Dapples (overdue Manistee mumblings)

The weekend before last, in honor of the last decent expected weather in Michigan, a trip just came together on a lark.

It was impromptu, happenstance, and serendipitousish, and thus begins my flawed and biased re-telling...

As y'all might know, the public lands administered by the US Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management are, unless specifically prohibited otherwise, open to the public for recreation (meaning hiking, camping, hunting, parcheesi, whatever). Assuming you aren't governed by something else (hunting season/permits, motorized vehicle restrictions, etc.) you can pretty much do your thing. And in the Manistee N.F. you've got a stretch of the North Country Scenic Trail, which is on its way from New York to North Dakota (a glimpse of the map below and full map of the National Trail System here). And the NCST, which you can read up on here, also intersects the Big M trail system. Lessee here... a pinch of trail, a dash of forest... hmm.

So G brought the minivan over, we packed in some bikes, some gear, some food and drink, I refrained from making any Soccer Mom wisecracks, and off we went up to Manistee.

4 hours later we're within the bounds of the forest. While it was a little confusing figuring out what all the obviously private dwellings were doing in the middle of what we expected to be just miles and miles of pseudo-wilderness (remember that "Wilderness" has specific federal definitions... which MNF isn't), we nevertheless managed to blunder about.

We got to the established USFS campgrounds, and instead of paying the ridiculous fee ($12 for a campsite where there was no water, no showers, no nada... just a flat piece of ground) we elected to just plop ourselves out in the forest somewhere. Down this chunky 2-track, down that chunky 2-track. Hoping that we're on public land and not inadvertently stumbling onto private land or a meth lab so that we don't get shot.

We find a spot, set up tent-age, get the bikes out and go for a quickie ride. Nice to roll out of home base and in a 5-10 minute ride be on a trail that goes for 1000 miles in either direction. NICE trail I tell ya. Wooded singletrack moseying through stands of pines and oaks and maples. Occasional boardwalk or bridge crossing creek and marsh. We go south a ways and notice that the map board at a road intersection indicates part of the NCST off-limits to bikes. Puzzling, but not a worry since it was time to turn around, and there was more trail to the north of our campsite. Back to camp in delicious pre-fall weather, make some dinner (Saag Paneer) and a beer, or was it wine start a little campfire, sit around a bit before turning in for the night.

A nice morning to wake up to and an easy breakfast of instant oatmeal and instant coffee. I have to confess - I am an unapologetic coffee snob. I'll tell you how much I hate when a bean blend is cheaping it out with Brazilian filler beans. I'll bitch about strength. But when it comes to carrying gear and cooking on the trail... nothing beats coffee crystals for that perfect combo of light, easy, adjustable strength, quick, and no cleanup or garbage. Leave the coffee pot at home, folks. Just carry instant.

Right, so the next day we have some breakfast and lazily make our way into bike gear, pack lunch and stuff, and head north seeing lots of pretty forest (some of it heavily wind-damaged, but happily cleared trail) and on the road connecting off-road trail, this yard art/eco-mower. We get to the Big M Outer Loop intersection and head around the outside of the Outer Loop, which has a couple climb sections of note and interesting bridge building technique. I've never seen bridges on primarily MTB trails that had handrails. Constructed with downed trees and a chainsaw. Three of 'em. It was weird.

So at the top of one of the longer climbs, the stomachs growling decreed that lunch was to be had, so we pulled over, munched a lunch, and lazed about in the forest watching the dappled leaves, listening to the breeze in the trees, napping a bit. er... I mean "resting my eyes"

Rolling along after lunch, it became time to head back, and so we did. Back to the campsite in just enough time to mosey over to the river and rinse our selves off ("The Little Manistee River... where the water flows clear and chilly, and the scrotal shrinkage is instantaneous."), gather water, and get to cooking. Fried tempeh with zucchini and Kung Pao/Szechuan noodles, some wine, and a campfire. Nice, that. Bummer though - the rain, she did come. Luckily, the warning sprinkles gave us time to get things stored away before it got raining for serious. But there was lots of firewood left over, and plenty of wine and beer, and that was unfortunate that they couldn't both get used that night.

But the next day was the journey back, and along the way came the Beer Gauntlet. On the way back from the Northwestern Lower (Peninsula of Michigan, for you out-of-staters) to Ann Arbor, the highway is littered with breweries. It's like a truck was driving along and they just fell out the back. Founder's in Grand Rapids, Bell's in Kalamazoo, Arcadia in Battle Creek, Dark Horse in Marshall.

Gotta say, the start and end points were... tasty. Founder's, y'all rock. I have much beer love for you. And you sponsor bike racin'. And have cool live music. Have I mentioned I like your beer lots? Kentucky Breakfast Stout, while very limited in availability, is delicious. Round and full, swells nicely on the tongue and rolls strong, comes off it slowly and gently. Well done. If you get a chance, give it a try. And the regular Breakfast Stout. And the Red's Rye. And Black Rye. And the Dirty Bastard Scotch Ale.

I limited myself in time and liver capacity to one, and we moved on to Bell's. While it's a fascinating tap room (with art and maps and historical documents), the beer was... mediocre. Bell's continues to non-impress me. Yes, they are the 800 lb gorilla in Michigan Beer. But the hoopla about Oberon is overrated, especially since every time I had it this year it has been terrible. Two-Hearted Ale, sure, but that's about all I can stand to buy. Everything else is ridiculously priced, and not really good enough to justify the price. I had the sampler, had a hard time picking because there was nothing on tap that hadn't been around on store shelves already over the past 5 years.

On to Arcadia. Beautiful bar/restaurant in the celtic style, but again... nothing new. The beers have remained the same as they have been for 10 years. While they've had small-run interesting but not very available batches like Coco Loco, Hopmouth, and Cereal Killer, the rest of the beers have stayed middling.

Dark Horse Brewing wins the Upstart Award. It's a tiny, tiny place in Marshall, MI (also a tiny place). What they lack in refinement of label art they make up for in enthusiasm. Favorites of mine: Crooked Tree IPA, the Black Beer, the Amber Ale, and the joint venture with Corner Brewery: Dark Corner. Tasty stuff, it is.

And Dark Horse likes bike racin' too. Oh yeah, and the sister brewery of Corner Brewery, Arbor Brewing Co. also sponsors bike racin'. I'm seeing a trend here.

Ok, blah. I've blathered too long. Forest, Bikes, Beer: mmm, Good.

woof.

back among... the Clean People

Back in town amongst all you freshly washed, shaven, and brushed people (saponophobes, The Bearded, and bald(ing) people excepted)... I am returned.

Rivers, somewhat less choked today than it was a week ago by the evil and invasive Russian Olive: qty 1.











Desert landscape, adored and absorbed: a whole bunch.

Water consumed personally over said week and passed through body one way or another: 10-12 gal.










Miles driven cross-country back and forth: 3600 (...mas o menos)

Bugs squashed on front of car along the way: 1.2 gagjillion

*poof*

Gone, I am.

On walkabout.

This boy has a date with a river. See y'all in a week or two.

Death Ride wrap-up

It was good. Hard. Long. Getting on the bike at 6:00 am and rolling back to the cabin at 6:30 pm makes for a loooong day. Fred described it best: "You know what it's like to go for a 4-5 hour ride and think 'that was a long ride', but in this case, it's a whole day that disappeared while you were on the bike."

The track here shows the route - out and back to the far side bottom of Monitor Pass, same for Ebbett's, and then to the top of Carson's and then back. 127 miles total. Max speed: 53.6 mph



We got in on Thursday, assembled from various flight schedules, picked up luggage, bikes, and drove to the cabin. Along the way, little would we know that the playing of Rammstein's Amerika would result in it becoming the theme song for Team Old Style. We got unpacked at the cabin and went for a Massive Dinner and grocery shopping trip. Ate at a Basque restaurant family-style. That means sit down at long tables and food just starts showing up. No need for a menu - your only choice is what kind of meat you want, otherwise you eat what's put in front of you. And then food just keeps on coming... and coming... and coming...

Needless to say that with all the "Got Picon?" joke-y shirts and bumper stickers and such, some of us were compelled to try it. Not exactly going to become a household name anytime soon, but definitely better than moutai. A little bit of Port, some soaking in Diana's hot tub, some more Port, some staring at the stars, and then Team Old Style vent off to schleep.

Friday morning saw us putting bikes together by the light of the morning sun. Beautiful scenery, but dudes be looking pretty rough around the edges early in the morning. Faces only a mother could love. Figured we'd go for a ride to loosen the legs a bit and see what the countryside looked like - went for 40-miler with 3000 ft of up in it, out to Markleeville and the hot springs (beautiful, by the way) and then back past the cabin and out along Airport Rd, which is... duh, by the airport (basically, a strip of asphalt that has FAA signs on it - not much else).

So then we get to the sketchy bit - on the map when I was plotting a route for the GPS to guide us through, I thought "hmm... the dotted line usually means dirt road. Looks like this road suddenly becomes dirt. Think we should re-route? Nah. Just power through. It's only 1-2 miles of dirt. How bad can it be?" Well, it was the chunkiest bunch of buried sharp rocks I've ever had to dodge on a road bike with dainty tires. Steve apparently dodged all of 'em except one, so he got the first and only (as far as I know) flat of the trip. Good time for pictures, and I gotta say, if you're going to flat, you might as well flat in a nice little valley next to a pretty little lake.

So then we get back from the warmup ride and go to registration and find out that, contrary to our imaginings, registering as a team (even an ersatz one) does not simplify registration. It actually was more than frustrating, and there were other "teams" in the same boat. They told us to come back at 9pm and it'd all be sorted out. Annoying, to say the least. But the good thing was that there was lots of pretty eye-candy at the registration expo. I gotta say, I could get used to showing up at events for endurance athletes. Death Ride, dirt-triathlon, crit... damn there's a lot of toned, tanned, beautiful women hanging out wearing snug/skimpy clothing over their hardbodies. Meeeow.

With time to waste, we figure it's a good time to shop for brake pads and cassette for Andrew (his pads on the Cane Creek brakes were heinously hard and slippery), grab a coffee, and then head over Monitor Pass (the first one on the route for the event) to go to the casino with the all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner. Along the way, seeing the road and the climb, that's when Andrew started metaphorically shitting his pants about the ride. He hadn't been getting any training in because of work and new baby at home, was feeling out of shape and heavy, and seeing the length and grade of the climb had him moaning and keening in the back seat. Eventually we got to the casino, it was a no-go for spaghetti, so we found a pizza/pasta joint down the road and ordered a shitload of food. 5 dudes polished away: 2 orders of spaghetti/meatballs, 2 orders of ravioli, 1 order of lasagna, and 2 pizzas. It was... a lot. All in the service of preparing for a long day ahead. Some burping, farting, and registration details later, we were tucked away in bed for a good night's sleep and a 4am wakeup.

The next morning was early. We elected to wait until the sun was up so that we wouldn't have to carry lights, so we hit the road at about 6:00. While still together on the Montior Pass climb, we got a kind fellow Death Rider to snap a photo of us while we were still all riding together. It's silly to try to stick together over 130 miles - people's rhythms on the climbs just don't match up, and everyone needs to go at their own pace. But for the first pass at least, we were reasonably together.

Later on in the day saw us catching up with each other at the rest/feed stops, and in at least one instance, Steve and Karl seem to have met up in the porta-potty.

Of course, some of the times we would meet up because someone was just getting to the top, and the other had already been down the other side and had come back up, but still, it was nice to be able to catch up and see how everyone was feeling. And it may have seemed silly getting matching jerseys before the ride, but it sure is easy to spot your buddies in rest areas and when they are blasting down at you at 50 mph. Not only that, but we got more than a few nice compliments on our stylish Old Style jerseys. So there. Team Old Style in tha' hizzie.

Technology-wise, what I feared might happen, happened.. the battery in my Garmin 305 wasn't up to the task of a 12-hour day. I got the "battery low" message at the start of the 5th climb, but wanting to record the high-speed descending, I turned it off for the climb and turned it on before blasting down (thus the missing 17 miles at mile 95).

When it comes to blasting down, I might weigh 200 lbs, and that's a non-trivial thing when you're trying to turn the 39x23 up the 10% and 12%. But when the direction is down? Oh, it's a different story. It's awfully easy to go fast down the hill.

I don't have balls big enough to let go and bomb down Ebbett's at Stupid Speed - there's some wacky bits on the way down. But Carson is wide open, and though it was open to traffic, there wasn't much (traffic). Besides, who in their right mind is going to try to pass a cyclist in the middle of the lane going 50 mph when there's oncoming traffic? None that I saw. Motorists were really pretty easy-going on the road. Heck, there's 3000 cyclists out there. By the time they got to passing me, they were used to the idea of bikes on the road.

So yeah, back to the "it was a long ride" part - my tender sitting places hurt a bit on Saturday night. Not to say that there weren't breaks from pedaling to be had - water and food stops at the top and bottom of each mountain pass. But at the top of Carson's Pass when I got back on my bike, clipping in and sitting down... yoinks. Cabin proprietress and masseuse extraordinare Diana tells me that it wasn't a sore muscle, but likely a tissue bruise (and we'll call it "minor", I know she meant to say so, even though the word didn't come out of her mouth)

So did I mention that I was pedaling a 39x23 on this? Yeah, that was stupid. Manly and awe-inspiring... but stupid.

Sure, it gave me something to brag about later at the cabin (i.e. "you buncha weines with your compact cranks and 11-27s... sissies, all o' youse."), but for many, many hours I would finding myself riding next to people spinning a much easier gear (triples, or 34x28s) and silently lust for their gearing. Oh yeah, and the simple fact that I could see what their gearing was means that I could see the right side of their bike (meaning that they were to the left of me, meaning that they were passing me). There's meaning in there somewhere, I'm sure of it. Regardless, when I back out the calculation of a 39x23 being 143 gear-inches, at 7mph on the up-sections, it would appear that I was climbing with a cadence of about 50 rpm. Not so good in the long term leg health, but my knees have felt fine during and ever since. Lucky, I guess.

But more importantly, it was pretty. Fun and pretty. Sure, slogging up the mountain is work. But when you turn around and tuck in and blast down the mountain faster than you've ever been, you very easily forget about the previous 2 hours of slow climbing that it took to get there. The views were amazing. The instant camaraderie with 3000 other people was unexpected, but in a day of shared suffering and exhilaration, a rather nice thing.

A couple days after getting back from the ride, someone asked me "so.. would you do it again? Maybe not next year, but some other time?" My free-association response: "I'd do it again next month if it wasn't so damn far away. Where do I sign up?"

overdue happenings

Been a while, I know. Just haven't exactly felt bloggish. Plenty been going on though...

At the moment I'm sitting in the Vegas airport on my [cough] 4 hour [gack] layover between Detroitia and Reno. Hey, at least they've got the free WiFi here - I sure as hell don't pay for access in airports. Internet access sure is handy when you're wringing your hands for 4 hours holding out hope that my bike got loaded on the plane at DTW and will make the transition in Vegas. AND I'm hoping it doesn't get murdered by the baggage handlers. You see, I'm heading out to ride the bike in the California Death Ride.

I'm certain of two things:
- There's no possible way that I'm trained up and "ready" for a ride like this. There's just no mountains in Michigan to practice on.
- Of all of my admirable qualities [ahem], tolerating pain and discomfort are two of them... along with stubbornness, of course.

These, along with my charming personality, shall see me through the day.

So what's been going on lately? Well, Andre had a birthday a couple weeks back, so he had a party. I entertained my aspirations of animatronic cake sculpturing, but discovered that maybe I was setting the bar too high for my second cake ever. I learned that buttercream frosting is NOT a good idea for a summer party - it just gets too thin when the temps go up. Imagine that, a forsting made predominantly out of butter... melts. Who'da thunk it?

Much carousing and fun was had. Folks got out instruments and played for a while on the back porch. Ok, who am I kidding, "a while" = 'til 2 or so. Gerry and Sean were guitaring, Dave with the keyboardin', and varying other people bopping in and out on the tunes. Dave played ALL night - I was worried that he might be glued to the keyboard, but it just seems that he be liking to play and don't like to stop. Hammed it up for the camera, too. (thanks Dave!)

I can't tell exactly what happened here though - either Warren got assaulted by his own accordion, or the mood lighting and relaxing effects of beverages made Accordion a little extra amorous, and this should have been a "private" moment.

Sheesh, hippies these days.

Stacey had a party a couple days later to celebrate the 4th and all things Americana, including such cocktails as "Old Fashioneds" and Manhattans. All sorts of hot-dish-esque American foods too - the pigs-in-a-blanket apparently were a hit, and the veggie-dog versions went over pretty well too. Of course, the kids got to 'em first, so that might explain things. And while Stacey might complain about not wanting people posting pictures of her, she can rest assured that, while I'm shameless about sharing some of them, the picture staring down into her cleavage will never leave my computer. See? It's all upside from here.

On the 7th (7/7/07), Jimmy organized another alleycat in Ann Arbor. It being a nighttime race was cool, especially since then there's this crazy train of silly bike people with blinky light charging through downtown terrorizing pedestrians and pissing off motorists in a mad dash to beat it to the next checkpoint, or beat out other racers, or whatever. I'm normally really quite law-abiding and peaceful, but when there's a race on, I let my good example self stay home (heck, there really wasn't even a prize, but winning be what matters and people and things are only obstacles in the way). Most motorists don't know what to do when they encounter bicyclists on the roads (other than yell or throw shit at us) so I think of it as removing the necessity for them to make a decision. I'll only be going into oncoming traffic for a second or two, and I'll be through the intersection faster than they can decide what to do.

So this was a scavenger-hunt format on the theme of the seven deadly sins, with mostly picture-taking to prove you were there, but at gluttony, you had to down 10 saltines without drinking anything before leaving the checkpoint. Which sucked. Riding hard, all out of breath and cottonmouth-y, then 10 crackers? I guess I'm glad it wasn't fat-free matzo or anything.

Things I learned this time? When there's a starting sprint to a checkpoint for dice roll to decide where to go first, you gotta be the first one to hit that. Standing in line behind other people who are already riding off makes me antsy as hell. So yeah, that's the occasion for the balls-out sprint. Oh yeah, and when you get in and take 2nd place, check the cameras of the team that took first. I swear, those dudes weren't even sweaty, and it was a hot night - did they even hit all of their checkpoints? I say this afterwards, but didn't think of it at the time, and Jimmy wasn't really checking, electing more for the honor system than anything else. Dang. Coulda had 1st. Next time maybe.

Funny thing, I *just* saw the baby-faced young guy (on the team that took first) out at the track a couple days previous when I went to "beginner's night". I was kinda bummed out because by the time I got there it was threatening to rain, and by the time I got changed, it rained. We waited, and it stopped and almost dried out, but then it rained again, and that sucked. Ah well, I'll have to wait until some other week. The track looks like fun. I don't know if I've got what it takes, but heck, what can it hurt? (oh yeah, legs and lungs, that's right...)

Alrightey, time to get on a plane. Cross your fingers and wish the baggage handlers luck in getting the bike on the same plane that I'm on.

buncha assholes

So here we are in the lovely Twin Cities of Minnesota, G and I... me with the lounging about town, her with the work, digging in the archives and public records. Staying with gracious hosts Fred and Mona for the week and cavorting about town on occasion. Yesterday morning, she's leaving in the morning to go out into the wild and woolly world when she comes back in with just a single sentence.

"The bikes are gone"

What? (the fuck?)

Her bike was missing along with one of Fred's. (After a phone call, it seems Fred rode into work, but hers was definitely gone.) We'd brought our bikes along as a way of getting around town (and me, I was of the mood to put on some miles too), and were parking them in the garage, right near Fred's bikes. The garage where Fred keeps all his bikes. And overnight, someone went to some trouble to break in, and took her bike. After more than a year of bikes being stored there, the fuckers pick THIS week to break in, when the out-of-towners are visiting. And while there's beau coup pricey bikes around once they were in the garage, they steal the one with the most sentimental value to it's owner. Fucking assholes.

We made a police report and all that but there's harsh reality - it's not likely to be recovered. There's just too many places it could go, so many bikes in this town, it's not so unique a bike it doesn't get lost in the multitude of other bikes, and cops don't exactly consider it as seriously as they would violent crime. Nevertheless, my font of anger bubbles about such things.

I think back to the days back at the shop I worked at in my youth. Occasionally, a bike belonging to a shop regular or employee would get stolen, a bike near and dear that was known around town. The word would go out on the street, and every now and then, bike people would get lucky and someone would see the bike somewhere. Revenge and reclamation ensued, whether it be a confrontation, a call to the police, or chasing the fucker down and knocking their sorry ass off it.

If it could happen more often, the Brutal Reclamation...

My angry self tells me this.

In the place where there used to be trusty transportation, a light breeze, and a smooth rolling along, there's sadness and pockets of anger.

But there's memories, too. Lots of old ones. And a couple of new fresh ones that are happy and good. There's more memories to come, with a bike that will come anew to a home that's already ready to welcome it.

road trip...

Haven't been out of town in a while (ok, a couple weeks). The summer has a finite duration. I, like all living organisms, will eventually die.

Put all of those things together, and the appropriate action is to hit the road and see more of the world now, while I can. I went to Minneapolis-St. Paul to visit with Fred and Mona about a year ago, so how 'bout going there again? Go riding the hilly bits with Fred before going out to Cali for Death Ride.

Sounds like a plan. I'm a-lookin' forward to it.

Now, all I've got to do is hope Matthew and Sandra bought a similar house out in Portland (similar in that they're enlisting manslaves to lift and tote and scrape paint and move furniture and such) so that I can have an excuse to road trip out that way and fuss around in Portland.

'Tucky Travels

Got back from Mammoth Cave Kentucky last week... a fun enough adventure, but not exactly life-changing experience either. On a scale of 0 to 10, I'd give it a 6.5, maybe 7. No catastrophes, no ecstasies either.

Got kind of a late start on Sunday, leaving around 11-ish, and for the 6-7 hour drive, that unfortunately meant setting up camp (and then cooking dinner) at the park in the dark. This would become a theme for the week: being too optimistic about time, and thus perfecting my skills at pitching a tent and cooking/cleaning without the benefit of sunshine. And while camping is certainly a cheaper way to travel than hotel, I wasn't exactly happy to pay $17 per night in the main campground. $17? For what? A plot of dirt? Sure, there's running water and toilets, but no showers (gotta pay $2 at the store for that). Whatever.

Monday was Cave Day, and I, surprisingly, got an early start. (whenever I'm sleeping somewhere new, I usually wake a dozen or so times in the night). And thus, began my second disappointment. The Wild Cave Tour is weekends only, and sells out months in advance. Crapola. Instead, I picked the Grand Avenue and Historic tours. And this is where I have henceforth solidified my new policy about trails, routes, tours, and vacations. If it is a "wilderness" area and it DOESN'T have safety warnings... it's probably pretty boring. Anything that has paved trails, is stroller-accessible, and has bathrooms nearby is likely to be jammed with slow-moving groups of retirees and children bouncing all over the place. I'm not hatin' on your sprogs, I just happen to be child-free, healthy, and adventurous. When I'm looking for grandeur of nature, I would rather it wasn't corrupted by constant yelling of 5-year-olds. It wasn't just me... the kind, gentle, mother-of-two who couldn't get her point across to the non-parenting parents of the uncontrollable child, even after resorting to shouting over her shoulder at least five times "Kid! I can't hear...will you SHUT UP!"... she wasn't enjoying the distraction, either. It is also, I found, very difficult to take casual photos in caves. Flashes wash things out, or fail to illuminate the nifty dark recesses. All I was left with was random shots of the backs of heads of my fellow tour-goers. If you want to see pretty photos, buy the postcards.

The Historic Tour was pretty interesting - about how the cave was used as a residence 4000 years ago and then more or less abandoned 2000 years ago by Native Americans, then re-discovered explored back in the 1800's by settlers, how it went from being a tourist destination to an industrial saltpeter operation, then becoming a tourist destination again, imagining exploring massive chambers by the light of a feeble oil lamp, etc. After 7 hours of tours, I realized that sunshine wasn't going to last forever, so I got the bike together and went on a quickie ride. Half hour out and back... then dinner and sleep.

Tuesday was Bike Day and Backpacking Day 1. The whole point of going to Kentucky, along with the 80-degree temps and one-day drive, is that it has a few hills (ok, more than SE Michigan). So in the morning I pack up my tent, organize food for 3 days of packing, organize bike stuff, and head off to the trailhead where I'll park my car, go for a long-ish ride, then come back and hike off in to the wilderness. The ride, she was a decent one. As I was rolling away from the car I thought "hmm, planning to be out for at least 4 hours... should I have put on sunscreen? Nahh... I'll be fine..." Well, I crisped a little bit, but the good news is that my teensy-bit of sunburn is turning into a very respectable start to my tan lines for the season. A decent ride was had. I was fortunate to find that the area around the park has rather smooth roads, with fairly light traffic - probably due to there being no heavy truck traffic and fairly mild winters. The shoulder ain't none too wide, but what with all the plants budding and whatnot, it was a pretty ride. Most all the car/truck traffic was easy to get along with - with the requisite one asshole shouting something out the window as he passes in his jacked-up Ford penis-substitute. (why is it that assholes on the road always seem to be driving Ford vehicles? GM, Chrysler, Toyota, Honda, none seem to attract the Asshole Gene quite as much as Ford Trucks).

So nothing gonzo about the ride, just putting in base miles with some of them uphill, and after getting back, stowing the bike, and a brief snack/rest put on the pack and head off on the trail. While it was nice that backcountry permits at this park are free (compared to out West - where I'd imagine the backcountry fees help offset the occasional cost of having to rescue someone injured, lost, or stranded) the trails themselves aren't that interesting. Unfortunately, I neglected to register on the map that there are occasional dirt roads through the area, and after hiking 5 miles with a full pack, crossing a road is aggravating. "If you can drive to this spot, why am I hiking it?" This gets back to my new policy about accessibility - a.k.a. "If It's Easy, It Can't Possibly Be Interesting"

Anyway, I got to the first backcountry site, and lo and behold a spring flowing out of the side of a hill, right next to the campsite. The last time I went packing was in the desert. Where getting water was sketchy. This was luxury. All the water you could drink, and not having to worry about whether there will be water anywhere near the next campsite. Heck, I crossed stream after stream on the hike. So why was I carrying 4 liters? Habit, I guess. Better safe than sorry.

I got there in just enough time before sunset to gather some firewood, so after cooking dinner I had a cheery little fire, stared at the sky for a while, and went to bed. 4am rolled around and the first few pitter-pats of rain was joined by "oh, shit... my gear is outside", but after some quick barefoot half-clothed pack-grabbing, I was back in my tent with gear safe and dry, when the pouing rain lulled me right back to sleep. After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, off I go to the second site by the river, and though it was pretty, it seemed that the further you get from the trailhead, the more likely people are to leave garbage all over the place. I ended up packing out 2x more of other peoples garbage than I created myself. Aggravatin', lemme tell ya.

I really wanted to go for a swim. I hadn't showered in a couple days, plus it was hot and a little sticky, and I hadn't gotten all of the road grit from the ride off me. But the Green River is... opaque. And, it seems, I'm a pussy. Apparently, when I'm alone out in the wilderness, I have an attack of age and responsibility. As in - when the edge of the river has rough and sharp rocks on the bottom that I can't see, and then suddenly the bottom drops away, I get a case of the willies. Imagining spraining an ankle, or stabbing my foot on something when I'm miles away from anything other than a basic first aid kit kept me close to shore. I guess I need to find a Cross-Country Adventure Buddy for these trips... it's nice to find solitude, but it's also nice to share the load, tell stories, and have backup in case one does something stupid and injures ones self.

I had gotten to campsite #2 mid-afternoon, so I spent the whole afternoon lounging about. I made some tea, sat and watched the river, constantly fussed with the little ThermaRest chair I got last year (it's more comfortable than rocks, but never quite right), and read the last half of In A Sunburned Country which, while humorous, started to grate on me with the same funny story/revelation over and over again. Yes, Australia is full of poisionous critters that will be happy to kill you. Yes, Australia has a huge and desolate interior. Yes, modern Australians are on average an amazingly warm and generous bunch of folks. We heard it in the first 100 pages... get on with it. In contrast with those two product disappointments, I'm very happy with my new MSR Dragonfly. After borrowing Jake's Whisperlite last year, I realized I really need to get my own stove. A stove that can reliably burn white gas, kerosene, gasoline, diesel, or jet fuel? Works for me.

Heading out the next day on the way back to the trailhead and the drive home, I passed by the strangest little cemetary. Yes, it was old, but why do some of the headstones just look like just a plain rock with no engraving? And why are they all spaced so closely together? Turns out to be a children's cemetary. Very few of the headstones indicate a life longer than 4 years. Some even have dates of birth and death the same day or only a few days apart. And they're all in the mid-1920's. Just kind of odd at the time to stumble onto this. Was is an illness that swept the area in that time? There's a regular cemetery at the historic church near the trailhead - why are the children's bodies buried 2 miles away up in the hills? Ah, mystery.

And in the end, a non-climatic journey home. I decided not to stop in Fort Knox (can't take a tour anyway), Louisville (don't really care much for baseball bats), Cinncinati (I'll see it some other time), or anywhere else. So here I am. Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

library killin' my mood

I just decided this week that I need to get out of town.

Just for a while, a little bit, a jaunt.

Somewhere warm, please. Maybe some camping, take the bike, do some riding... find somewhere hilly and warm. Where is it warm? Somewhere close, somewhere I can drive. Somewhere I don't need to plan too much. I can sleep in my car if I need to, camp when I can, hotel if I must.



The weather people are telling me Kentucky. My National Parks annual pass is still good... what's in Kentucky? (other than moonshine stills, baseball bat factories, and inbred toothless wonders).

Mammoth Cave. So that's where I'm going. But I figured I should plan a little bit, and stopped by the library to look for guidebooks and the like. What I found is that I couldn't find the Kentucky section. It should be right *here*, dammit... so I look at the catalog, and lo and behold EVERY single travel book about Kentucky is checked out, and judging by the due date, checked out by the same person. Damn you, fellow Kentucky traveler. Don't you know that I don't plan ahead and you're messin' with my last-minute spur-of-the-moment plans? Grr.

all roads lead to California

It seems like everywhere I turn, California is staring me in the face. I don't know what it is, and maybe this is just a question of "because you think about something, everything else reminds you of it", but it's like Cali is calling. Sure, part of that is weather. Who wants grey skies when there's blue? And sure, housing is expensive (stupid expensive), and there's taxes, and Cali traffic, and... but still - it's close to the Colorado/Kaibab Plateau which I've come to love so much this year, and it's green, and near an ocean, and warm, and all kinds of other cool stuff. I'm not packing to move just quite yet, but it sure looks pretty from here. Maybe a short trip to visit there first.

Michigan is a cold, cold place.

Yes, I know. Master Of The Obvious, that's me. But I was so not ready for it to be cold. Got back from Utah, well... about two weeks ago. From beautiful red sandstone against achingly blue skies



and stunning views,



to gridlock and billboard-mania, just in time for the weather to start sucking. Depressing grey days.

Shitfuck.

argh.

I was so in the groove, and now I'm not. Traveling along, making my way to pick up fellow backpacker Richard in Denver on Friday morning, then overnight at somewhere with fascinating and/or stunning terrain/views, to arrive in Escalante with plenty of time to spare. But stupid-assed me totally forgot the text message exchange where he's not coming in until Saturday morning. So I was camping in the Denver area at Golden Gate Canyon State Park (their website doesn't do it justice - camped overnight at 9000 ft, had to drive up 19% grade roads to get there, etc. etc.) and got up at 6:30 am to be in Denver for the 7:30 am train arrival. Running late, I called Richard at 8:30 - left a message, and when he called me back, reminded me that we changed the pickup to Saturday. Shitfuck.

So now I have a day to waste in Denver. It's hazy and dreary (associated with smoke from wildfires in Montana, I hear), I'm tired because I didn't sleep well (stupid herd of Elk started bugling at 3am), not showered, and generally without purpose or plan for the day. I feel like a homeless person, not trying to attract attention and hoping I don't smell too badly as I sit in a Panera hogging the free wireless.

Fuck it. I'm going to go see a movie, then I'll find a new campsite this afternoon. Drove all the way to Denver to see a movie - go figure.
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And in the intervening 30+ minutes, struck up a conversation with a fellow Panera customer who was just fun to talk to - though the various topics included: overinflated real estate prices in Boulder/Ann Arbor, the Cold War, Israel/Palestine, etc.

A little animated conversation did me right to snap me out of the "it's a depressing grey day" funk. I'm still going to see The Illusionist though.

dude... I am, like... SO high right now

I'm sitting in my hotel room in Boulder (Colorado) with a stupid-assed grin on my face. Just got into town, it was getting late, so the first thing I do is find a bike shop to ask where to go riding. The guy draws me a little map, and on the way to the start point, I find a hotel, drop my shit, put the bike together, and off I go. It's about 7:00pm, so I'm hurrying to beat the sunset. Turns out it gets cold in the mountains, but it was a short ride.

I'm so enthralled with my little GPS thingy that I immediately got back, plugged it in, and here's the track...


Let's not focus on the fact that on the climb there are spots where I was sucking wind at 5 mph, and two clip-out-and-stop-for-a-second-before-my-heart-pops-out-of-my-chest spots. Let's focus on the ass-puckering 47mph downhill. We ain't got none o' dat in Michigan.

I kid you not, the thought "OhHolyShitDidILockDownMyStemAndSkewersTightEnough" went through my head more than once. And brother, I am not ashamed to say that I was on the brakes more than my manly ego would like me to admit to. I had no idea where this road went or if it suddenly became potholed, oh yeah, and I have approximately ZERO descending skills. So yeah, it took a while to un-pucker from those spots.

So yeah, I'm riding high on some endorphins right now, for sure.

And get this - on the hairy-assed descent back to the hotel, this motorist in a burgundy Ford Expedition passes me really closely right before a tight turn (yes, I was out in the middle of the lane, but I'm sure I was going at or above the speed limit). So I'm thinking "what an asshole" and then I see him stopped 300 feet ahead, blocking the lane. Asshole, right? Turns out there were 3 deer crossing the road. Around a couple more hairy curves and he's stopped again - but he's even with (splitting the group) of three more - the two on the left shoulder and one on the right. And as I come up on him, it seems like he was totally stopped and started going when I caught up. He could have driven on, but it seemed like he waited for me to make sure that I saw the deer.

How cool is that? I felt like he was escorting me a little bit. It might have just been coincidence that he was trying to not hit the deer, but the optimist in me would like to think it's people looking out for other people. Thanks, Mr./Mrs. Burgundy Expedition Driver.

So yeah, am I going riding tomorrow morning? You bet your ass. And am I coming back here after the Utah backpacking? Looking that way - I just might make a side trip out to here on the way home.

On the road(rail) again

Heading back to Chicago, then Ann Arbor tomorrow/today/wednesday (it's late) - had quite a fun visit with Fred and Mona and the munchkins.
Got to see the new house (ok, the new-to-them-100-year-old house),
Got to explore Minneapolis-St. Paul a little (yes, it is way niftier than I would have expected. Honestly, I didn't know what to think, and so had neutral expectations. It's definitely way better than that. I would put MSP on my "to do again" list, for sure. Maybe a couple times.)
Learned a little somethin' about J. J. Hill and his house.
Got to see one of the more beautiful state capitol buildings (the congressional chambers ain't much to look at, but the rest of the building is fantastic)
The sculpture garden outside the Walker Art Center is damn good too. Definitely worth a visit if you can appreciate sculpture and aren't a nose-snubber about public art.

Anyway, more later. gotta get some sleep so that I can get up at 6:15 to be at the train station by 7:00 for a 7:50 train that, right now is 50 minutes behind schedule as it's traveling through North Dakota (one thing Amtrak does, if it can't get the train to be on time, is to at least have a webpage where you can see what the on-time status of the train is.). So yeah, I'm excited about getting up early in or to get to the train station so I can wait around.

St. Paul Edition

Been in St. Paul for a few days, and golly, it be hot. It's supposed to be 100 degrees today.

Anyhoo, hanging out with Fred and Mona and the kids, exploring around town, helping out with the house renovation-ings (I was initially a little bent out of shape that they wouldn't give me more to do, but since there's more Grand Planning to be done... not much sense in busywork for its own sake). There some sort of Garlic Festival going on this Saturday at the community farm they are members of. As a garlic enthusiast, I'm pretty stoked about a Day of Garlic.

Have I mentioned it's really hot today?

on the road again...

Amtrak-ing my way up to St. Paul/Minneapolis to visit with Fred and Mona.

... while waiting in the boarding area in Chicago, it's a full waiting room, so I'm sitting on the floor reading, when a guy standing about one step away drops a piece of paper. For about half a second, I think to reach for it and hand it up to him, but then think twice and don't want to interfere in his personal space (or touch his things - he might be sensitive about it), and then think thrice and identify it as "one of those moments, lost".

What do I mean? It's one of those moments that can go one way or another - barely noticeable, but when considered all together they're the fabric, the Feel of a city, a place, a society. Every single person's daily split-second decisions affect the tone of how we all live with each other - vandalize a bus, or help the old lady up the stairs - there's always a choice. We can either become more isolated from another, driving around in our air-conditioned cars, shut up in our cubicles, going home to the cookie-cutter townhouses in the sprawled-out suburbs... or become more neighborly, maybe try walking around, meeting our neighbors, even... just simply handing a guy a piece of paper that he dropped.

... and DAMN if there ain't a whole lot of religious people that ride the train. As I walk out to the lounge car, there's everything from the menonnites (hutterites?) in their garb, to the "Baptized in the Levee" (whatever the magazine is that the woman across the way has), to the standard quietly-bible-browsing-types.


... and why do I keep finding these little notes I made for myself while in Nashua/Boston/D.C.? It's like when you shake all the sand out of your shoes, and then find a little more sand, and never quite get it all out. Anyway, more residual notes to myself, D.C. and otherwise:
- Nighttime rides around Ann Arbor (in after-hours-high-speed-urban-exploration mode) and I find myself at the top of a parking garage near sunset. It seems there's plenty of other people who are fond of rooftops - Roof People, as it were. Not groups, but a handful of individuals or couples that made their way to the top of the parking garage too, maybe just to see that particular sunset, or maybe they were on a date, or whatever, but they definitely weren't there to pick up their cars. I mean, what else would 8 separate people be doing on the top of a parking garage without a single car in sight?
- In the National Gallery: again I'm reminded of my bigotry towards 2-dimension art. Paintings suck. Sculpture rocks. That's all, I just wanted to make sure I made myself clear on that at some point in my life.
- And on the balcony, I look over and wonder again - am I a little bit afraid of heights? I have never thought of myself as afraid of heights, but I get that little hitch in the bottom of my throat (or at the top of my chest) whenever I stand over a long drop (balcony, for example). Now, that might be only in cases where there's a really low railing or none at all... would I feel the same height-anxiety if there were a chest-high railing?

... Everything is exotic and mundane, all at the same time. As I sit on this train, a new (new-ish) experience to be absorbed and savored for its newness, both the environment within the train and the route/terrain we pass through, the conductor walks by and stops to talk with another passenger. To me, this is new. To him, it's something he does every day, and probably holds no great surprise.

whoops... (stupid Amtrak)

All this time, I was planning to take the train to Minneapolis, and bring the bike along... it turns out that the station in Ann Arbor doesn't even allow checked baggage?? 2 bags, carried on, that's all. How stupid is that? Now I'm wondering about my endorsement of train travel...

Not only that, but now the question becomes - drive the 4 hours to Chicago and train to Minneapolis, leaving my car with the family, or drive down to Toledo (1 hour) and leave my car there while I'm away.

D.C. and the random thoughts...

Taking the Metro... light rail is totally the way to go. I realize there are many subway commuters who think this is no meaningful revelation, but they don't know how good they've got it (compared to sad bastards like me with no meaningful commuter rail service). Railroads mean:
- No traffic jams, EVER.
- Definite (deterministic) travel times - the train is on a dedicated highway, and runs on schedule.
- Bulk purchasing (with a monthly pass).
- Get some reading done along the way.
- Probably some environmental benefits in there too...
- Meet your neighbors. ... I have driven in my car for 1500 miles over the past week. In contrast to the train and walking, the automobile is isolating and sterile. It keeps us isolated from each other and depersonalizes the human condition all around us. People become the car they are driving. No wonder there's road rage.

Trains: The benefits are legion...
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Overheard on the radio, a discussion of Pink Collar Jobs.

I'd never heard of such a thing codified before, but it puts a name on what has bothered me about whether or not such a thing as gender equality can be realized... not because of law or culture or society, but because of self-selection. There are many women who go into career paths traditionally occupied by women: Teacher, Secretary, Nurse, etc., and regardless of equal opportunities, there remain differences. The day I see a woman on a highway road crew (ok, more than just a token individual) with a jackhammer or a mound of steaming asphalt in hand (instead of working in Flagger position), I will then believe in unbounded equality. Until then, I'm afraid I'm a pragmatist. Ideas and Notions are great, but show me the reality of it.
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Seeing the Vietnam Memorial is hard to describe in words. As I was walking along the wall, I couldn't even begin to imagine, while there by the names etched in granite, being able to speak - for any reason.

There's just... so many. So many that died for this notion of "Stopping the Advance of Communism".

And then Iron Curtain fell in 1989, and it seemed to have fallen all by itself, and Communism was no longer a threat, so one begins to wonder how big the threat really was? Or was it just that it's so easy to judge in hindsight?

D.C. as metaphor

Washington DC feels a lot like a college campus... the biggest damn campus in the world.
There's a Quad (also known as the National Mall). There's campus buildings (Federal Building, Department of the Interior, Federal Reserve, etc.) but the only things that are likely to happen there are the undergraduate classes on the classics. Sure, the Department of the Interior has offices on Constitution Ave., but that's just because they have to be somewhere. The real business of the DoI is out in the rest of the nation. Or at least, it had better be...

If something is going on in DC, the REALLY cutting-edge stuff happens on the fringes of campus, in the multi-disciplinary research - something like the Beckman Institute at UIUC or if you're a Republican in DC coming up with innovations in politics, maybe the K-Street Project