Shangri-Lost

First true shake down ride

2012-02-12T08:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was the first true shake down ride of my bikepacking set up. My friends Hunter and Elizabeth and I went for a 30-mile ride on some dirt roads in the Chattahoochee National Forest. Hunter was also testing out his new bikepacking rig - a Salsa Fargo - which we pretty much decided is the Willys Jeep of the mountain biking/touring world. Elizabeth was testing out her new finger, which had been dispatched by a vengeful bridge late last year. The forecast was for a high in the 40s and windy, but otherwise pretty nice for a winter day. That's why our original plan was for a 50-mile loop....

The moment we arrived at the parking pull off near Camp Wahsega, we could tell it was going to be a more challenging day than any of us expected. The temperature was hovering just above freezing and a light dusting of dry snow accentuated the landscape. Flurries continued to fall as we packed up our gear. Elizabeth was already in self-preservation mode as soon as we opened the doors. Hunter and I ran about putting the final touches on our bikepacking rigs to make sure we could get a reasonable test out of the day.

My setup was very light, but I was happy with the test. I had my Cleaveland Mountaineering seatbag stuffed with a synthetic 40-degree sleeping bag, my puffy REI Revelcloud, bike pump, and my AMK e-bivy. The sleeping bag is probably not the one I will take, but I know whatever I do get will only be smaller and lighter than it is so it was a good test. The other major addition I made to the set up was adding a water bottle cage under my downtube where I was going to carry extra gear. I purchased a waterproof Cage Rocket and crammed it full of gear. The biggest thing I put in there was an extra tube but I also managed tire boots, a patch kit, and a tire lever. I think I could still fit some heavy items like extra batteries in there. Doing this allowed me to move some weight (about 1 lb or so I'm guessing) off my back or seat and put it really low on the bike. I never heard anything shaking around or noticed any difference in handling, though we were on roads.

By 10am we were ready to set out. We were at the bottom of a 3-mile Cat 2 climb which definitely helped us warm up. Just before the top we stopped to regroup and try to restore bloodflow to our toes. The air coming over the gap at the very top sounded just like a 737 readying for take-off. Snow swirled around and tinted everything white in the gap as well. After our quick warming break, we sped through the gap, turned right down Cooper Gap Rd. and began descending. At this point the temperature was no more than 30-degrees and the wind was gusting to at least 35 mph. In case you're curious, that's a windchill of about 15°F and that doesn't count our moving speed.

We cruised along, generally descending or flat for about 10 miles. The view was awesome - most of it looking off the Appalachian ledge to north Georgia farmland below. Everything had that ethereal-yet-malevolent wintry lighting to it. I should have gotten a picture but I was way too focused on staying warm.

We finally dumped out at the end of Canada Creek Rd. Let it be known that Google Maps and National Geographic describe this road as a fully developed and maintained road between Cooper Gap Rd. and Gaddistown Rd. They both failed to mention that it eventually peters out in a large former farm or feedlot and a 30-foot ford over Canada Creek is required.

Considering the temperatures, the fact that I still could only feel my left food, and the elevated and swiftly moving Canada Creek itself, this seemed an unpleasant and unnecessary task for which we all opted out of. We cursed Nat. Geo. (which has screwed us before) and looked for another less threatening crossing. We wandered through thorny fields upstream but had no luck. The area was really unique and looked much more like it was straight out of the Balkans than North Georgia, USA. There were two defunct concrete silos, several concrete slabs and walls scattered about, and the requisite redneck artifacts (i.e., shotgun shells and cans of Bud). It really did look like a war zone.

After our failed attempt to complete our loop, we just backtracked up to Cooper Gap and bombed back down the 3-mile descent to our car. By the time I got back to the car and checked the GPS, our maximum speed had been 31mph. Take that and throw in a gust of wind and the now-29° temps and you get a 4° F wind chill. Umm... yeah - that was really good training for riding with almost nothing on if it turns nasty in CO! It was also good training for bikepacking in Patagonia (as Hunter pointed out). Elizabeth was almost incoherently freezing when she got back to the car. Her million-dollar hand had held up but I had a feeling Hunter and I weren't her favorite people right then...

Although not the mega mileage we were planning and certainly not over-loaded on equipment, it was a great little test for all the gear. I'm even more excited and looking forward to the next test run. I just have to make sure I include these things when that happens, which I did not this time: headlamp, more food, UL SilTarp, GPS on the bars, rain jacket, a few more extra clothes, hi-power bike light, beer, and a few small repair items.

And so it begins...

2012-02-06T07:57:00.000-05:00

It's official: I'm headed to Colorado! Next summer I'm planning to ride the Colorado Trail Race, which is a 500-mile self-supported sufferfest from Denver to Durango via - yep, you guessed it - the Colorado Trail. I've been sort of waiting to make my plans official until I pressed the "confirm" button on my airline tickets. But on January 27th I locked myself in. July 27th-August 12th is my timeframe. The race begins on July 30th and finishes whenever I roll into Durango - if I make it. For the next 7 months, my training and planning are all focused on this race. And I've already started making good progress...

In December I purchased a new bike which is a little more "Swiss Army-ish" than my trusty old steelie 29er. The Niner Jet9 is blowing my mind with its versatility! I never thought a full suspension 29er could climb as well as it does. My goal was to improve my ability to slay downhills without sacrificing too much of my climbing ability. As far as I can tell I succeeded.

I built the bike to specifically deal with my perceived notion of what CTR riding will be like - wretchedly malevolent towards every muscle, joint, and piece of equipment I have! For those of you who want to know, here's the build: http://shangri-lost.blogspot.com/p/current-bike-build.html.

I've been slowly accumulating gear I think will work well for the trip. I'll be putting my gear list here: http://shangri-lost.blogspot.com/p/gear-list.html

There's still a lot to do, but for the most part I've got most of my gear purchased or planned. I need to do several practice rides between now and the race to test out my packing strategy, handling, sleep system, and of course, to build my strength. My first test run went really well - but that was just testing the bike. I plan on doing the route again though. I'll try to post a map of the route when I do it again, but in essence it's Bear Creek Trail parking>P1-P5>Pinhoti Connector Trail to Ft Mtn SP>through Ft. Mtn to country roads/Holly Creek Rd.>right on Old CCC Camp Rd>Ride to Bear Creek spur trail at N34.828195, W84.584427>descend Bear Creek back to the car.

This is going to be a long and interesting road to July 30! Stay tuned!

Oregon Sampler No. 2

2011-06-30T09:13:00.000-04:00

I suck at following through on a timely manner. I think it's because I get all worked up about writing and enjoy it so much that I want to write a novel for every entry. A good friend of mine, who claims to actually read the smut I put on here, encouraged me to keep it short and sweet. For the amount of stuff we accomplished on the Oregon trip, good idea!

Kicking the Tires

The day we summited Hood, we immediately drove back to Bend and went to REI to pick up my bike, which I had shipped ahead. Marin, as I like to call her, was a bit disheveled when I opened the box but it was good to see her in one piece. Within 20-30 minutes I had her all gussied up (read: assembled) and ready to tackle some Central Oregon gnar.

Side note: you always hear about Southern Hospitality, but the people we met in Bend and particularly at the Bend REI were as nice and hispitable (or more) than anyone I have ever met in the Southeast. Within 5 minutes of walking in the store, the manager personally came and found me in the bike shop and welcomed me to the city and the store. Fifteen minutes later we had 4-5 employees all surrounding us giving us advice on where to camp and ride over the next four days. We even had an offer to crash on one of their couches. Seriously, the place has everything going for it except a slew of jobs.

After Marin was ready to go, we purchased a Thule trunk rack to put on our rental car and went to find Hunter a steed for the week. We tried several rental places and he ended up with a carbon Santa Cruz full-suspension 29er. I hate him.

We camped along the Deschutes where we thought we'd been told to camp (we later found out we were trespassing on federal land and therefor, became default outlaws). Day three of our trip, we rode out along the river to Phil's trail system (not sure who Phil is but I would like to buy him a beer). Phil's trails are AMAZING!! Every type of terrain is there but it's dominated by fast flowy singletrack. Fortunately it had rained a good bit the days before so the sandy soil was nice and tacky; several locals we talked to said it was the best trail conditions we could have hoped for as it's normally VERY sandy. We rode about 30 miles of glorious singletrack as far up in elevation as we could before hitting snow. Apparently when there isn't snow, bikers have interconnected trail options providing hundreds of miles of singletrack. Mmmmm....

A view along the Deschutes River Trail

After that we were blown. Back to Bend for beers, two dinners, and then rest.

Off to the Epics

Phil's trail system was so awesome that we couldn't believe it wasn't listed as an IMBA Epic trail. With places like Tsali and the Pinhoti, we really thought it would have been since it was amazingly well-maintained and I swear we hit only like two roots in our entire ride; and I think those were purposefully placed...

Taking in the view along the McKenzie River Trail

The McKenzie River Trail is not an IMBA Epic either, but we had always heard it was one of the finest mountain biking trails in the country. It's on the rainy side of the Cascades so we were in a totally different climate - i.e., Endor. We camped at the southern terminus of the trail and rode north as far as Blue Pool, which was further than we thought we'd be able to based on snow reports. We turned around there mainly because we didn't want to get stranded in a really isolated section if we did hit snow.

The McKenzie Trail was our first introduction to true wilderness trails in Oregon. Looking 50 feet ahead, you could hardly see the trail as it blended in with the moss-covered rocks. The whole time we were cruising along the crystalline blue river with huge old-growth trees all around us. The trail surface was pretty mucky, which we felt bad for, but there appeared to be lots of other bike tracks and we'd been told the trail was always muddy anyway. There were sections of flat river plain and sections carved right into the rocky hillside with lots of exposure. It was an incredibly varied trail. It wasn't superbly constructed with bikes in mind, so it gave a feel of riding somewhere you weren't supposed to. It definitely suited the full-suspension better though as it had a fair share of rocks, roots, and dips. The log foot bridges were a little annoying as they definitely are not made for bikes and are spaced at realtively short intervals. But it did slow you down to take a look around.

The North Umpqua Trail was next. I can hardly begin to describe this trail... it's an IMBA Epic and when we hit this one, I knew what "epic" meant! We decided to camp at one of the many Forest Service campgrounds along the river and ride the Panther and Mott sections after talking to the ranger to see what sections were relatively clear of blowdowns and snow. We rode Panther first.

The Panther section was absolutely incredible! Most of the time we were 100-200 feet above the river with a 70-degree slope running all the way down to the banks. Our trail was the only break in the cliffside. The trail was never wider than about 18-24 inches and many times it was only 6-12. It had some super steep sections lasting about 100 yards, but for the most part it was plenty rideable. We ducked in and out of river gullies, crossing well-constructed bridges next to waterfalls. On sections we'd be upping the speed and it was an incredible rush; if you didn't execute your line you'd be toast. Luckily I was on my game (for me) and held pretty good lines. The trail is probably a little better suited to a FS bike, but Marin did just fine. Both Hunter and I did have to dismount a few times as there were a lot of rocks and roots that refused to hold onto our tires. This was usually in the middle of a 30-degree section of climbing when all your momentum was required to make it to the top.

Epicness defined: Sample of the Panther Section on the North Umpqua River Trail

This is a bridge on the Panther section; regrettably I didn't get any pictures of Mott

The Mott section was completely different than Panther. Where we had been riding hundreds of feet above the river on the latter, we were more often right on the river bank during the Mott ride. It was a bit more technical in my opinion, with many more rocks, but I think I was just tired and not executing my lines worth a crap that day. The coolest part of that section was about a 200 yard roller coaster of mossy pavement that was only about a foot above the blue frothing river (some of it looked like riding atop a Roman wall, other parts were asphalt that looked 100 years old).

And then it was over... after Mott and Panther, our riding was done for the trip, but we'd still been on our bikes for about 80-100 miles over four days with the majority of the mileage being on singletrack. McKenzie and Umpqua are part of the Oregon Three Rivers Bikepacking Route, but after seeing both of those, I can't imagine riding them with any more than a hammock and dry food on my bike; any more and I'd be terrified with the added weight and different handling characteristics. But later I did find out we'd likely be returning to Oregon in 2012 for a wedding, conveniently adjacent to Umpqua, so we might have to give it another go :-)

Mt. Shasta

After returning the bikes to Bend, we headed south to California to cap off the trip with a summit attempt on Mt. Shasta via the Cassaval Ridge Route. Originally we didn't even really consider climbing Shasta in our plans, but with the fickle weather of the shoulder season, the colder temps provided by higher elevation, we decided to give it a go. We had three days to drive down, climb, and return. Atypical of Hunter and I, we actually took it really easy and spent day one just getting to Shasta City, getting permits, driving to the trailhead, playing with our gear, digging a trailhead bivy spot and drinking the rest of our Malbec. Note: when we arrived on Thursday we found that we were in a perect weather window for about 36 hours, then it got iffy. Despite that knowledge, the rangers believed as long as we could summit by 11am on Saturday we'd miss any snow or whiteouts.

Cassaval Ridge from our bivy site

Shasta had seen a lot of snow over the last week before we arrived so avy conditions on a lot of the mountain were pretty sketch. Cassaval was questionable, but we couldn't know what the conditions were like until we got up close and personal. On Friday we set off about 10am for our bivy site on the ridge at about 10,000 feet. We killed the climb in less than 2 hours. The weather was perfect, save for some reasonably strong winds. Since we had the rest of the day to do nothing but prepare for the summit attempt that night-next morning, we dug down and built a bad ass bivy. About four feet deep, five feet across, and 15 feet long, it was warm and windless inside our site.

There was another party who had bivied their the night before and their empty tents awaited their return. When they came back they told us that the "hour glass" (a steep section of about 50-degree snow or ice) was completely loaded with powdery snow up to your waist. From our perch we could see the "catwalk" was also pretty well loaded. These were required waypoints along the Cassaval route. On top of all this, the weather began to change. By 5pm, we were completely whited out in clouds. When it cleared enough to see more distant clouds, even nastier weather looked to be coming out way, dark grey and loaded with snow.

Shit

The rangers had told us this would happen but no one expected it to happen until 11-12 the next morning. I could sense the frustration and defeat in Hunter as he got kind of quiet and contemplative. We began discussing options constantly. Due to the snow report from the other climbers and the degrading weather, we first decided that even if we did get a window to climb, we would traverse over to the West Face and climb up via that route. We spent the rest of the evening melting snow, filling our bellies and our water containers while weather swirled around us. We didn't know what we were going to do yet, but since I had laid a track on my GPS from the car to the bivy spot, I was comfortable waiting as long as we could until our window to summit (based on time) expired, even if the clouds remained. We weren't going to climb in white out or snowy conditions, so we decided to go to bed around 8 or 9pm and get up every 3-4 hours to check the weather. Every time we checked, it was at best still white out in clouds; at worst it was spitting snow. I believe both us resigned ourselves to the idea that a summit wasn't happening.

Then we heard foot steps. About 5am another party of three passed by our bivy. I popped out of my sleeping bag and checked the weather. It wasn't perfect, but every now and then you could see the summit peaking through the clouds. Hunter woke too and we decided to coffee-up, pack up, and blitz to the top.

We were about three hours behind even our latest planned summit start. But within 45 minutes of packing, eating and drinking, we were ready to climb - and we didn't even rush. I think we both knew conditions were gonna be iffy anyway so we might as well not burn our faces with boiling Via. I will admit I was in a better mood than Hunter, as somehow his breakfast he'd lain out had been snatched by some creature in the middle of the night, without us noticing. Either some asshole climbing party cashed their karma check and stole his treats, or more likely a marmot or something got lucky.

The climbing party that woke us continued up Cassaval Ridge. We watched them from the West Face but soon passed their altitude despite that fact that they had about an hour head start on us. We moved fast. The snow sucked in most spots, being very deep and powdery on top, but at least it was mostly consolidated 2-4 feet down. I admit that there was one section with icy slab on top of some taters that I was pretty nervous about, but the slope was pretty mellow and we were so high that I figured it was at least as dangerous to go back down into the heat of the day.

We had another climbing party behind us, but by the time we reached 13,000 feet, they had dropped way back, and may have even turned back. Up until that point we hadn't even put our crampons on. Crossing over to Misery Hill we cramponed up and stayed well away from some intense cornicing on the northern side of the mountain. Here we met with the hoards of climbers from the Avalanche Gulche Route. We powered up Misery Hill and bagged the summit, motoring past slumped over parties of first-and-last-time-climbers. Hunter had attempted this peak before and had to turn around at 13,000 feet and change. After seeing how close he had been, I was so happy to have felt like I helped him achieve this goal - a mountain that is requisite to every climber's resume. We also appeared to have been the only climbing party that successfully came up any route other than the Avalanche Gulch route.

Victory!

We descended Avalanche Gulch as it was a relatively easy walk. But as with any descent, we were dehydrated, tired, and we might as well have been the target in Archimedes death ray with all the solar radiation baking every inch of exposed skin. Since we were so late summiting, the snow had already began to soften up to the point where glissading was almost impossible. We got a few decent runs in, but they were so bumpy from the boot tracks that my bony keister couldn't take it and I resorted to bounding (as much as I could) through the degrading snowpack toward the car.


Baked.

There were still climbers and ski mountaineers headed up when we reached Helen Lake at about 10,000 feet which we thought was crazy. As a note: we would NEVER EVER recommend climbing via Avalanche Gulch unless the weather was just soooo nasty and your desire to reach the summit soooo strong that you just had to succeed. It's long and boring and there are probably hundreds of people on the route every day in season. We will also never do Shasta again without skis.

But we succeeded! We made it all the way down and back to Bend and it was the best, most adrenaline-filled trip I have ever been on. I can't think of a better way to spend 9 days with your best friend and I recommend it to anyone!

Oregon Sampler

2011-06-05T21:18:00.004-04:00

I would say I've been really slack on reporting the happenings of my latest adventure, but honestly it's taken me almost two weeks to even wrap my head around everything that transpired. It was everything and nothing I thought it would be and it couldn't have been better. I don't even know where to begin: Nine days; two states; two volcano summits over 11,000 feet; 80-100 miles of epic singletrack; eight microbreweries; absolutely stunning scenery; brutal masochism and none of the bikepacking we prepared for...take your pick!

No seriously. I've divided everything into sub-posts.

For starters - several days before our trip, my friend and I had some sizable disagreements over the plan for the trip. We had both been way too naive about the weather in Oregon this early in the season. There was just no way to ride the original route from Bend to Hood and back down to the Three Sisters on anything but pavement and we'd barely get any singletrack in despite being in one of the most world renowned mountain biking destinations. I was still stuck on the expedition format and exploring the Oregon wilderness at a slower pace, punctuated by some mountaineering. Hunter was equally stubborn insisting that we had to bag as much singletrack and major mountains as possible. He was right, but I was pretty pissed about losing the original plan, mainly because I believed it was something no one else had ever done before and I really wanted to do such a dynamic trip. So despite all the gear purchases, bikepacking shakedowns, and route planning, we canned the original plan and inserted a rental car, adrenaline, and an INSANE number of options to fill our week.

Mt. Hood


Our first view of Hood en route

Like any outdoor addicts, Hunter and I had been glued to the weather, webcams, and snow reports for everything from Rainier to Shasta for several days before our trip. The weather forecast for almost the entire week looked like hairy shit so we didn't know what we were going to be able to do. We had a reservation for Timberline Lodge at some point during the first weekend, which we could move around. Right before we left we moved it to the Friday night when we arrived, since it appeared there might be a small weather window Saturday morning for the climb.

Flying into Redmond, we got our first glimpse of Mt. Hood. I started to think maybe it would work out. By the time we landed in our little puddle jumper and walked down the stairs onto the tarmac, we had a clear view of the Three Sisters, Mt. Jefferson and Three Fingered Jack. I started to think "we better do this!" We convened with our local sources and decided to postpone the transfer to Bend and drive straight to Mt. Hood for a go.

Two hours later we were in Government Camp having a beer and dinner at the Mt. Hood Brewery. Snow had enveloped us as we transitioned from the high desert of central Oregon to the spruce forests of the Cascade Crest. After dinner, we checked into our room at Timberline and began readying the assault gear. It was probably a good thing that our room felt like a cruise ship's inner state room - the snow was still completely covering the window - as we had to turn in early for a 1:30am summit start. This is where staying on East Coast time is a huge help for westbound mountaineers. It's much easier to go to bed early and pop out of bed with some semblance of motivation.

Our "state room" complete with snow covered window

Hunter was so eager to get up at 1:30 that he was up at 1:00. We pulled our loaded summit packs, gathered hot water for coffee from the night crew at the front desk, checked out and marched outside. A stout wind was ripping at 20-30 mph and the gusts could have been even more. It was a crystal clear moonless night studded like a NiteBrite with stars. We marched around the back of the lodge and began the slog up the climbers trail toward the summit.

Because of heavy rains and snow and relatively warm temperatures in the days preceding out climb, we'd nixed the more desirable Wy'East and Sandy Glacier routes in favor of the more reliably stable South Side routes. We knew the Hogsback was the more traditional route for first time climbers, but it - a ridge of snow that bridged the gap between the Hot Rocks and Pearly Gates that accessed the summit plateau - had been moving further west and now made for an almost impossible route to the top. Most parties had been taking the Old Chute route just to the left. We had no idea what we were going to do.

The first part of the climb on the climbers trail was a stairmaster slog up to the top of the Palmer Chair Lift at around 8500 feet. I had foolishly kept way too many clothes on and by the time we reached the top of the chairlift I was completely soaked. Considering we still had 3-4 hours before sunrise, this was a bad scenario. As we huddled beside the chair lift maintenance door to get out of the howling winds, I took off all my wet clothes and decided to climb in only my REI Revelcloud puffy. Considering it has only moderate coverage compared to my soaked shell, I didn't know if that was a good idea.

We strapped on our crampons and began the final 2500 foot push for the summit. I took the lead heading out of Palmer and set a fast pace. The climbing was relatively easy, alternating from an average of about 20-25 degrees to a few 35-40 degree slopes. We had a decent boot track to follow so the route finding wasn't too hard until we began approaching the bergschrund where we say our first crevasse. We started to skirt up to the left away from the chute coming out of the Pearly Gates in order to obtain the Hogsback. The snow was a similar consistency to what I experienced on pretty much every summit in Ecuador. That is to say it was soft on top, consistent deeper down, and with nice purchase under the crampons. Hunter was a littler apprehensive of the snow conditions but after I gave my approval of the conditions, we continued upward. This was the first time my training in Ecuador began showing its value. I was confident, strong, and everything was second nature to me, whereas my climbs in New Hampshire and on Mt. Rainier I was guessing most of the time.

When we got to the Hogsback, we roped up because we didn't know what to expect. There was some pretty nice exposure to the east side of the ridge and I was pretty sure the Pearly Gates were probably going to need some protection. Once we were locked and loaded on short rope, we moved upward towards the gates. Within 100 yards we hit the true bergschrund where the glacier was separating from the summit ice. A relatively deep crevasse right in the middle of a 40-degree snow slop of powder sugar stopped us in our tracks. Steam was coming out at some parts of the crevasse and because of the angle of the snow slope, you'd have to step up to the higher edge and hope the snow didn't cave into the hole. Neither of us was too happy about it and decided it wasn't happening. With some nasty looking clouds looming to the west, we both felt like we'd lost our chance for the summit bid as we were burning up lots of time. We saw a few groups heading for the Old Chute from the Hot Rocks and we decided to head over and see if we could attack from that side.

Hunter headed toward the bergschrung on the Hogsback

We'd ruled out the Old Chute before because it has a higher avalanche probability than the Hogsback. We retreated to our initial stop on the Hogsback and dropped down to the sulfur coated hot rocks. Besides the fact that we were racing the weather, neither of us wanted to stay very long near the rocks. A poultry farm in the middle of a landfill has nothing on the strength of the sulfur perfume we experienced here. It was the strongest I have ever smelled and for a moment or two I really thought I was going to hurl.

another team headed up the chute

Here's where our strength really came into play. Hunter and I bolted up the Old Chute, passing two other teams that had a huge head start on us. We were one of the first to summit that day, and could have easily been first if we hadn't allowed a guided group to proceed ahead of us. The summit was insanely corniced to the north and you had to be really careful walking over the the true summit.

Hood: check. Cute little helmet cam w/ rabbit ears: check.

It was a much smaller summit than I had been on most of my previous climbs, but it did have a really nice sense of accomplishment. I was stoked to be there for Hunter's first American mountaineering summit! He'd been turned back by weather and other partner's health on several previous attempts and I was really happy to have helped get him the summit he deserved. We lingered for 10 minutes or so snapping pictures and then began the long slog down past all the other parties - some still hours from the summit - and back to the lodge.

Last view of the lodge before leaving

By 9:30am we were back at the lodge, having undertaken a challenge that would have been accomplishment enough for an entire week for most people. For us, it was a damn fine way to warm up for our epic adventure.


looking back up at Hood from the bottom

An Urban Shake Down

2011-04-27T20:50:00.001-04:00

Today I finally got my bike completely locked and loaded for the upcoming adventure. I swapped out my WTB Prowler 2.1s for a pair of Vulpine 2.1s to reduce the rolling resistance during our extended periods on pavement. I cleaned the chain and even treated a bit of oxidation in the seat tube. And of course I'd already installed the OMM rack and my janky DIY frame bag. So I decided to load up some gear in the frame bag and on the rack and go for a ride on mixed terrain.

I am still a little weary of my sewing job, so I didn't put much in the frame bag. A couple of tubes, lock and cable, wallet, phone, and a first aid kit. On the rear rack all I did was stuff my sleeping bag and bivy in a dry bag and strap it on. I mainly just wanted to see how a few pounds would feel. I was actually pretty surprised that the frame bag held it's shape really well. I was worried it might rub my legs but I didn't even come close. And everything seemed to be staying in place, for now.

Pavement: check.

I rode about 8-9 miles up Clairmont Rd., through Toco Hills to the Highlands, and then the plan was to do a few laps in the Morningside Nature Preserve before riding back. The Vulpines were eating up the pavement. I was able to easily hold 18-20mph on flats and was hitting the 30s on downhills. I was really pleased with their performance so far, and I know most of our trip will be on some type of road, so at least it seems these are going to make it more pleasant. What I didn't know was how they would handle some dirt.

Most people don't know about the Morningside Nature Preserve because it is nestled deep in a neighborhood. While it's definitely small, it's a superbly constructed 1-1.5 mile trail system designed specifically for bikes. This is true singletrack in the heart of Atlanta. I know it's super short, but it's always fun with plenty of fast dips, reasonable climbs, and speedy flats. Just enough technicality to be interesting and enough flow to be really fast. It was built by the same people who built Jackrabbit, Yellow River, and helped make the Int'l Horsepark trails sustainable. Definitely check out some of their projects: Trail Design Specialists. Here's a photo of a new suspension bridge linking the two parts of the park. Pity it's not more bike friendly...

Sure doesn't look like downtown Atlanta does it?! I'm literally 3 miles from Midtown, max.

The Vulpines bit into the dirt with surprising vigor. The teeth on the sides of the tire are relatively small, but I felt just as confident with these as my Prowlers. So confident that I cut a corner way too sharp and nicked a tree... I hit it hard, but I dismounted like a gymnast full of Red Bull and never hit the ground besides my feet. I don't count this as a wreck :-) I was running them at pretty high pressure since I'd been on pavement most of the time, but I still had good grip until I hit the gravel road under the powerlines. Let me just say that on largish rocks, the Vulpines do not inspire confidence. I felt like I was riding in slippy mud. But one can't have everything.

All the gear held up. I had to get use to the sound of things inside my frame bag moving against the nylon and sounding like I was leaking air. At one point my dry bag on the rack slide forward and the sound it made when it rubbed against my rear tires sounded EXACTLY like I had flatted. Exact scene: "Pssstttttt..... FUCK!!! Oh..."

The best part is I noticed NO difference in my bike's handling. I guess I had about 10 pounds of stuff scattered on the bike, but I couldn't tell. The best part of not using panniers on this rack is that I don't have to worry about clipping bushes or anything. And the frame bag helps keep weight low on the bike. I know everything would be fine back on the road, but after 3 miles of singletrack, I was pretty happy with preliminary results.

Dirt: check.

The ride back was anticlimactic. Total mileage for the day was a bit over 30 miles. I did get some good speed work in trying to dodge the storm that STILL hasn't come but supposedly it was going to be Armageddon according to the weather dudes, so I hustled.

Arts and Crafts

2011-04-25T21:59:00.001-04:00

I finished my first frame bag for my bike today. It was definitely a learning experience. I honestly don't know how long this thing is going to hold up, but if it even makes it for 1/3 of the Oregon trip I'll be impressed and happy.

The stupidest thing I did was mess up every single velcro strap... for some reason my mind could not picture the correct way to sew it in since I was doing the whole bag inside out and had to imagine how to do it so it would come out right. Oh well. I think it will be a good place for my book, maps, first aid, and maybe even my sleeping pad.

I am REALLY glad I sucked it up and grabbed the Old Man Mountain Sherpa Rack for when this thing fails me. I installed it on the Marin today - photos to come. For now check it out here.

UPDATED: Got a quick pic w/ the rack and frame bag installed. I almost look like I know what I'm doing...

Taylor Randahl/Olde Rope Mill trails

2011-04-21T21:41:00.001-04:00

Today I finally got around to cutting my handlebars down on my mountain bike. I've been talking about doing it since just before I clipped a small tree last summer and broke my hand (yes, I said before). As soon as I got it done, I just felt nimble sitting on the bike in the shop. Wild hair.

I was hoping to hit the Big Creek trails in Roswell so I could add some plain old mileage in on the greenway, but the hotline said they were still closed due to the mysterious rain from last night. Considering it was 84 degrees at that point and seemingly dry, I figured I would chance a ride on some new trails near Blankets Creek in Woodstock since their website said they were open.

The Randahl trails consist of three loops chainlinked together into a continuous 6.2 mile route. When I first got there I rode back and forth down the greenway trail there looking for an entrance. I think I just imagine that good mountain biking trails in Georgia are supposed to be hidden or "earned." I'd noticed a bench cut trail descending to the parking lot under some powerlines as I drove in, but I guess I figured that was the exit for some reason (well, it is, but it's the entrance every other day of the week). I finally figured it out.

These trails were built by the same folks at SORBA Woodstock who built the phenomenal trails at Blankets Creek. I'd heard these were intermediate level, but that can be anything from buff and fast with climbing to relatively rocky and technical. I guess I'm saying I had no idea what to expect.

Going counter-clockwise, the trail starts with a newly cut switchback climb on hard red clay up a powerline cut. Just as your heartrate spikes, you duck into the woods and continue on what appears to be relatively new trail. There are still lots of little roots, but nothing I could really feel under my steel 29er hardtail. After this climb, the trail descends down some superbly banked switchbacks into dense forest which characterizes the rest of the route.

On some of the higher ridges, you can hear the interstate, but in general this trail feels incredibly isolated. The forest is so dense and green that it feels more like Blue Ridge than a suburban park. The trails themselves are very flowy, although there are a lot of turns and big dips that send you rocketing down and climbing back up the otherside. There isn't a lot of elevation - the hills turn downward just as your legs start to feel it. The surface is a mix of buttery smooth, slightly rocky, and with just enough roots to force you to choose your lines wisely. You'll find elements of this trail that remind you of everything from Blankets to Chicopee.

Overall I think this trail system has something for everyone. It doesn't have any true beginner trails, but a beginner with patience could easily complete the whole thing. Actually one of the most challenging parts is the return to the parking lot (going counter clockwise of course). Just when you're ready to check out and cruise back in, there are several rock shelves to ride up and plenty of rocks to foil your lines if you aren't careful. All of it is totally ridable, and there is a really rewarding descent back to the trailhead.

Final answer: superbly designed trails that offer a variety of technicality and flow. If you're looking for an all day ride, head to Blankets - but check these out afterward. You'll be back. And rumor has it a connector trail is in the works making for almost 30 miles of singletrack.

The Best Route (x2)

2011-04-19T22:08:00.000-04:00

A while ago when I got the wild hair to actually add mileage onto the Hogpen-Jacks-Unicoi circuit, which is of course an easy 45 mile jaunt in itself, I came up with what appeared on paper to be an obscenely beautiful route. Six months later I finally got to give it a go.

The route is a relatively flat to rolling 74 miles (if you do it right) from Helen, up GA 356 past Unicoi to GA 197 then to Lake Seed, Lake Rabun, and north to Tiger. From there, take Bridge Creek Rd. to Charlie Mountain Rd.; suffer through a so-so four miles on US 76, then cruise back down GA 197 along the western shore of Lake Burton. After retracing your pedal strokes to GA 356, continue straight and then right on GA 255 toward Sautee Nacoochee. Hit GA 17, turn right, and follow it into Helen.

 <a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/routes/view/31512808">helen to tiger and back</a> <a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/routes/?location=Helen, GA">Find more Runs in Helen, GA</a> 

All of you might think it's pretty sweet having random days off in the middle of the week (it is), but it's actually really hard to find people to do things with. Apparently there's this 9-5 thing I haven't quite figured out, but the rest of the world has. Anywho, I finally found a friend able and willing to try out the route in my work friend Leslie Shapiro. This girl kills it on the bike, like 300K at a time and 24-hour endurance races. So I was really excited to go with her (this was April 12).

The weather forecast was for a partly cloudy day in the high 60s with a negligible 10% chance of showers all day. As we drove up, it was overcast and windy, but heck, that's prime riding weather when the temps are warming up in Georgia and we figured it would turn over to partly cloudy anyway. I opted for a short sleeve jersey and shorts and Leslie the same, plus arm warmers. We cruised out and were loving every minute of it (besides a momentary delay due to a moose crossing). By the time we hit Lake Seed, a few itty rain drops began blurring the view through my red lenses. But it was nothing to worry about and we had forgotten about the wind in the tight forested turns around Seed and Rabun.

As we turned north to Tiger, the wind drove our speed into the single digits. Black clouds began replacing the benign gray skycover. By the time we stopped at Tiger Food Mart to get some water and take a lunch break, rain drops splashed in the parking lot puddles at a constant interval. We could see by the direction of the American flag thwapping in the wind we were about to take the weather head on riding west toward Lake Burton. We grabbed a cup of coffee to try and ward off the impending chill, then departed.

I was shivering bad enough to jerk the wheel as we headed out Bridge Creek Rd. By now the pavement was slick enough to feel water splashing off my frame onto my legs. I warmed up on a stout Cat 2 climb before descending to Charlie Mountain Rd. Once I hit US 76, I couldn't even see out of my glasses. I made a poor decision to remove them (stinging nettles to the eyeballs vs. actually seeing the road). Once we turned onto GA 197, the pavement was wet enough to show off the fresh oil and gas blotted all along the curves, dips, and climbs making for cautious riding, despite the desire to reach the warm, dry car.

I hardly enjoyed the blissful 197 section along the turquoise waters of Lake Burton before I was on the shake-and-back GA 255. Here the only smoothish part was where the passenger side tire of passing cars had smoothed out the old asphalt. This of course sent me further into traffic and put me on the slickest pavement. At mile 71 or so, I saw a Brasstown Century directional marker pointing to the right up Skylake. I figured they would pick the best route back to Helen so I instinctively turned.

Skylake was beautiful, but even rougher than 255 and quite hilly. It dumped me back out on the buttery pavement of a soaking wet GA 356. I turned toward Helen and finished the ride off just in time to get a message from Leslie, who had dropped back to take a call, that she was shaking so bad she couldnt hold the wheel so I had to go get her.

Insert obligatory "the weatherman SUCKS!!!"

Fast forward a week and our chance at redemption. It was dry, sunny, and in the end quite exposed and hot. But the route definitely solidified in my mind that it is one of the best rides in Georgia. I even managed to refrain from any BTC road markers and did the correct route. Really good time in the saddle before my Oregon trip, and definitely an activity I am going to look forward to tackling again when I get back.

Prep work

2011-04-18T22:05:00.001-04:00

On May 13 - less than a month away - I'm departing on my next "great" adventure: a nine-day bikepacking and climbing expedition with my best friend to Oregon. The stakes are high... no less than 300 miles of biking on everything from desert doubletrack to Category 1 road climbs to epic singletrack. All punctuated by 10,000-foot (and up) peak bagging. And just last Thursday, 29 days before our flight out, we began the serious planning.

I've got the route pretty well nailed. After we fly to Bend and pick up our bikes from the REI store there, we're planning to ride north toward Mt. Hood via some country roads, Palisades Cove State Park, and some nasty shoulder riding. If we survive the shrapnel en route, we'll be rewarded by a night in the illustrious Timberline Lodge on the slopes of Mt. Hood. We're still deciding between the Wy'East route or West Crater Variation. We're pretty sure Sandy Glacier Headwall is out because of time, but still on the table.

If we survive that, on to the Sisters. We're basically going to follow the Sierra Cascades Bike Route to the McKenzie River Trail's northern trailhead and then bomb down that to Belknap Springs, where we'll pick up supplies and rest up before heading to the Obsidian Trail and the Three Sisters marathon. The plan is to bag the Sisters from North to South in a day, return to the bikes, and then "cruise" over a Cat 1 climb and back to our last and final bike leg: touring the breweries of Bend!

I'm personally getting really excited. Hunter is too, but I can tell he's getting pretty stressed out about everything yet to be done. I've been getting my Marin Pine Mountain 29er ready for this trip all year. I converted it to a 1x9, ordered some Old Man Mountain racks, and today I bought some nylon so I could try sewing a frame bag. Hunter is still deciding what stallion to take, but it sounds like he might be renting. While I'm jealous of the simplicity of renting, I love knowing my rig has been with me to hell and back.

There's still a lot to do and very little time to do it. Between guiding a backpacking trip this weekend, Easter festivitii, a risk management meeting in New Jersey, and guiding another backpacking trip right before we leave, I have to find another ice tool, install my racks, sew a frame bag, pack and ship my bike.

But that seems to be a small price to pay for possibly being the first people to ever successfully link up and climb these four iconic peaks by bike. I love that this is some true domestic adventure. Bring it on!

The Route...

&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/30129004"&amp;amp;gt;Tentative Oregon Route&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/?location=Bend, OR"&amp;amp;gt;Find more Cycling Routes / Bike Rides in Bend, OR&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;

Consider me challenged

2011-03-10T09:12:00.001-05:00

It's been 10 days since I crossed the finish line at Lake Tomahawk in Black Mountain, NC. I was so worn out from the highest ultramarathon on the East Coast that I didn't even have the energy to relive the experience until now. And I think even now that the final nudge to write about my trip is fueled by my relegation to a lot of couch time by the flu. I wouldn't be surprised if the race itself detonated my immune system and some malevolent little amoeba took the opportunity. By now you should have some concept of how tough the race was, if only by me describing some of the aftermath. So let us begin...

The 40-mile Mt. Mitchell Challenge starts in downtown Black Mountain, winds through the hamlet of Montreat, wanders about through the Pisgah bush for another 7-8 miles and then vaults up dark, mossy goat trails to attain the highest point east of the Mississippi. Racers get a chance to look at the expansive views of the Roan Highlands, Craggy Mountains and the distance Smokies before bombing back down all 20-miles back to Black Mountain. I have wanted to do this race ever since I began long-distance trail running. There are certainly other great East Coast ultras like Mountain Masochist, JFK, Vermont and even Hellsgate. But knowing the gnar that hangs over the Black Mountain Crest like the stink on a multi-day adventure racer, I wanted to bag this race before I left the South. Fortunately this year three of my best friends signed up first and even if I hadn't felt like doing it, I was locked in.

The race weekend began at the White Horse Pub in downtown Black Mountain. The town is rustic, small, and at the base of the tallest Appalachian Mountains, it cant help by look like a Southeastern Leadville. We picked up our race packets and sat down for the pre-race briefing. Race Director Jay Curwen went through the requisite rules and advice (don't step over the orange course tape; no aid or support except from aid station volunteers; if you find yourself running downhill before hitting the summit, you're lost). But the part everyone was waiting for involved trail conditions. Just a month earlier, I had hiked the route with my friend Louie and we postholed a huge portion of the most demanding trails. We also busted our butts several times on the descent. Fortunately warmer temps had taken hold and melted most of the snow - we hoped.

Jay said that there was about 2 miles of icy areas around the summit. Bulletproof ice as he described it. It sounded like most of the other trails were pretty clear and the weather for the next day was just about perfect, with temps in the mid-40s at the summit, when only a week earlier it had been snowing and the day before there were 66-mph wind gusts. Our group was still planning to carry Yaktrax strapped to our fuel belts and packs just in case. I'd learned my lesson that last time I was up there.

At 5:00am we all began rolling out of bed. The scent of coffee filled the small West Asheville house we borrowed from a friend as we all began our morning rituals (if you're a runner you know what I mean). at 6:30 we rolled into the parking lot near the starting line. The small town was completely silent except for the muffled shuffling of runners in the streets. It was about 28 degrees, so just cold enough to sting and make you want to wear lots of clothes, but with 20-miles pumping uphill and a sunny 55-degree afternoon awaiting you at the finish, the clothing conundrum set in. I opted for arm warmers, knickers, a short sleeved shirt, Buff, gloves, and a Golite Wisp jacket. I figured I could shove all those things in my fuel belt pockets as I shed layers in the day. They didn't weigh much, I'd just look like I had Batman's utility belt on with the Yaktraks attached. And no matter what I chose, it was gonna be one of those days where I regretted my decision at some point over the next 6-7 hours.

The gun went off at 7:00am. Despite the Wilhelm Scream playing in my ear from the iPod, the only thing in my head was my best friend. I hadn't run an ultra with Hunter since 2008, but we'd grown up running together. We've always challenged each other and in more times than not he'd owned our head-to-head matchups. I was stoked to have him running with me because I knew we'd be tactically similar for most of the race, but I also knew it was going to be almost impossible to run my own race, for better or worse.

We raced down Montreat Rd. north of Black Mountain about 100-200 yards back from the leaders. Fortunately within the first two miles we remembered that the Black Mountain Marathoners were running at the same time and would be going out much faster than most Challengers. We dialed it back just in time to hook a right onto the campus of Montreat College. Here we were to run up a 20% grade through campus before hitting the College's trails that contoured around the ridge above town. I could already tell this was going to be a tough competition when everyone was running up this grade (well, prancing on their toes and exerting just enough effort to qualify as running) when I was thinking it was time to walk, conserve, and let my heart rate back down from our sprightly departure.

We hit the trails at mile 3. The terrain turned from asphalt to doubletrack with very few rocks at first. Although we couldn't have been going much faster than 8-minute miles, the rhodo-tunnels made it feel like we were running at an incredible rate. The adrenaline started taking hold. Unfortunately I think it was all stopping at my head. My body was not responding was well as I wanted it to at this point. Nothing felt right. My legs felt heavy and I could still feel the strain the Montreat incline had inflicted on me. I backed off and took a huge gamble - that Hunter would realize he was setting a blistering pace and back off too, or blow up.

My goals in this race were two-fold: finish, and beat Hunter. Now I wouldn't have been opposed to running across the line together all nice-like, maybe we could even hold hands, but Hunter's like my brother. I had to beat him. But Hunter is like a freight train: once he gets going he either blasts through everything or derails. For the next 7 miles all I could see of Hunter after I backed off was his highlighter-yellow arm warmers darting through the distant trees up the trail.

Winding through the trails above Montreat, I tried to get in a groove. The sights were already beautiful, which helped. We darted below cliffs and across ledges with pretty decent exposure downside. This was true singletrack and much more than I was expecting at this point in the race. It lasted until we hit the Old Toll Rd. at Sourwood Gap. Moments after I left Sourwood, I could tell my mind was not in the right place yet. That's because I didn't even grab an M&M at the aid station, let alone any water (i.e., I didn't even stop). I should have front-loaded my nutrition in the race, but I was way to focused on catching Hunter.

Thank God I had hiked the course and knew the next aid station was in about 3-4 miles over relatively benign terrain. I also had plenty of water, gels, and electrolytes in my fuel belt to survive and I was starting to feel a little better. I knew just before the halfway aid station we would take a sharp left and run by some elegant shantys, so I was pretty excited when I saw that. We started going on a pretty sustained up hill and still, NO ONE was walking! I mean that just speaks to the quality competition but I was getting ready for a damn break! So was Hunter.

I turned the corner again and saw the aid station. Hunter was there and walking slowly away after grabbing some fuel and water. I did the same and was able to catch up and we attacked the upper slopes of the Toll Rd. together and were making really good time. Just before we got there Hunter dropped back and I took solace in the idea that at least I wasn't the only one hurting. We'd earned the hurt though.

We got to the Blue Ridge Parkway, which is mile 13 and the turn-around for the Black Mountain Marathoners. I noticed if we'd been in the Marathon, we would have been in the top-10... tempting. Anyway we continued through the aid station and ran down the Parkway toward the gauntlet of trails in Mt. Mitchell State Park. It's all downhill to the entrance of the park, then about 3/4 of a mile uphill to our next trail.

We dropped into the Buncombe Horse Trail, me about 1/2 a mile ahead of Hunter. At first the trail was nice. Soft and moist and easy to run, but soon it turned into a soggy, hummocky mess that reminded more like running through tundra than an old railroad bed in North Carolina. For the first mile I was pussy-footing around trying to keep my feet dry. It was really annoying but I didn't want wet feet for the next 25 miles if I could avoid it. Eventually I missed my mark and sunk my foot into an ankle high puddle and the deal was off. It was actually a bit of a blessing in disguise because after that I just ran through everything. My feet were soaked but the running was much easier without having to strategically place every step.

The swampy trail was taking the toll I had avoided paying on the aptly named Toll Rd. I was pushing the limits of my muscles and my body was feeling the 6,000-foot air. In the Lookout 50 in October, I was darting through the woods with a good rhythm and speed by this point. I also hadn't taken off like a cracked out Jack Russell or run uphill for almost 20 miles at that point either. I knew the Horse Trail was flat and if I could just gut through this slop for about 3 more miles, I would be at the aid station before the last climb to the top. I was totally alone at this point. Those are the times when your mind starts convincing you that you went the wrong way, even though there is orange flagging and your knowledge of the course to prove otherwise.

But it's not that uncommon. Along one of the raised gravel beds spanning a deeper drainage, I was shuffling quickly and quietly along one of the 4x4 railings. Then I heard quick footsteps rushing through the gravel. I knew Hunter didn't run like that and I better not be up with the leaders or I was definitely going to die. Either someone was lost or there was a crazed deer about to kick my ass. It was one of the leaders. Apparently Dane Mitchell had taken a wrong turn, then in his blistering effort to catch up he also fell and broke his collarbone. He would later abandon at the summit despite having held a commanding lead most of the race.

Other than Dane, I couldn't believe I wasn't getting passed. Every little tuft of mucky grass on the trail was throwing my ankles into knots. I guessed everyone was having as much trouble with the trail as I was, which made me feel a little better. My legs needed a break though. I had pushed too hard and not refueled enough and they were about to turn against me. I had already decided that I was going to walk the 2-mile trail to the summit from the aid station at the base of Commissary Ridge, partly because I either needed to get my legs back under me, partly because I knew it was hardly runnable with lots of roots and big steps, and also because this is where the ice was supposedly lurking.

About a 1/2 mile up the ridge, Hunter caught me. He too was walking and neither of us wanted to try and run out the trail. We had a really good time joking about the conditions and enjoying the Jurassic feel of the trail we were on. The Black Mountains are basically a throw-back to the ice ages. Although glaciers never came this far south, the temperatures were so low that furs and other species more typically found in Canada dominated the Southern region. When the glaciers retreated the conifers retreated to the upper slopes of the highest mountains. Aside from the size of the trees, you could have convinced me I was in the Pacific Northwest or Newfoundland without much difficulty.

By the time we hit the ice near the summit, both Hunter and I felt much more energized. Since we were walking and most of the ice off the trail had melted, we were able to keep our feet just off the actual trail on green ground. Most of the ice was even pretty tacky and we jaunted under the rock outcroppings that signaled the summit's proximity.

After snapping a quick picture at the Mt. Mitchell Summit sign, we jogged down to the summit aid station to grab some food before the descent. I couldn't decide if I was excited or terrified at this point of the race. we only had about 19 miles to go, all downhill, but I knew at some point I was going to push my body to the point of seizing up, and I knew we had about 7 miles of pavement mixed in.

The Camp Alice trail was supposed to be the worst ice on the course, but it really wasn't bad at all. Because the understory is so open in the conifer forest, I was able to run through the trees next to the trail and maintain a decent clip. I started having a lot of fun and we were visiting with a few other racers who'd ended up with us on the descent. I never did use my Yaktrax during the whole race - really glad I carried em the whole way!

We arrived at the Camp Alice area and then had to turn uphill for about a mile or so to the park road. This was the last major uphill of the race, and it was just easy enough to run. This was by far the most beautiful part of the race. The sun was out and it was crystal clear. You could see Table Rock's menacing fin punctuating the distant horizon, signaling the edge of Linville Gorge. It was a good thing I was in good spirits because the next part of the race almost killed me.

We hit the park road and started down, headed back toward the Blue Ridge Parkway. We had 4 miles of pounding pavement and about 1,000 feet to lose. The good part of running on the road was you could not think about your form or the evils of mucky trail surfaces and kind of relax and go. The bad part is trail running shoes - especially not those with about 1,000 miles, minimalist sole and two other ultras - are not made to cushion against that sort of beating. A runner comes down with more than 2.5 times their body weight each time they land; that increases by 14 percent running downhill! I seriously hated my life during this part of the race and I was scared about how the pounding was going to affect my stamina in the latter miles of the race. Hunter seemed to be holding up much better. I feel like he got going a couple times and probably could have put a few hundred yards on me, but his charity kept him with me.

With about 1/2 a mile to go, Hunter realized he had dropped a gel flask from his fuel belt somewhere along the park road. What happened next might have been resultant from the early stages of hypoxia. He quickly turned and started running back up the park road! I was too out of it to tell him not to and figured he would find his flask pretty soon anyway. I watched him over my shoulder running back into the fire like a delirious mountaineer wandering aimlessly into a whiteout for no reason than the delusion of a hot dog stand in the middle of the mountains. I should have told him he didn't need the flask, but he was hurting more than he had been letting on. He rightfully wanted to make sure he had the electrolytes to finish the gauntlet.

I didn't want to beat my friend on the fact that he lost his flask. There was a major uphill for about 400 yards from the State Park to the Toll Rd. entrance off the Parkway where most people were walking. I took the opportunity to nurse my own battered legs with water and Enduralytes. By the time Hunter had closed the distance between us again, he was at the edge of his limits. He was either unwilling or unable to close the last 50 yards to pair up, so I ran and grabbed his bottle from him to fill it up at the aid station, hoping he could catch up whilst I did so and we could attack the final miles together. When he got to the aid station, two things happened: Hunter asked for some electrolyte tablets (which were not a standard offering at these stations) which signaled his fight to get his legs back under him; and I felt a huge swell of momentum. After a few moments and a few people passing us at the station, I said "Hunter, I gotta go man."

We both probably felt that Hunter would catch me shortly. He's a superior downhill runner as well as technically adept. The rocky Toll Rd. required prowess at both. But somehow I had timed my recovery perfect and hit my stride immediately. The Toll Rd. skirts the eastern edge of a ridge and is almost ALL downhill, with a few "kickers" in the middle that are just enough to grab some water and your breath. I felt like I was on a blistering pace back down although trail running and delirium often make runners feel faster than they are. Never the less I was passing people left and right. Most were the final marathoners, but a good bit were challengers.

I rarely feel this good running downhill, but I just let my legs go and focused only on hitting solid ground with fast feet. I felt like I was doing everything right but knew Hunter could do it better, so I wasn't surprised to hear him behind me after a couple miles (he has a distinctive cough and sound to his stride). I made a couple of encouraging comments but by that point he was trying to gain any encouragement he could by blowing out his eardrums with his iPod. Before long though, his footsteps (nor anyone's for that matter) were gone from the background noise of my own. Could I really be going that fast after 30 miles of racing? I didn't look back.

Two more aid stations at Bill's Knob and Sourwood Gap and I was on the final stretch. Everything felt good, but I knew there was some helacious descending back to Montreat and then several more miles of asphalt to finish me off. I heard Hunter a couple more times, but it was evident at that point that his legs were in their death throws and I never saw him after about the 34 or 35-mile mark.

After Sourwood, we had to descend a rutted out 4WD "road" that plummeted to the trailhead. The grades were so steep you couldn't really slow yourself if you wanted to, and the water erosion had made the whole trail pretty concave throughout, forcing you to do everything you could not to tangle your knees. I knew the last of the worst was just to follow our return to asphalt. From the trailhead, we had about a mile-long descent that I think must have gotten to around 30% grades at some portions. Runners took to zig-zagging down the road just to slow themselves a bit, but it was rather futile. Our muscles had no braking strength left in them and all we wanted to do was finish, but if we went faster it felt like our bones would shatter. But the worst part was the shards of my toenails jamming into the front of my trail runners, having finally given into the stresses of racing all day and detaching themselves from my phalanges.

I finally got to the bottom of the paved hill. Here we were supposed to run on the "Montreat Greenway" which was really a lovely little streamside trail system that ran through lush rhodo and hemlocks next to the road we'd run out of town on five hours before. This would last about a mile, and although the soft duff was hugely appreciated, the extra effort it took to tackle stairs and bridges quickly snuffed out the enjoyment. I almost face planted down one particularly tall set of stairs. Then I hit the metaphorical flamme rouge.

Bursting out of the rhodo and back onto pavement, I saw two runners ahead of me and I knew another was lurking just yards behind. Crossing under the rocky gates to Montreat and heading back down the road to Black Mountain, we had about 2 miles to go. This part sucked. I mean it would suck if I was just on a road run. Long straightaways and completely flat terrain, meaning every step required full-on effort. slowly I caught the two runners ahead of me. They'd run the race before and I was scared to pass them as I figured they knew the course well, and judging by the amount of energy they reserved for talking and jokes, I thought they must have quite a bit of energy left. But I was on autopilot at this point and I began lengthening the distance between myself and them.

After what felt like 10 miles, we turned a corner and I could see downtown Black Mountain, which was now bustling with business as usual. 1/4 mile north of town, we turned right onto a side street. After cresting a short 100-foot long hill, we bombed down more pavement through some neighborhoods towards what I assumed was Lake Tomahawk. I was actually dreading the lake because I knew I had to run around it for the finish, much like Western States runners have a final lap around a high school track before sealing their fate. I hate being able to see the finish and much prefer to turn a corner and be done.

At this point I was so ready to just stop running, I just focused on each side of the lake one at a time. I could hear the group behind me chatting away and knew they might launch an attack at any moment that I couldn't respond to. I tried to keep the hammer down as I entered the dirt path around the lake.

The first corner came quicker than I thought it would - 1/3 of the way done - and I sprinted across the dam with even more speed than I thought I had left. The second corner - 2/3 of the lake trail - was like a launching ramp in a cycling time trial, dropping off the dam about six feet for the final straight away to the finish.

I had nothing left when I finished the race in 6:13. It was sunny and 55 degrees and the scene was more of a family picnic than a mass slaughter. Over the crowd I heard one of my friends, Cathi, call my name. I honestly thought I had lost it and was hearing things as she should have still been on the Challenge course. But she had succumb to a nagging cold and turned around with the Marathoners. I was sad that she hadn't been able to complete the full course, but it was so nice to have a friend waiting with water and intel on the position of our other friends. Without Cathi I also couldn't have made it over to collect my TNF fleece which signified my survival.

I knew Hunter had to be coming in within 10 minutes, so we watched eagerly for his highlighter arms to enter the lake trail. Sure enough he finished at about 6:18 and with the speed that he brought it in, I was damn glad I hadn't been within 1/4 mile of him or I would have been toast! Cathi informed us that Hunter's girlfriend, Elizabeth, wasn't far behind. At Sourwood Gap she was in second place for women! But that didn't begin to tell the story of her race.

Elizabeth owned the first 30-35 miles of the Challenge. This was her first race over 50K (she has a habit of running her longest distance ever in races and winning) and she held off a past winner and local star before finally being overcome just before the last descent. Elizabeth finished in second place, and was within striking distance of Hunter and I. I don't think I want to run with her much longer as she's getting a lot faster a lot quicker than I am.

After the race, all of us hobbled about as if we had simultaneously soiled our pants and developed arthritis, with possible gunshot wounds to the legs too. I swear if thieves were smart they would lurk in the woods near the end of ultras and descend on the remnants of once proud athletes stammering to their cars. I mean wolves would definitely target us first!

We celebrated our survival by ~~inflicting more damage~~ taking copious amounts of liquid ibuprofen at the Pisgah Brewery (it was already my favorite beer in the world, and the brewery is now my favorite brewery - go!). Chilling with my emaciated companions in our fuzzy Mt. Mitchell Finisher fleeces with a pint of North Carolina's finest nectar, the adventure came to a close - well, I can't remember much more after that anyway.

The travel bug

2011-02-22T20:36:00.001-05:00

I've come to believe that a sense of adventure is a genetic disposition, rather than a fleeting infection which leaves when the weather changes. This weekend my 65-year-old parents (and by association, my grandmother) returned from what I think was their 42nd cruise. All three of them suffered some sort of set back during their trip, yet they were beaming from the experience.

My grandmother, for which this was her first international trip, was humiliated by the beeping alarm from the metal detector at the TSA checkpoint. Because that surely means that everyone around her now thinks she is a terrorist. Thank God she wasn't randomly selected for the full body scans. And she hadn't even made it out of Atlanta yet... lets just say that Cipro would have been a welcome addition to the rest of the trip.

My father suffered from a milder form of internal discomforts - which I attribute to a flicker of resistance built up during his time overseas eons ago. And my mother, who I now believe I inherited most of my health and endurance from, was relegated to caring for the other two. I can only hope she had a mai-tai in her hand throughout the whole thing.

Yet after all of this, all they could talk about was how wonderful the trip was. My dad's words were something like "I think that's part of the fun: when everything goes wrong and you have to figure out how to get out of it." I couldn't have said it better myself. Paul Theroux does:

“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.”

Could it be glamorous in prospect as well? My gene pool says it can. Not only were my forepeople bragging about surviving their little adventure, they were already planning more. My mother was now intently focused on her life-long dream of reaching Europe. She talked about their new friend in London and their ultimate plans for Italy.

My father, who falls somewhere in between Ernest Hemingway and Paul Gauguin in his travel fancies, talked about how he would love to explore some of the islands he saw with me. Now, I am not much of a Caribbaphile and the more floating hotels I can see, the more I want to get out. But this intrigued me. I'm not so sure it was the father-son bonding that got me thinking, but the images of a silvery-haired old man struggling to keep up as I got us lost chasing a monkey or something through the jungle. Certainly my father knew what he would be getting into if he went anywhere with me? He must know that only paying clients see my benevolent backcountry gentility... and that I consider no adventure perfect without any number of imperfections (why my memories of Mexico are creeping further ahead in the rankings). But to bring it home, the point is he and my mother (I have yet to pole the abuela) can barely focus on the adventure completed without thinking of the next, despite the problems they faced.

I'm much worse off. I haven't even completed my next adventure to Oregon without thinking of my next NEXT adventure. Mark Twain said it best: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

It's in my genes... why fight it? There is a world of adventures and a million ways to see them all and even though I like to think I would be proud of what I have done if I died today, I will be more proud with each mountain, mile, country, wine, person, brew, cheese, and sunrise I see.

Here's to compelling zest.

Challenging Mt. Mitchell

2011-02-21T22:15:00.000-05:00

This week marks the final leg in preparation for a race I've wanted to run ever since I dove head first into trail running. On Friday my friends Cathi, Hunter, Elizabeth and I will be headed to Black Mountain, NC to take on one of the toughest trail races in the country. The 40-mile Mt. Mitchell Challenge starts in downtown Black Mountain, winds through the hamlet of Montreat, wanders about through the Pisgah bush for another 7-8 miles and then vaults up dark, mossy goat trails to attain the highest point east of the Mississippi. Racers get a chance to look at the expansive views of the Roan Highlands, Craggy Mountains and the distance Smokies before bombing back down all 20-miles back to Black Mountain. That's assuming they can even see the trails or the views.

Having climbed New Hampshire's Mount Washington in January - yeah, the place with the highest recorded wind speed in the world - I can tell you that Mitchell is like the little brother who's bigger than his older siblng, can beat the $#!& outta anyone but has yet to attain the same renown for his accomplishments. Last year they had to divert the race course onto the park road because the trails were completely impassible (think waist-high snow drifts). Just yesterday, race director Jay Curwen observed these quasi-favorable conditions on the summit:

We were on the Summit on 2/20...Weather was 30 [degrees] with gusty winds over 20mph and snow (Asheville weather was 60 and sun at the same time.) Hard ice is found throughout the Summit trail system...any snow is hard and crusty...Yaktrax would be needed for the ice on the Commissary Ridge Trail and the Old Mitchell Trail...See the Facebook page for recent pics!

- Jay Curwen, Race Director

Game time equipment decisions are going to be key... after a recon mission several weeks ago and seeing all the ice I ordered some Yaktrax Pros (which have yet to arrive and I'll probably get just in time for summer) but now the ice is only on the summit, which means either running in or carrying the Yaktrax unnecessarily for 30-something miles. Boo. The other option at this point is putting some small screws in my running shoes. Past runners have done that and I've done it on boots, but now that I run in the La Sportiva Crosslite, I don't think there's enough spare footbed for that to work. I honestly see myself opting for controlled shoe skating and all the regret that I will have during the race.

But that sort of challenge is exactly why I've always wanted to do this race. I can't wait to tackle the unplanable aspects of the race and relish the memories over a few WNC brews afterwards. I know my body is ready for the training to be over for a while too. Coming off my Ecuador trip I went straight into training mode for the Lookout 50-miler in December. I've barely rested since then and I've been nursing some nagging injuries along just enough to complete this race. Full race report to follow next week...

Welcome Back

2011-02-21T21:41:00.000-05:00

Well, I can honestly say that I am pretty pleased with the six or seven hours I've spent redesigning this blog. I really want to begin writing again and I feel like this is the best place to start. I don't even know who reads this thing anymore, but perhaps once I've settled into some sort of a rhythm I will announce my return to the world of internet journalism. Until I prove to myself that I can continue writing, I wont waste anyone else's time.

I blame my long absence largely on Facebook. I dare say I have been more active on that virtual ~~college~~ campus than I ever was before. My status updates were longer and I engaged in more dialogue through graffiti than any hoodlum I know. I got my angst out with a photo, rant or link when I would have typed a letter or story in the past. While the internet has opened up the world of journalism to the masses, it might be simultaneously watering down the messages of its journalists through innumerable outlets. Heck just look to the right and you see my often nonsensical Tweetle things.

What the long absence has done for me is provide me an internal smorgasbord of topics. If I can control my output, I might even be able to string them out into the regular posting I already said I wanted to return to. I really hope I can keep this up.

Support the country even if you can't support our President

2009-10-06T09:10:00.003-04:00

To be fair, television and radio pundits are supposed to rile up at least a few dissenting views by making outrageous claims or aligning against various political leaders. But in recent months it's become more hostile, ignorant and unnecessarily divisive against more than just a President, but against our country.

Late last night I turned on Old Man King (Larry King for you young folks) and two pundits were going at it over Obama's recent trip to the Olympic festivities in Copenhagen. I'll establish their credibility momentarily. First of all, that was so last week. There is plenty of other stuff to bitch about like Afghanistan, health care, and how we're going to pay down our debt.

Secondly, we all know that one-sided arguments are bollocks and one of the characters last night was hardly qualified to comment on the goings on of the real world. Ready for disclosure? It was Penn Jilette . Yes, Penn from "Penn and Teller" fame (the tall one that looks like Andre the Giant). Honestly, I'd be more interested in his opinions on the political climate of Narnia than anything with real world resonance.

What's worse was Jilette's negative attitude toward President Obama and especially his trip to Copenhagen. Of course all of this was resultant from SNL's damning skit ridiculing Obama's apparent political impotence since some people say he has accomplished nothing. SNL has an illustrious history of presidential parodies usually focusing in on obvious faux pas's or mannerisms. On more than one occasion I have relished Dana Carvey and Will Ferrell's Bush family portrayals. What doesn't fit this time is Obama has done nothing wrong and is so well-spoken that I've yet to notice any distinct mannerisms that would extol a late night skit; I'm not saying they aren't there, I'm just distracted by his brilliant visions for America -- ones that Jilette, skeptics and usually Republicans do not have the capacity to understand.

Since it was last week's news, I'll get the Olympic trip out of the way first. Presidents of the United States are not only executives and commanders, but they are also de facto figure heads representing our country. Obama went to Copenhagen not as a singular person, but as the United States. If we'd sent anyone else the world would have said we didn't care. Some people said it was a job for the First Lady. I don't care how eloquent, smart, and brilliant Michelle Obama is, she is not the leader of our country and I didn't vote for her last November (although I would). I think a lot of people say President Obama went just because it was Chicago, his adopted hometown. I can't disprove that theory, but I'd like to believe he would have gone for Denver, Seattle or Boston too. It was beyond appropriate for the representative of America to pitch for the representative city of America in the Olympic realm -- all the other heads of state did.

What I really think people are "disgruntled" about is that Obama wasn't toiling away at his White House desk solving all our country's ills. Honestly, it probably took 5-8 hours for Obama to fly to Copenhagen, speak, network, and return. I'm pretty confident President Bush didn't get much accomplished at his desk except maybe winning a round of Yahtzee against Cheney. Do you really think Obama was going to finally sell government-sponsored health care in the same time frame as his trip? "Oh but he used taxpayer money to fly over there!" Hell yes he used taxpayer money to go over there -- he was making a pitch for the world to come to our country and spend their money. Considering the possible return on investment, I'm happy to personally put up one-billionth of one percent of the cost of him flying across the pond. Not to mention Air Force One is a flying White House; he has just as many resources to get his work done in the air as sitting at a desk (personally, I'd get a lot less done sitting in a stationary oval cubical anyway).

Jilette was certainly most concerned with an apparent lack of clear political victories for Obama's administration. Besides being entirely resultant from Obama's trip to Denmark, these are absolute proof of the President's failures, right? Wrong. These are complex problems that cannot be solved in a mere eight or nine months. I moved to Atlanta to try and solve Georgia's environmental problems by being employed as an advocate and after 10 months, I still can't get a job, or even an interview. The political issues that are boiling over right now were set in motion long ago. Obama has eight years of warring precedent to overcome, he has twenty years of unregulated relentless capitalism to stabilize, and our country's interests are more diverse than ever. Seriously I'd be impressed if Obama was able to get half of his major initiatives in place by the end of his first term.

We're micromanaging our employees if we are going to criticize Obama for not finalizing a few "marquis" American improvements yet. Obama has a deadline to meet the expectations we voted him into office for -- November, 2012 -- if we expect finality much sooner it's like assigning an employee a task to be accomplished within two weeks and asking why it's not done yet two days later. We're also ignoring all the good that Obama is doing that doesn't make the front page news.

Obama's administration has worked on improving education, has passed landmark environmental regulations, and has provided us one thing that is truly unique, necessary, and alien to Obama-haters. Obama has a vision for America. We've lost our ability to see our country's future years down the road and Jilette's comments illustrate our demand for immediate gratification. Obama's efforts to unify our country under a common goal do not scare me. What scares me are the legislators, commercials and organizations that are so arrogant to presume their short-term interests are in the best interest of our country. What scares me are the parents who are afraid of their children being exposed to our President. What scares me are the people who want Cadillac SUV's before they'll contribute $10 to their retirement fund.

I've heard Jilette, Republicans and main stream America say on more than one occasion that regardless of current affairs, Obama's grander visions are good for country -- give him an honest chance and support America even if you don't like our President.

Just a bit of inspiration

2009-07-27T17:32:00.003-04:00

I can't wait until fall

Be an advocate for cycling!

2009-07-25T07:21:00.003-04:00

So you want to make a difference but dont have time or done know how? Have you noticed how dangerous it is for cyclists, and pedestrians too, because of a lack of sidewalks and bike lanes or road hazards? The Atlanta Bicycle Coalition needs you help! They have an opportunity to report dangers like this across the metro region to political leaders next week - but they need input BY MONDAY. Visit See-Click-Fix on the ABC website and report a problem(s). I reported about 15 from deep grates in the road to areas where bike lanes are desperately needed. Even if you dont have any dangers you can think of, or if you're short on time, please click some of the current hazards you want to see fixed too and just click "I want this fixed too!"

CLICK HERE TO BE AN ADVOCATE

In the words of the great Mateo: "DO ET!"

Please express your educated opinion!

2009-07-17T06:24:00.005-04:00

I received an e-mail from Congressman John Linder this morning inviting his constituents to a virtual Town Hall meeting next Tuesday. This call-in forum is designed to allow Mr. Linder to stay in touch with his base regarding some controversial issues swirling about in Washington. Primarily Mr. Linder wants to discuss the American Clean Energy and Security Act of 2009 (ACES) and what he calls a "paralyzing cap and trade system." While I wholeheartedly appreciate Mr. Linder's efforts to connect Gwinnett County to Washington, DC, his claims against this landmark environmental bill represent the type of dangerous ignorance that gave need for a bill like this to be born.

I want to encourage you to participate in this town hall meeting next Tuesday from 7-7:30 and challenge Mr. Linder's stance on the ACES Act. Too often our conservative representatives support a "false sense of freedom" that - regardless of our different thoughts on environmental protection - endanger our quality of life, our finances, and our children. For example, Atlanta has very little rail transit service compared to its size but we have freedom in using our vehicles, right? Sort of - we are free to use our cars but we aren't free to choose another form of transportation because there isn't a good alternative. Below are some key points and rebuttals to help you get a quality response out of Mr. Linder and your fellow Gwinnettians.

Everything in quotations is from Mr. Linder's statement concerning ACES and this call.

The bill will "increase your taxes." He's obviously concerned about who will pay for the increase in government oversight. The bill itself will pay for increases through the auctioning of carbon allowances. In Sept. 2008, 10 Northeastern and Mid-Atlantic states took part in the first Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative (RGGI) auction, raising $38.5 million for clean and renewable energy programs. The second auction in December cleared $107 million.
The bill will "mortgage your family's future." We're all familiar with the language "the cost of inaction is far greater than the cost of doing nothing." Environmentalists have been saying this since the 1970s; last fall every representative and senator in Washington was saying that in regards to the failing economy resulting in the passing of two recovery bills averaging $750 billion (the first one was pushed through by a conservative president). I propose that Linder and other skeptics who continue to fight environmentally progressive legislation are the ones mortgaging our childrens' future. Atlanta was named Asthma Capitol of the Country for the last two years. The reasons for this lie primarily in our government's lack of long-term action to reduce our dependence on cars and our reliance on five coal-fire power plants, several up wind of the city, for the majority of our power production. We could have avoided this by simple land management and community planning, with or without rail; we could have avoided this by converting these plants to natural gas (of course if we'd controlled growth we wouldn't need as much power). The Georgia state legislature is more responsible for this than Mr. Linder, but right now our region is mortgaged to the max - we need the environmental initiatives in this bill to begin recovering what we've lost and protect the health of our progeny.
The bill would "send our manufacturing jobs overseas." I don't know where Mr. Linder got this information. ACES actually has provisions currently in place to retain our jobs in America by placing heavy tariffs and penalties on countries who do not practice carbon-reduction strategies. This ensures that our clean industries do not lose money to less-environmental production overseas. In fact, if there's anything Mr. Linder needs to push it's this provision; even President Obama expressed concern over this "protectionist" component of ACES.
The bill would "throw family farmers off their land." Mr. Linder is no doubt referring to the idea that the USDA would be in charge of regulating carbon emissions from our farms and forests across the country. In 2007, the Supreme Court determined that the EPA had a responsibility to regulate CO2 emissions. The idea that the USDA would regulate CO2 in these areas of the country is a good thing for farmers since the USDA is more in-tune with the needs of agriculture. Regulating emissions from farms and forests has more to do with unnatural processes like clearcutting (which releases an enormous amount of sequestered CO2 and threatens other ecosystem processes). And carbon credits for these sectors don't have to cost farmers or foresters money; often times carbon credits are given out for free (although the effectiveness of this is questionable).
The bill would "start an international trade war." See my above comments on oversees production and jobs. With or without government intervention, international trade has been a roller coaster of successes and failures for North America for 500 years. Environmental programs aren't going to make things any worse. The European Union has some of the strictest environmental trade provisions in the entire world (the Precautionary Principle) and last time I checked, both the Euro and British Pound were doing pretty well. I find it interesting that some representatives can stomach sending our soldiers to war over oil interests yet can't stomach a board room battle over the financial bottom line.
And finally the bill would "drive our country deeper into recession." Why? Because the government is going to take your tax contributions and clean up our air, give us alternatives to traffic congestion, protect our wild lands and natural resources, practice what we preach to global environmental challenges, and hand over a cleaner country to our children? I don't like giving up my money any more than the next person, but I am smart enough to understand that as long as we keep our eye on our governments, that's how you get sidewalks, public transit, cleaner neighborhoods, better roads, bike lanes, and environmental education. I'm sure many people donate $10 or $20 to non-profit organizations throughout the year so I know the concept of supporting a good cause with your income is not completely foreign. If there was a non-profit organization that could accomplish all the infrastructure improvements I named above without the government, I'd say support them - but effective accomplishment lies in our governments near and far.

If ACES becomes law, we stand to benefit in the Atlanta region. We already lead the country in LEED-certified buildings meaning we'll be eligible for substantial federal funds. Our state has been reluctant to force Georgia Power to clean up their power plants which has added to our designation as a "non-attainment" area by the EPA, penalizing our region with diminished federal transportation funding; ACES would help Georgia Power move towards cleaner production by forcing their hand (and some would say raise our energy rates - you already allowed the Georgia legislature to increase our rates for an uncertain power plant). Everything's connected too, meaning that if we pay more for clean power, we pay less to fund lung-related emergency room visits by the uninsured.

Please call into this Town Hall meeting next Tuesday and listen to what Mr. Linder and other citizens have to say. Do not accept ignorant reasoning for rejecting ACES or other environmental legislation. This is an investment in our future. Even if you don't believe regulating CO2 is important because global warming exists only in Al Gore's world, the end result of cleaning up our toxic assets is beneficial to all, from Mr. Gore to Mr. Linder.

Here are some resources to do your own research: A closer look at the American Clean Energy and Security Act

Environmental responsibility is good for business: Green to Gold and Natural Capitalism

RGGI

"So-called "global warming" is just a secret ploy by wacko tree-huggers to make America energy independent, clean our air and water, improve the fuel efficiency of our vehicles, kick-start 21st century industries, and make our cities safer and more livable. Don't let them get away with it!" -- Chip Giller, founder of Grist.org

Information on calling in for the Town Hall Meeting: http://linder.house.gov/_files/SummerNewsletter2009final.pdf

Bikes and stuff

2009-07-11T10:02:00.002-04:00

OK, I'm a big liar. A week ago I suggested an itinerary of discussion topics of which I'm going to actually touch on only a bit during this post. So if you were particularly edged (like, edge of your seat) by the promise of the Rainier trip or the Anderson Award or Seattle... sorry. Buy me a drink and we'll chat in person.

Now, one thing that I will bring up from Seattle is the fact that bikes are pretty much everywhere. For those of you I didn't brag to, I was treated to a 65-mile tour of eastern Seattle around Lakes Samamish and Washington while I was there. It was absolutely spectacular but as beautiful as the scenery was, I was more impressed by the absurdly awesome web of bike trails and lanes through the region. I think at least 59 miles of that ride were all on paths and lanes. Biking is a way of life there; although we were riding on a Wednesday around 11am, the trails were packed with bikers from all walks of life. Imagine the Silver Comet on a Saturday morning. You could never get much speed going, but for a pleasant ride it was unsurpassed.

Fast-forward to now... while in Seattle, my favorite bike tech sent me a message that my new bike frame and guts had arrived. So besides monkeyface (a little inside, I know) I had a beautiful new rig to look forward to which eased my return to humidity, searing heat, and anti-cyclism here in Atlanta. I'm having major withdrawal from the two-wheeled mobility of Seattle but it is helping me see our city in an entirely new light. I've always criticized our lack of bike-friendliness but I guess I'm seeing more opportunity than anything right now. First of all I think the Freedom Parkway Trail System is pretty bad ass. I used to be like "what the hell is this windy, nonsensical excuse for a bicycle workout path?!" but my fault was never seeing at as vital artery for a free-range lifestyle. If I were to purchase a house in Atlanta, it would be super close to the trail because I can't think of a better place/way to commute to work than along a pathway. In Seattle there's a huge greenway system that essentially runs from downtown past REI HQ in Kent and on to Auburn that a lot of REI employees use to get to work.

B) I think the number one policy in Atlanta's transportation plan (especially when expensive road, train and trail construction is unattainable becuase of the economy) is to paint bike lanes on every extra-wide road. What do I mean? I mean that a semi could pass me on the right side of North Druid Hills road and I'd still have 3-4 feet of clearance. There are roads like this all over the city but without delineated bike lanes, some cars cut the corners and potential bikers are less-encouraged to ride. For some reason labeling makes all the difference in the world; when I actually labeled the three recycling bins we have at work by the front registers, our recycling percentage more than doubled over 90% although the ability to do so was already there.

In support of that idea, I also came up with a sort of "fair tax" method of allocating funding for these facilities. Why don't all bike sales generate tax for projects that support using the product that was just purchased? I've always said bikes should be tax-free because of the health and economic benefits thereof, but it might be better to take the 6-8% tax generated by bikes and bike gear sales and apply it directly to facilitate the use of those goods. That makes more sense to me than requiring all new developments to have a sidewalk in front of them. The intention is good (piece meal the sidewalks together and eventually get a huge network) but honestly, who's going to use the sidewalk in front of Harbins Park in Dacula? They probably could have painted a bike lane from downtown Lawrenceville to the park for a similar price.

I was also curious to see what cities were rated as the best places to ride or commute. Not surprisingly Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco were tops in most polls. But the cool thing is that the cities aren't taking their 2nd- or 3rd-place rankings sitting down (on anything but a bike seat that is). Seattle's city council made a major statement that they wanted to dethrone Portland with a massive plan that includes adding 450 miles of bike paths and lanes! 450 miles!! Not including the Silver Comet and Stone Mountain Trail, Atlanta has 30 miles of bike lanes... yeah, where is our city council on that one? Maybe we need some more competition in the area; I know Greenville, Asheville, and the 'Noog are pretty bike-minded so hopefully that will help.

If you know me at all, this next thought on biking is probably going to be surprising. I'm seriously considering making cycling my primary sport. Yeah, I went there. I absolutely love running, but for the first time in my life, it doesn't make me panic to suggest the idea of putting it on the back burner. As pointed out by some friends, I think part of it is the summer heat. It's stifling. I don't feel like I'm just pushing back against pavement to run everyday but also pushing through a wall of airborne water. In any case it definitely doesn't help. Part of it is that I'm getting some major pains. The overuse of my less-than-perfect musculo-skeletal structure is becoming a major problem to the point of discomfort on almost every run. I think there is a lot of work to be done if I'm to overcome these pains/problems through strength and stretching and I'm committed to that plan but how much longer is it going to get me? I sort of think these pains are indicators of potentially extreme injuries to come. The last time I had chronic discomfort this bad I was headed downhill in rowing to a major hip/back injury. I'm not ready to give up just yet and I think training and racing Stump Jump this fall is going to prove either encouraging or career-ending.

Looking at it from a constructive means, I think part of the allure of biking is that I'm not that good at it. I'm alright but I know I could be better. Besides going further, I've pretty much reached the limits of my running abilities. Despite varied training plans and different nutrition, my speed isn't changing--I'm just more comfortable going longer. But with cycling I'm like a "2" on a scale of 1-10 (Mark Cavendish being a 10, Lance being about a 14, and Louie being a 7 or 8) which means I have many more levels of mediocrity to ascend before I think I'll hit my limit. There's also the old idea that cycling is just more fun sometimes.

And a lot of this probably also has to do with the Tour de France.... within 14 days I probably won't care about cycling anymore ;-) just kidding.

By the way, as mentioned in a fellow-blogger's recent account, my last major ride on Wednesday with the Whirchners in the gaps of North Georgia was epic. Searing rain, slick descents, and speeding cars with rooster tails of water and mud only adding to the difficulty, it was a lot of fun and at the same time the stupidest thing I've ever done on a road bike.

OK, I've been inside too long - I'm going for a ride.

Coming Soon!

2009-06-30T06:53:00.006-04:00

So while watching a CNN story about how omnipresent social networking is these days, I wanted to provide a preview of upcoming blog articles I intend to cover in some context.

Seattle freaking rocks. It's my favorite city ever (even more than anything in Italy). I'm not naive to believe they do EVERYTHING right, but at the very least they have the most extensive biking community I've ever seen. It is now my sole objective to move there.
Climbing Mt. Rainier is probably biggest achievement of my life thus far. I still haven't decided if it has opened the door to continued mountaineering or if it merely punctuated a short-lived affair with alpinism that began in January. But what is undeniable is that it's the most beautiful place I have ever been; my climbing buddies were nothing short of incredible in their attitude and physical condition; and the bottom of my nose is torched from albedo. (check out my facebook page for pictures; a sample is below)
Being part of the Anderson Award event in Seattle with REI was a life-changing experience for me. It cemented in me a desire to make REI my primary life-long career choice, regardless of any detours it makes. I met some of the most inspiring people I've ever met and feel challenged to live up to my peers by changing my life even more. In the next week or so, I plan to begin commuting to work by bike just about every day (no, not both ways, just split the load and cut my footprint).
Seeing how well Seattle does "quality of life" confirmed to me that Atlanta and Georgia are as bad-off as I ever thought. It's pathetic that we've been around as a major trade and business settlement for much longer than Seattle yet we are decades behind the socio-environmental standards set for that region. Seattle would have a hard time being faulted for becoming a car-dependent city like Atlanta since it's formation closer to the development of the automobile. But Atlanta has been around twice as long as cars, yet somehow we evolved to accomodate four wheels more than two; more than feet; and more than rail despite the fact that we began our ascent to an international city because of trains. We have a lot to do! (duh)
I miss good air quality (ie, not Atlanta).

The view from our home at Camp Muir

VeloNews version of SportsCenter

2009-06-20T07:21:00.001-04:00

http://www.velonews.tv/?articleID=2735

Adventures to come...

2009-06-19T09:24:00.002-04:00

I admit, this is a little bit of bragging, but since my fellow climbing buddy brought it to my attention, I thought I would share. In less than a week Jamie Lane, Leo White, and I will be attempting to summit Mt. Rainier, voted the number 4 best "Made in the U.S.A." adventure by National Geographic Adventure: http://guides.travel.msn.com//Guides/MSNTravelSlideShow.aspx?cp-documentid=1067303&imageindex=1

My message - don't just read about these things, do them! Even better, create your own! You don't need a magazine to tell you what the definition of "epic" is... :-)

Sightings of responsible action

2009-06-15T13:30:00.006-04:00

Once considered an endangered characteristic of the human species, the concept of responsible eco-minded actions in everyday life was observed recently in a local market. And the magnificence of the sighting was owed not only to its rarity but as much to the unexpectedness of the doer.

American grocery stores are full of excess and temptation. They are the Okavango Delta of modern society. This area in Botswana once a year becomes so saturated with moisture from the rainy season that it becomes a flourishing hot spot of animal activity with everything from crocodiles to wildebeests. There's more food than the millions of animals can eat and despite the dangers lurking in omnipresent water, they'll all risk crossing it to get to the greener grass. As well, the supermarket is overstocked with chemically preserved foods in larger quantities than any of the nearby human visitors could eat. And it's all in the name of convenience, just like the thousands of plastic bags stocking the front lines of the store.

Today as I lurked behind a few other hungry human beasts, though, I witnessed a surprising adaptation. I'm usually very industrious when it comes to not using plastic grocery bags, even when I forget (which essentially means if it doesn't fit in my arms, it doesn't go home with me). But many other people think nothing of the bagger placing a jug of milk in a single or even double bag. I use milk to illustrate the utter wastefulness of common bagging techniques (it has a very ergonomic handle and is more cumbersome in a bag -- honestly!) but it happens with all sorts of single items without the customer giving a single thought to it, most of the time. The do-gooder I witnessed today had several items including a milk jug. Some people would have thought it smarter for her to use two hands instead of all of her arms to carry them. Even I, who am admittedly judgmental of non eco-friendly choices, would not have faulted her if she opted for convenience. After all, she was not a day younger than 65 or 70 years old.

We've all grown up with stories of kindness, community, and self-reliance that dominated daily living for our grandparents. Although possibly more common in the Southeast than other areas, it's certainly been hunted to near extinction by a "me first," immediate gratification American mentality. And who can blame us, we're just following the heard to greener grass. Eventually though, following the greener grass is going to cause a complete implosion of our enviro-social community that past generations thrived upon. The silver-haired maven of eco-consciousness I saw today understands that and through her simple refusal made a statement of intolerance for the frailties our excessive marketplace lifestyles revolve around.

The gentleman who emerged from the register line after her only reinforced the current state of the species, taking up her empty bag and using it for a lone pound of ground beef. But at least the dumbfounded teenage cashier, still mumbling from his encounter with responsibility, was able to regain his composure when his world was realigned. Too bad I finally slunk from my grocery line hide to jumble things up once again.

Handy thoughts from ground level

2009-06-14T13:52:00.004-04:00

I often run through innumerable considerations regarding the interaction between cyclists and pedestrians and motorists whilst jogging about on foot or bike. Any long-distance athlete knows that those moments alone in your own head with a soup of endorphins and lactic acid coursing through your veins are when wisdom is at its peak--it's remembering them after the workout that's hard. I'd love to hear some constructive comments from both sides! Here are this week's deep thoughts:

Do motorists think it's better to honk when passing a cyclist than to creep up and pass them like they would any other slow-moving vehicle? It sounds good in theory; the driver thinks "I should warn the dear rider before gassing him with noxious fumes so he knows to expect a close encounter." But they are missing the fact that despite a rider's state of readiness any time they're on the road, the alarming sound of a car horn almost always initiates a brief burst of blood pressure and could potentially cause a wobble to ensue thus risking the rider becoming less-focused and more in danger. And if the driver is merely tapping the horn as a sort of audible expletive, is a rider hampering the driver's commute more by riding on the white line or by falling and sending a mass of derailleurs and aluminum through the car radiator?
All summer runs in Atlanta should be followed by a fully-clothed cannonball into a lake or pool
As long as the Metro Area is a non-attainment zone for air quality, the state of Georgia should pay every citizen's breathing-related doctor bills.
Everyone knows (whether they practice it or not) that pedestrians of all sorts are supposed to go against traffic. But I beg to differ; when drivers come up to a stop sign from an adjacent street, they often look only to the left for oncoming traffic. Many times this means they come to a speedy stop in the middle of the crosswalk runners are aiming for--if they stop at all. I propose a change in a hundred years of supposedly safe "Froggering" against traffic. If pedestrians stick to the right-hand side of the street, the drivers turning right will at least have to size you up before determining if you're worth putting a dent in their shiny Bimmer's hood.
How bad ace would it be if only major vehicle corridors were open on the weekends, with whole lanes of road (if not the entire route) were closed to vehicle traffic? Defined parks and bike paths are great, but if we turned one lane of Peachtree or Ponce over to human-powered vehicles we'd have an enormous greenway through the heart of the city. Bogota does it.
Don't judge a cyclist for not using an obvious pedestrian byway paralleling the road--afterall, it's called a sidewalk, not a sideride or siderun.

That is all.

Adventures in Gwinnett Transit Land

2009-06-13T08:13:00.001-04:00

Disclaimer: this actually occurred about a month to two months ago - I submitted it to the AJC and Creative Loafing but I guess they don't appreciate my banter as much as my blog readers...

I was raised to always offer a spot on a bus or train to a lady when another seat wasn't available. I never thought doing so would get me booted to the curb, but it was the punctuation mark on an epic travel saga that explains why metro Atlanta needs and may never have a transit system of first resort.

My day began at 4:45 Tuesday morning. I'm an early riser but the rooster crowed one hour and fifteen minutes early for me today. But two cups of strong coffee later I became mildly excited because I was going to take an impromptu adventure instead of my normal boring commute. At 5:45 I rolled out of the garage on my new single speed commuting machine and hauled mail to the Doraville MARTA station to catch the 5:58 bus to Gwinnett Place Mall. Boarding in the still, cool morning, I was thrilled to find that Breeze machines were installed on the bus, making my transition from MARTA patronage to Gwinnett County Transit (GCT) mystery much easier.

The ride from Doraville went swimmingly. And by swimmingly I mean dog paddling around just violently enough to keep from sinking - that is to say it was slow. Stopping every half mile or so, it took us about 35 minutes to go the 11 miles to Gwinnett Place. Once there, I was looking at a 20 minute wait just to catch the next bus in my journey. Well, the suburbs aren't exactly the most happening place to be, especially not at 6:35 a.m. I was bored and my only diversion was my bike so I rode to the next major stop at Discover Mills. With one gear and slightly less than one horse power, I cruised to the Mills in 15 minutes, five minutes faster than the bus makes the trip.

The sun had finally bathed the area in an early morning glow and I was optimistic about finishing the outbound trip. When route 50 pulled up, I eagerly situated my stallion on the bike tray and hopped on board. Like a seasoned vet I pulled my Breeze card and swiped it as I nonchalantly passed the machine (cue record scratch sound). It didn't beep. "That's $2," the bus driver explained to my deflated face. "Why do you have the machines if you can't use the card?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Can't use 'em on this route," he said, meaning that Breeze cards were only meant for the routes that intersected MARTA stations. Well why the heck not, I wanted to ask. I mean why put the readers in and require people to carry two forms of payment? The inefficiencies mounted, but at 7:45 I reached my destination by the Mall of Georgia. Yep, two hours after I pulled out of my garage. Some of you will think I'm crazy but occasionally I ride road bike the full 28 miles to work in one hour, forty minutes and I can drive in 30 minutes flat. But so far, despite feeling like my day's speed had been set to "turtle," I'd successfully used the amalgamation of metro transit to make it to work while my car was in the shop.

A mere eight hours later I was on the side of the road, once again waiting for the burgundy shuttle to carry me home. By this time, I was exhausted. Not only had I been awake much longer than usual, I'd also gone on a run before work when I arrived in the morning. I was actually looking forward to the lethargy of the GCT buses so I could take two substantial naps on the way home. Soon I was on my way down the road and off to sleep. Thirty-five minutes later we pulled into Gwinnett Place and to my weary eyes' disbelief there was my bus was waiting for me! Could I actually have a seamless trip home despite all the speed bumps?! I ran over to route 10 and as I headed for the bike rack I noticed the bus driver telling another patron how the racks worked. "He'll show you," he said, deferring to my apparent experience with the system. I happily tried to illustrate how to place the bike and secure it, but found that one of the trays was broken and could not secure a bike. Embarrassed, I saved face and put my wheels in the other tray.

After passing on my expertise to another transit customer, I held my head high as I boarded the bus. There's always a sort of satisfaction in helping someone better enjoy moving about your home town. I felt as if I'd figured everything out. I handed the bus driver the paper transfer pass I'd received from the last bus route (no high technology here to confuse anyone) and walked snobbishly past the idle Breeze Card reader. Finding a cushy, cool seat I sank into the back of the bus and looked forward to a quick return home. "I hope no one else needs to use the bike rack," I thought, "nah, nobody rides anything that doesn't rhyme with Chevy Tahoe in this county. Nothing to worry about."

Not 10 stops later we turned a corner and I caught the unmistakable glimmer of sunlight off steel bike spokes and a shiny frame waiting at a bus stop. Another noble steed and a brave lady of the road! A Southerner by birth, my chivalry kicked in before the bus had come to a stop. I leaped from my seat and bounded out the front door to assist the dear girl since the racks would be of no help. I explained to her the rack was broken and that one of us would need to take the bike inside. We both agreed that I would do so since my bike was a simpler design than her beefy mountain bike so she placed hers in the tray and I walked confidently to the door of the bus. "Is it alright if I bring my bike on board? The rack's broken," I said to the driver.

"Nope, can't bring it on," he said, shaking his head.

"Well what do you want me to do? The rack's broken. It's not my fault."

"You got two wheels," he vocally observed in case I hadn't noticed.

"I live another 15 miles from here! I'd like to use the bus!" I pleaded.

"Hey, you gave up your spot. I guess you'll have to wait for the next bus."

Seeing that I was getting no where and knowing that other riders also needed to get home and do normal things like eat dinner and see their families, I just propped my bike up against the bus stop, walked quickly onto the bus to grab my bag, and headed for the door. I insisted the young lady take my seat. After all, I'd already made a fool of myself and wasn't about to renege my kindness. I asked the driver for a transfer pass and he proceeded to write one out - totally handwritten this time in what was just a tad more legible than doctor's scribble. As the biker girl boarded and paid her fair, she stated her dismay with metro transit by saying there was no wonder why New York was so much more advanced. I agreed, and the driver reminded us in a slow, disapproving drawl that "you're in Georgia now." Thank you sir, I wasn't sure!

I've been writing this article on my phone since that bus pulled away. Let me just add that three more GCT buses passed my while I stood there. All empty. All headed to the city for what appeared to be a special event. I do appreciate that at least those chariots were practicing fast, efficient travel. My jealousy mounted until my bus finally pulled up 20 minutes later. The trays worked, the seats were cozy, and the last leg of my trip was underway.

This trip was the epitome of inefficiency yet I saw opportunity at every step along the way. For those of you who think 28 miles is a long, slow commute no matter how you put it: I agree, but it could be much better. Take the city of Boston for example. It's a similar population size and obviously very successful. One of Boston's biggest assets is it's mass transit system run by the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority (MBTA). The "T" as it's affectionately called covers over 200 miles of track stretching from the city center to destinations as far away as 61 miles (Providence, RI). If we had a system this robust, I could commute from Dahlonega to Atlanta in half the time it took me to go 28 miles Tuesday. And it's not astronomically expensive to institute a system like this either. The "mega-change" where GA-316 meets I-85 in Gwinnett cost about $130 million - considering the Brain Train is expected to cost about $300 to $350 million to go all the way to Athens, we could have built a line from Atlanta to Lawrenceville for that much money. It would have taken just as many people off the roads and given us a more sustainable way to travel. And no, there is no more threat of any hoodlums riding the train out in the morning, and driving cars home at night than there is now - even hoodlums like me have cars and ride the bus.

Aside from my frustration that we don't have a rail system, the bus could be so much better. First of all, use the Breeze card machines. It makes it so much simpler to have one payment system across the transit lines and simplicity needs to be the name of the game if we're ever going to convince Gwinnettians to use transit. The more road blocks, however small, the less likely people are to overcome them. Just because the Breeze cards are MARTA's payment plan, doesn't mean it can't be used to pay for Gwinnett. If payment goes into a general transportation fund, Breeze cards assigned to a particular person make it easier to track ridership. Right now, Dekalb and Fulton counties pay for almost all of MARTA's operating expenses. Sure they use them, but so does Gwinnett, Cobb, Clayton, Walton and several other metro counties but they pay nothing but a fare. Using Breeze cards on the buses and also the trains would make transfers easier (tap the card on the way out) and allow MARTA to figure out how much of Gwinnett transit funding they are entitled to based on Gwinnettian ridership on their lines.

Second of all, there needs to be one transit authority and it needs to be MARTA. I grew up in Gwinnett and I know how MARTA is perceived in those areas: slow, poorly run, dirty, derelict riders, etc. None of those is true to any extent that should preclude a person from using it. Compared to the most robust systems in the country like Chicago, San Francisco, New York, Washington and Boston, MARTA is squeaky clean, exceedingly fast between stops, incredibly quiet and there are far fewer vagrants than you find elsewhere. MARTA is relatively dependable for a system with few trains and buses that are subject to traffic like all of us and the only cure for this is more lines and more riders to pay for service increases. If we rely on multiple agencies to come into our communities, we're creating a "Catch-22" whereby there is more disconnectedness and slower commutes. I'd love to see rail in Suwanee, Lawrenceville and Marietta, but even if we just had MARTA buses we'd save 10-20 minutes off our current commute in transfer times alone. I'm one of those people who will go out of my way to keep my fellow Atlantans from ingesting my gasoline fumes, but not even I can blame anyone for not wanting to add hours to their commute time to save maybe $2.00 a day.

MARTA and rail is the answer to Atlanta sprawl. It's not too late for our beautiful region and now when housing prices and occupied home density at record lows, we can reinvent our population distribution and right our past transit mistakes. I just hope we can do so before another chivalrous rider gets booted to the curb for trying to make the best of a broken system.

Welcome to the new blog!

2009-06-13T08:12:00.001-04:00

My last blog (Checkpoint 53) is still alive and well! Or.... it's at least still breathing. My dream of doing the 53 Southern Sixers in one push will happen this year as soon as my fitness and that of my masochistic partner in pain line up. I'm thinking this fall when no matter what the state of the world is or where I live, there's few other places I'd rather be when the leaves are in full chromatic combustion.

I found in my last blog that I often wanted to (and several times did) get into personal angst because of environmental ills I encountered. Of course this is part of the Checkpoint 53 vision, but I also do not want to be limited by the scope of my mission. Thus "Shangri-Lost" is born. Here I hope to produce titillating literary adventure and convince myself that some people actually want to read what I have to say. I came up with the name for the blog based on three principles, all based on the idealized concept of a Shangri-La and all the spiritual connotations therein:

That nature and the environment are delicate and beautiful no matter the location; a Shangri-La of literary history. If we don't act responsibly, it will be lost.
Personally I still don't have a clue where I want to go in life or how I want to do it. So in a sense, despite wonderful changes to my life over the last few years, I am a combination of zeal, disillusion, and an untamed spirit of adventure.
No matter where you go in life, it's the journey, "it's the line's beauty and aestheticism that matters." Tourists don't know where they've been; travelers don't know where they're going.

So through this new blog, I hope to import the followers of Checkpoint 53 into more personal, editorial accounts of everything from misadventures to environmentalism. For those of you who convinced me to continue my blogging, I thank you for your support and pray for your tolerance.

Cheers,
Daniel