding on the road is to get out of people's way as quickly as possible.

However, I believe (without any real data to support it) that much of the tension between drivers and riders is the perceived sense of entitlement that bicyclists have when it comes to ignoring the rules of the road. Much of the frustration associated with driving comes from needless delays. If a red light has stopped traffic when there is nobody coming from the other direction, it can be really annoying. If a biker can ignore the law with impunity while drivers have to sit and wait, it isn't really fair.

Traffic laws are problematic because the primary directives should be 1) safety for everyone on the road; and 2) getting everyone where they need to go efficiently. But the infrastructure we have in place doesn't always do a very good job of supporting those goals. I'd like to see the whole system get much smarter.

In the meantime, small changes like this one proposed in Aspen could be beneficial on both counts - safety and efficiency. But I wouldn't want to see it become a cause for increased friction between users of the roads. They say that in Idaho it's just accepted as the way things work. Hopefully Aspen's proposed measure will pass into law and will turn out to be effective for everyone.

Fear, danger, and risk

2013-01-20T09:00:00.002-08:00

I hardly ever watch movies in the theater, but I make exceptions now and then. As a long-time Tolkien fan, I went to see The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey twice over the holidays: once with coworkers right after it came out and once with family when we were out of town a week or two later. But that's tangential to the topic at hand.

Included in the parade of trailers before the movie was a preview of After Earth, which is not one I'll go out of my way to see on the big screen, but will probably try to see once it comes out on video. In this trailer, there is a voice-over of Will Smith delivering the following quote:

You must realize that fear is not real. It is a product of thoughts you create. Do not misunderstand me: danger is very real, but fear is a choice.

This immediately resonated with me, and shortly thereafter I found myself starting to say nearly the same words to my daughter, F, while teaching her to ice-skate [1].

The juxtaposition of fear and danger is an interesting one. Learning to separate the mental and physical aspects of a situation is often critical to overcoming major obstacles or achieving difficult goals.

Another distinction I frequently make is that between danger and risk. Risk is brought about by circumstances in which things could go wrong. Danger is when we ignore the necessity to observe precautions, or fail to adequately prepare, increasing the probability that things will go wrong.

I often tell my kids that sometimes it's okay to do something that you know is risky. But I'm going to get mad if they're surprised when they get hurt doing it. Failure to recognize risk will almost certainly lead to danger. [2]

Through the honing of skill and proper use of equipment, we mitigate risk and gain the confidence to overcome fear. When fear is present, it is useful to acknowledge it, examine it, and try to see what it is telling us. Is it some gut instinct telling us that we've wandered into dangerous territory? Or is it just a mental block which we are prepared to overcome with will power?

There's nothing quite as exhilarating as pushing through a frightening situation and proving to ourselves that we're capable of more than we previously believed; or showing that the hard work we've put in to prepare for such an eventuality has paid off. Ignoring safety is foolish, but paying too much attention to fear can only lead to regret.

[1] I don't really know how to ice-skate either. Imagine the blind leading the blind, but substitute vision with friction.

[2] Have I started to repeat myself like some senile old coot? I don't remember if I wrote about this theme before or not, but apparently I'm too lazy to go back and check.

Permission to Suck

2012-12-01T20:50:00.000-08:00

This phrase has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm not exactly sure where I first heard, but it seems to have more-or-less originated David Kadavy. And I know I've often read Seth Godin talking about taking risks and embracing failure as part of doing something meaningful.

The thing is, if I only do things that I'm good at, I'm not exploring my boundaries. If I refuse to suck at something, I can't do anything new. I've mentioned before that my friend Jim says that you're allowed to suck at anything for the first year. If I play my cards right, I'll always be sucking at something.

So here are a few things I've been sucking at this year.

Swimming

Somehow I made it through childhood without learning how to swim properly. So I decided I was going to learn how to swim this year. It would open up a number of opportunities for me like triathlons, kayaking, etc. I was going to sign up for lessons at the local rec center during the summer, but the class filled up too quickly. So my family and I started just going to the pool once a week while school was out.

It turns out that chasing kids around the pool is a bad way to learn how to swim. The best I could do was try to float on my back in the kiddie pool and find my balance in the water. My legs still seem to want to sink, but I guess it helped get me more comfortable with things.

A coworker had given me a book about swimming technique, and some of the ideas from that were floating around in the back of my mind. So while we were at the hotel pool during our Thanksgiving Getaway, I was surprised to discover that I was suddenly able to swim from one end of the pool to the other. Not very well, mind you. I was expending much more energy than I thought should be necessary. But I was doing it. I even managed a back stroke. As long as I can practice a bit more often, I'm pretty sure I can get to a point where I can feel okay saying that I know how to swim.

Slacklining

This just looked like a lot of fun. I've never had very good balance, and it's something that I'm trying to improve. My wife wasn't thrilled with the idea of spending the money on a slackline when we don't have anywhere in the yard to rig it up. But when I came across a Gibbon line at an REI yard sale, I had to grab it.

This has given me an interesting opportunity to be terrible at something in public. The only places I've been able to practice are at parks and at the office. But it doesn't really matter. Honestly, I expected people to laugh at me a lot more than they do. Instead, they mostly seem curious. And of course some make jokes about me needing a pole like tight-rope walkers use. I wonder if seeing someone going through those first stumbling steps of failure while learning something new encourages others to overcome some fear they might have of taking on new challenges of their own.

Skiing

This one is brand new for me. I decided some time during the summer that this winter I was finally going to learn how to ski. My real interest is in backcountry ski mountaineering kinds of things, but that doesn't seem like a great environment to learn in for an absolute beginner. So it's groomed slopes and lifts for me right now. Still, I want to learn using the same gear that I'll some day be using on more adventurous terrain, so rather than renting the equipment, I hunted down some bargains and got the best gear that I could without breaking the bank. Now I'm financially committed to doing this.

Last Sunday, after we got back from Utah, I drove up to Loveland and signed up for a first-timer lesson. I happened to meet the instructor while I was sitting around waiting for the class to start. I told him that he was going to think my alpine touring setup was kind of weird, but he seemed to think my rationale was sound.

Those big floppy skis were every bit as awkward as I thought they would be on the hard-packed resort slopes. But it all basically worked just fine, and the lesson was a ton of fun. I'm going back tomorrow for another lesson and more practice. I don't know that I'll be descending any backcountry couloirs this year, but I'll get there eventually.

Rock Climbing

Okay, I have to say that considering I've only been climbing since about May or June, I feel pretty good about how my skills are developing. But the best I've been able to do so far is top-roping some of the 5.10 routes at the gym. Somehow I've got it in my mind that you have to be able to lead 5.11s before you can really consider yourself a good climber. That's probably not accurate or fair, but apparently it's the standard I'm holding myself against.

My very first climbing experience was at a little introductory course at the REI store in Denver. It was a very safe and encouraging environment to suck in. Everyone there was starting at the same place I was, so there was no pressure to be good at it. But taking the next step by going to a climbing gym full of people who know what they're doing was really intimidating.

When it comes to being intimidated by something that I really want to do, I find myself having to just stare in the mirror, or so to speak, and telling myself, "Get over it." So the first time or two, I went by myself, played around in the bouldering cave, rediscovered some humility, and having a really good time. Once my daughter started going with me, it got a little easier. It always helps to have someone around that you know, even if they're six years old.

F and I are getting better and better all the time, I think, and I'm not so self-conscious about being mediocre as I was at first. It's been a great way for us to spend some bonding time, and we're both learning a lot about pushing ourselves to improve. She sent a 5.7 last Thursday that she'd been working on for a while. It was so cool to see the thrill of achievement in her eyes.

So...

For me, sucking at something can be a big motivator to work harder. Nobody likes being awful at something they're trying to do. But it's the all-important first phase of learning something new. Embrace it, and once you stop sucking at whatever your thing may be, find something new to suck at while you enjoy the feeling of excelling at the old thing.

So what are you sucking at these days? I love to hear the enthusiasm of someone who's found a new pursuit that's worth struggling for.

Thanksgiving Getaway

2012-11-26T20:18:00.000-08:00

I'm a little slow blogging about Thanksgiving. So much so that it's already being relegated to my cluttered drawer of memories. But honestly, if I have a choice between blogging and going out and doing something fun, the fun is going to win every time. Sorry, guys.

For quite a while now I've been wanting to get out of town, at least for a couple of days. And even with a four-day weekend, a couple of days were all we had - C had things to do closer to home on Saturday. So we seized on the opportunity to make a quick trip which we had intended to do a couple of months ago but were unable. As so often is the case for me, this inspiration struck me while pushing my mouse around on Google Maps.

Flaming Gorge is an area in northeastern Utah in the Ashley National Forest. The Green River is dammed up to create a large reservoir that spans the border with Wyoming. I didn't know anything about the place, but it looked worth checking out. And Dinosaur National Monument is right in that area, too, so between the two, I expected that the family should be able to find a good time.

I left work early on Wednesday, we hopped in the truck, and headed west on I-70. At Rifle, Colorado, we headed north through the dark on state highways, dodging the occasional deer in the road. Around 10:00 we pulled in to our hotel in Vernal, Utah.

On Thursday we got around relatively early and headed out. Some of the food we had meant to bring from home was forgotten, so we stopped by a grocery store to pick up the ingredients for our Thanksgiving feast - PB&J sandwiches!

The drive from Vernal to Flaming Gorge winds through hills full of geologic and paleontologic interest. There were several road-side signs describing the kinds of fossils found in each area, much of which had formerly been a prehistoric coastline. Most of the amenities at the Gorge were closed for the season, but that was okay with us. Had we planned on camping, it would have been more of a problem. We drove across the dam and around the reservoir, taking in some scenery.

Flaming Gorge dam

Flaming Gorge reservoir

Worrying that any more time in the truck would result in a munchkin mutiny, we turned back to the main road and parked at the Swett Ranch trail head. By that time, the sun had warmed things up as much as it was going to, but it was still quite cool. So we bundled up, grabbed our packs, and went for a hike down one of the forest service roads. Lots more deer in the area.

F, M, and C hiking down a forest service road

Swett Ranch is situated in the valley between the highway and the reservoir. It was a picturesque setting.

Swett Ranch

A stand of aspen near Swett Ranch

M with sticks, wielding his trekking pole

F, who isn't so much into sticks

We found some rocks just off the trail where we could sit and have our lunch. Then, back to the trail head. After relaxing in the hotel room for a little bit, we went down and played in the swimming pool for a while. There weren't many restaurants open that evening, so supper was of the microwaveable variety supplied by the grocery store, eaten in our room at whatever tables and floor space we could make work.

Friday, after breakfast, we packed most of our stuff and then headed back to the pool. Then back on the road. The internet told us that the visitor's center on the Colorado side of Dinosaur National Monument was closed for the season. So we decided to make for the Utah side instead. A quick glance at the map told me that a non-highway route should be straight-forward, but I missed a turn and we ended up taking a long, very pretty drive to a dead end at a fish hatchery at Jones Hole. Backtrack and take the highway. Lose a couple of hours. No big deal.

Some cliffs near Jones Hole, UT

There are hourly tours to a dinosaur fossil quarry from the visitor's center. This quarry turns out to be an ancient river bed which was lifted up and turned about 70 degrees. The man who discovered and excavated it arranged for the bones to be left in place and a structure erected over it, so you get to see everything preserved as it was embedded in the earth millions of years ago. I think the ranger said there are some 1500 fossils in this wall.

Dinosaur quarry

F posing near an allosaurus skeleton (cast)

You can touch some of the fossils

We returned home by the same route we took on Wednesday, and much on the same schedule. We were back to I-70 just after sundown, so I was able to see the deer in the road much better this time. We were kind of burned out on listening to music, so we listened to a few episodes of the Dirtbag Diaries which were cached on my phone. We got home at 10:00, happy to sleep in our own beds again. Which is to say, we were happy for the kids to each have their own beds - those two trying to share a bed in the same room as C and me just doesn't work very well.

So it was a bit of a whirlwind getaway, but it was just what I needed. I got to spend Thanksgiving with two of the things I'm most grateful for: my family and the beauty of nature. And we got a chance to show the kids that experience is more valuable than unnecessarily large meals. As far as adventure goes, it may seem pretty pedestrian, but it was possibly the best Thanksgiving I've ever had.

I have no idea.

A Sunday on Mt. Meeker

2012-11-05T13:30:00.000-08:00

It's been a couple of months since the last time I got out for a really good hike on my own. Not that I haven't been out at all - I've gone on group hikes with CMC folks, either as part of the Wilderness Trekking School class I took, or as part of the prerequisite work for taking their Basic Mountaineering School next spring. But there's something very different about group hiking - it's not quite what I'm usually looking for when I venture out into the mountains. So with a break in my schedule and some inspiration gained while looking at some topo maps, I struck out yesterday on a gem of a route that doesn't get a whole lot of attention.

Mount Meeker, in the southeastern part of Rocky Mountain National Park, is one of the more prominent peaks visible from Denver. But if people know which one it is, they usually think of it as being the thing in front of Longs Peak. But it turns out that it's a great mountain in its own right that merits a closer look.

The feature on the map that captured my imagination was Meeker Ridge, which extends southeast from the summit. So that was the route I chose. Meeker also shares another approach with Longs Peak on the Loft route. But I did that one back in September, and the best parts of that climb are after the turn-off to Meeker.

View Meeker Ridge in a larger map

I drove to the end of CR 113n in Meeker Park on Sunday morning. Daylight savings time had just ended, so the sun was already up by the time I hit the trail at 7:15. The weather was pleasantly cool, and there was a fair amount of snow below tree-line. A single set of out-and-back tracks, presumably from the day before, were the only sign of other hikers I saw on this trail.

After following the trail to the saddle between Meeker and Lookout Mountain, there is an almost-clearing that marks the point where the beaten path is left behind.

A view of Lookout Mountain from the saddle

As you bushwhack up the hill, there are several outcroppings of rock which afford nice views over the treetops.

Horsetooth Peak

By the time I gained Meeker Ridge proper, the snow had cleared out, either scoured by the wind or melted by the sun, now unimpeded by the forest shade. Along the ridge there are great piles of rock which I dubbed the Ancient Ruins, owing to their similarity to many of the toppled castles in Europe.

Ancient Ruins on Meeker Ridge

The wind was a sustained 20 miles per hour, with stronger gusts regularly buffeting me as I worked my way upward. And the sun was hidden behind an overcast covering of clouds for the entire morning. I made enough headway to squeeze through the window of time I had set before turning back. Just after noon, I was approaching the fantastic knife edge that leads from the so-called ridge summit to Mt. Meeker's true summit. The wind was unnerving as I made the last very exposed moves onto that edge, but I couldn't let my efforts be foiled by a little bit of fear. Of course, it turned out to be pretty fun.

Mt. Meeker, from the beginning of the knife edge, with Longs Peak in the background.

Quite by chance I stumbled upon the summit register stuck down in a hole beneath some rocks. The paper had fallen out of its tube and was wet with snow, so my writing was blurred and clumsy.

Meeker summit register

When I stood back up, I saw the only people I would encounter all day - two guys who were approaching the summit from the Loft route. I talked to one of them for a little while as his partner worked his way up the summit boulders, but I didn't want to linger, as it felt as though daylight would fail all too soon.

As I returned to the ridge, I discovered a small Bodhisattva statue nestled in an alcove of rocks.

A Bodhisattva statue on Meeker's summit

The sun was out for much of my descent, casting a golden glow on the tundra grasses on the mountainside. The wind was still constant, but it felt a little warmer. By the time I got back to the trail head at 15:50, I was thoroughly spent. But the true aches from the day's jaunt wouldn't be felt until this morning. This is what a Monday is supposed to feel like.

Optimism Vs. Engagement

2012-10-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I know something about Life, a deeper truth comes along and sets me to reeling.

In my last post, I presented all of the wonderful signs of the season as evidence that there are many more great things to look forward to as Time moves along in its great cycle. The very next day, as we got on our bike to ride to school, my daughter, F, enthused:

"I can't wait until today!"

I think this is the Zen Stick that Jane writes about from time to time.

I turned to F, as best as I could from my bike saddle, and started to correct her. "But it's already today...." But she was right. Optimism for the future is a good thing, but how much better is it to be 100% engaged in the here-and-now?

That girl never ceases to amaze me. She has this inner light that refuses to be ignored, that touches everyone she comes into contact with. I try to have a positive impact on the world around me, but I still have a lot to learn. I'm reminded of these lyrics:

I had a match, but she had a lighter.
I had a flame, but she had a fire.
I was bright, but she was much brighter.
I was high, but she was the sky.
-- Cake: Mexico

I am privileged to be surrounded by lots of people that are so incredibly smart, talented, bold, enthusiastic, caring... But there was a time when I would never have guessed that a six-year-old would be the most inspiring person I've ever met.

Firsts of the Fall

2012-10-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

The first Saturday morning bike ride in sub-40° temperatures and overcast skies. Convincing yourself that as long as you make it out the door, it counts as a workout. Bundled up in at least two layers from head to toe, telling yourself that it's not really that cold. You just have to acclimate to the cooler weather. Getting home 30 miles later with thoroughly frozen hands that thaw to burning pinpricks. A well-deserved cup of tea and a hot shower.

The first pile of leaves raked up from the ash tree that has gone from green to golden seemingly overnight. The kids jumping in, heaping the leaves around themselves; tossing handfulls up in the air and laughing as the leaves shower back down, sticking to sweaters and hair. Thinking maybe you should be trying to capture it all on video, but unwilling to tear yourself away from just being in this moment.

The first hike with snowflakes drifting down at the trail head. A few miles of distance and one or two thousand feet of elevation later, the snow is knee-deep in places. Facing into the wind, you half-wish for goggles and a balaclava. But the slight stinging of the driving snow is just the mountains' way of teasing you, telling you that you're always welcome to come visit as long as you're willing to accept their house rules.

Times of change are a reminder of the richness of experience that awaits us. After a summer full of sunshine, shade trees, and summits, it wouldn't do to forget or take for granted that we're surrounded by wonders that are subject to the slow rhythms of time. The turning of seasons reminds us not to mourn the days that have passed, but to celebrate days yet to come.

Review (and gift): Knocking 'Round the Rockies

2012-10-08T19:29:00.000-07:00

I recently finished reading a great little book: Knocking 'Round the Rockies by Ernest Ingersoll. It is the account of the author's work in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and Wyoming with the United States Geological and Geographical Survey of the Territories in 1874 and 1875.

In recounting his experiences and adventures, Ingersoll waxes poetic, scientific, historic, comic with an engaging rapidity. There are anecdotes of Indian battles and trouble with mules; histories of Denver and other towns he visited; details of the operation and economics of the 19th-century mining industry; and many interesting social and linguistic observations may be made in the reading.

Here are a few of my favorite passages:

There is no possible desolation greater than these lofty peaks show - fastnesses where winter is supreme and chaos retains a foothold upon the earth - fragments of a primeval and Arctic world dotting the fair expanse of tempered nature below.

"That reminds me," laughed Mr. Wilson, "of a funny thing that happened once in Nevada. Coming back from a mountain one day, we surprised a bear and shot at him, but missed him, and he ran off very lively. We followed along and chased him right through camp. There were only a Mexican and the cook there, and they, seeing the bear run by, started after - the Mexican on the horse with an old army pistol, and the cook with nothing but his rolling-pin. The bear got away, but what that fellow proposed to do with the rolling-pin was more than he or I could tell."

I can no more express with leaden types the ineffable, intangible ghost and grace of such an experience than I can weigh out to you the ozone that empurples the dust raised by the play of the antelopes in yonder amethyst valley. Moses need have chosen no particular mountain whereupon to receive his inspiration. The divine Heaven approaches very near all of these peaks.

Not only do I recommend this book, but I have the rare chance to give it to all of you. Kind of. It's available for free via Google Books! So curl up by the campfire with a pipe and your laptop or tablet and enjoy this glimpse of the Rocky Mountains as they were some 138 years ago.

Busy body, muddled mind

2012-09-24T19:57:00.000-07:00

How can life be so busy without producing anything in particular to write about? I think maybe I just suck at introspection and making connections between the physical and mental aspects of life. I have not been idle, but I guess I'm feeling uninspired. So I'm just going to dump a bunch of stuff here. Thanks for letting me vent. Just smile and pretend like you're listening.

At the beginning of the month, I went out to Indian Peaks with a guy named K, whom I met on South Arapaho peak back in August. We were most of the way along the ridge of Mt. Neva when some scary looking clouds started blowing our way, so we bailed. As the clouds rolled in, they were so low that the Arapaho peaks were completely obscured. But we were only a little way along the trail back to the truck when everything cleared up and the sky was a perfect, uninterrupted expanse of blue. I think we were both kind of kicking ourselves for not going for the summit, but given the evidence we had to work with, I think we made the right decision when we turned back.

The next weekend I was supposed to go climbing in Golden, but things fell through with my partner. So instead I went to Boulder and got in a good bike ride. Up Lefthand Canyon to Peak-to-Peak highway, and back down the St. Vrain canyon into Lyons. When I got to the top of Lefthand, I ended up getting mixed up in the Buffalo Bicycle Classic, which followed my route all the way back to where I was parked.

After I got home and we all had lunch, the family and I went down to Sloan's Lake for Adventures Denver - an expo put on by a number of outdoor companies to promote recreational activities to urban dwellers. That was a lot of fun. We didn't have a whole lot of time before things closed down, but F and I ran around and did as many of the activities as we could, including paddling around the lake a little bit in a canoe.

So all said, I wasn't too heart-broken about the climbing plans not coming to fruition. At least I was able to salvage the day.

My father was in town the following weekend. I wanted to take him up to Indian Peaks, but we didn't have time for that. We did try to get out to the Rocky Mountain Arsenal Nat'l Wildlife Refuge, but it ended up being closed due to road work. I managed to make him have a few vegetarian meals, including a dinner at Leaf in Boulder. And though he put up some joking resistance, I think he enjoyed it plenty well.

Another climbing trip cancelled last week due to an illness ravaging the household of my partner (not the same one who flaked on me before). Bummer.

Meanwhile, I started taking classes for the Colorado Mountain Club's Wilderness Trekking School. While many of the topics it covers are not new to me, it's a prerequisite for taking their Basic Mountaineering School, which I'm hoping to do next spring. And I'll still be learning a lot in WTS, and I'm meeting new people, making connections, and trying to figure out how to be sociable. The school's field days will be occupying many of my weekends for a little while.

We had our first WTS field day yesterday, which took us to Watrous Gulch, just the other side of I-70 from Torrey's Peak. The aspen trees are in the midst of their autumnal turning from silver green to the most vivid shades of yellow and orange. At times, while walking through the fallen foliage on the trail, I imagined that the round leaves were coins of gold from some lost and scattered treasure.

One of the biggest challenges right now is trying to stick to some kind of fitness routine. I'm mostly avoiding running right now, still trying to let the PF in my right foot work itself out. The weather is great for cycling, but the sun rises so late these days that there's no time for a ride in the morning before I have to get F up and ready for school. And with C's evening classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and my WTS classes on Tuesdays, afternoon workouts aren't much of an option. When school isn't preventing it, F and I have been going to the climbing gym after I get home from work. That's something, at least.

So I finally resolved myself to the fact that, though it's still prime cycling weather, I have to start doing my workouts indoors on the trainer, early in the morning. Riding outdoors will be relegated to weekends. And even though I suck at bouldering, right now that may be my best bet for getting out and climbing on actual rock on a regular basis. It's something I can go out and do without worrying about finding a partner, and I'm sure I ought to be able to squeeze that into my schedule somewhere.

Chimney Rock in southern Colorado has been in the news recently, as it was newly made a National Monument. Reading about it sent me back two years to my Grand Canyon bicycle tour. It's got the wanderlust stirring in the back of my mind. Don't know when I'll be able to hit the road again like that, but I think I need to get out of town for a while.

A few days of Big Apple

2012-08-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

Last night I got back from a few days in NYC. Before I left, F asked me if there were any climbing gyms in New York. "Yeah," I responded, "New York has a lot of everything except wide-open spaces and mountains." One of the things they have a lot of that I love the most is vegan restaurants.

Right after I checked into my hotel on Tuesday night, I headed over to Terri for supper. It's become a tradition of mine to eat there the first night I'm in town. Great-tasting vegan fast food always seems to hit the spot after half a day of airports, jets, and taxis.

The next night a coworker and I met up with a former colleague at Han Gawi, a vegan Korean restaurant. I'd been wanting to go there for a while, but it wasn't somewhere that I really wanted to go by myself. The food and atmosphere were both great.

Thursday was my last night in town, and I was feeling kind of burned out on being around so many people. So I was tempted to just hit the salad bar at Whole Foods and eat in my hotel room. But that would have left me with an evening of staring at the internet in hopes that it could alleviate my boredom. So instead I coaxed myself into walking down to Gingersnap Organics. I first heard about this place from Choosing Raw and have been wanting to check it out. But it's a little out of the way, and I was reluctant to try to drag omni' coworkers to a raw vegan place. So this was a perfect time to go by myself, and it did not disappoint. Nori rolls, a burger, and the most amazing coconut cream pie ever!

While I wasn't working or eating, I mostly spent my time reading and listening to the Enormocast. That's a fairly new podcast about climbing that I recently came across, and I'm catching up on all the episodes dating back to December of last year.

If you're even just a little bit into climbing, go check it out now. I'll wait right here for you.

I decided to send Chris Kalous, the producer/host of the show, an email to let him know that I'm enjoying it. I'm not sure I can really even call myself a climber at this point (almost all of my climbing so far has been in gyms), but I like having these virtual connections to the community. It was a very short exchange, but it caused me to reflect on a few things. And I reached the conclusion that I need to stop making excuses and letting my shyness hold me back from doing something I really want to do. So ignoring the fact that I have almost no free time in my schedule, I headed over to Mountain Project and decided to find myself a climbing partner. So hopefully I'll have rock-climbing stories to tell in the near future.

While I was packing for the trip, I grabbed two small paperbacks off my bookshelf to take with me. One was a Michael Moorcock novel - The War Hound and the World's Pain - that I picked up at a thrift store and hadn't read yet. It was a pretty good twist on the old Grail Quest theme. The other was Neal Stephenson's Zodiac, which I haven't read in ages. So it's been a real treat revisiting that one. One quote that struck me in particular, and belongs here on SPL, is this passage on riding a bicycle at night:

My nighttime attitude is, anyone can run you down and get away with it. Why give some drunk the chance to plaster me against a car? That's why I don't even own a bike light, or one of those godawful reflective suits. Because if you've put yourself in a position where someone has to see you in order for you to be safe -- to see you, and to give a fuck -- you've already blown it.

Cynical, but classic Stephenson Attitude. Love it.

Quick plug: ABC Kids Climbing

2012-08-19T19:11:00.001-07:00

I skipped this weekend's hiking/mountaineering outing in favor of an all-day climbing date with my daughter, F. We went out to one of the bouldering areas on Flagstaff Road in Boulder and did some climbing and scrambling for the first part of the day. For lunch we picnicked on almond butter & jelly sandwiches and apples from the tailgate of the truck. After that it was starting to get pretty warm (some of the rocks were hot enough to burn our hands), so we left there and headed back into town.

I heard about a kid-friendly climbing gym in Boulder, so we decided to check that out before calling it a day. The place is ABC Kid's Climbing, and the staff said it's the first, and possibly only, gym of its kind in the world. It was pretty amazing. There are many top-rope and boulder routes set up for little bodies with smaller reach, and they rent kid-sized gear. But there are also plenty of adult-sized routes to keep the parents entertained. In fact, many of the bouldering problems are more highball than what I'm used to at our local climbing gym.

When we arrived, I went through the quick belaying certification process so F could climb on the top-rope wall. But as soon as we were done with that, she went straight to a side room where they have a zip line set up and stayed in there the entire time. I'm not sure if she was just tired of climbing for the day or if the zip line was too much a temptation for her to focus on anything else. But in a small way, I'm glad that our regular gym doesn't have that particular distraction so she can actually work on her climbing while we're there.

Another thing: we witnessed two separate climbing birthday parties today - both for girls! (One of the really cool things about climbing is that it seems to be enjoyed by males and females equally at all levels.) One group was top-roping on Crown Rock on Flagstaff, and the other booked their party at ABC. Either way, what a great idea! We'll see how she feels come January, but for now F is saying that she wants to have her next birthday party at ABC.

So if you find yourself in Boulder with an adventurous kid, ABC is definitely worth checking out. Everyone is bound to have a good time.

Density vs. Friendliness

2012-08-15T19:48:00.001-07:00

When it comes to human populations, there's an inverse relationship between density and friendliness. That isn't to say that people in big cities are necessarily unfriendly, but that in heavily populated areas, folks are just less likely to acknowledge each other than when there aren't so many people around.

It's evident when driving. In any rural area I've ever been in, if you drive by a local on a remote county road, he's probably going to raise a finger or two from his truck's steering wheel in a kind of wave. When you get into a town of any size, the waving stops.

I see it when I'm out riding my bike. Away from the city, on roads and paths that don't see a lot of two-wheeled traffic, cyclists generally greet one another as they pass. As you get into more heavily-traveled regions you're lucky to get an "on your left."

It's especially obvious on hiking trails. If you get out there early enough, everyone you encounter, and it usually isn't that many, will offer a "good morning!" The farther you get from the trail head, the better the potential for a brief conversation. If you meet someone on a seldom-visited summit, they just might talk your ear off. Comparatively speaking, anyway. But on your way back out, when the afternoon crowds are out for their weekend constitutionals, the pleasantries begin to erode until you're lucky to even get a nod of acknowledgement.

I get that, when there are a lot of people around, it becomes impractical to say hello to every single one of them. And I don't go out hiking or riding my bike so that I can socialize with strangers. Generally, that's my alone time and I'm out there to absorb the scenery and quiet focus not commonly afforded me at home.

But I'm not really out there to escape. I'm driven to the outdoors by joy and love for the trail. I see the same thing in a lot of the faces I meet. But I can also see that not everyone is there for that reason. And that's fine. One of the great things about Nature is that it can mean so many different things to different people at different times.

Maybe part of the reason for this density-to-friendliness ratio is that sparseness gives us more sense of identity within a Tribe - a feeling that there's something that unites and sets us few apart from everyone that isn't out there. But as density increases, it becomes less obvious what common thread might bind us together. Or the commonality becomes less relevant as numbers increase. Whatever the case, I try to hold in my mind the reason that I'm out there and let it remain untouched by whatever indifference may emanate from the afternoon crowd. They may not be the reason I'm there, but I almost always will have a smile, a nod, or a "Hi!" to share with them.