Plunging Through

Over the Christmas holiday I managed to shoot some ice biking videos and edited down a nice little clip. Hey here it is now.... - four guys cruising Stumpfield Marsh and the surrounding flood control area in Hopkinton. Ric, Mike and Mike's son Brent and I rode a couple of hours on the day before Christmas, nursing warmth from the last rays of bright sun under blue skies. The surface was textured by the snow which fell when the ice formed, making a nice rumbly buzz from the studded tires and drifty corners when taken a bit too abruptly. Cold flat ice makes for the most traction, with bumpy ice coming in a close second and soft bumpy ice coming in third- the studs break away when cornering and the bumps make for less of an overall surface area of the tire's contact patch. We had soft bumpy conditions and Mike made good use of his shorts with hip pads as did his son who used his tailbone instead. Clever. Natural. Youthful.

It was a spectacular day on the ice. Which makes for a nice little segue to Saturday's ice ride.

The day after Christmas, Mike, Brent and I ventured out onto a certain local lake- buzzing along- excited about making our way the length of the lake and then over to Turkey Pond and it's marsh. Mike sometimes rides head down and when he does, I know I'll be struggling to keep up. When Mike put his head down this time I could see he'd be in trouble. There was a light snow falling and so the ice should appear uniformly white, right? A line of dark spots on the lake revealed another type of ice, ice with water on it.

I yelled to Mike as I slowed while scanning left for safe passage. Mike zoomed on and - accompanied by a classic cracking sound - watched while his front wheel plunged through, followed by his bike and 'heck, might as well go for a refreshing swim' Mike. Brent, naturally alarmed, ran to the edge - ignoring my yells to stay away from the edge and then, realizing he was in full "go" mode, to lay down on the ice to spread his weight. He didn't heed either and a second later was grabbed by dad and pulled in. Double the fun!

So we went from a nice ride to a swim and then from having two bikes and two guys to link together and form a chain to reach our cold water swimming expert, we had two guys swimming, two bikes, a lot of water and... Brent popped out of the water, just like a cork. Not long afterward Mike was out and I had retrieved his bike by extending another, hooking the bars through a wheel to pull it in.

In my jersey pocket that day were a set of Polar Picks, used by ice fishermen and ice sailors to drag themselves out when and if they break through ice. Just having received them as a gift the day before, I could have slid them to either guy as a plan B. They appear to work great, and have retractable spikes that afford the swimmer traction to climb out over wet slippery ice. (Caution! - the things sink. Put them in a place that's easy to access too, but don't let go of them if you take them out in an emergency. The mfg says to put them through your jacket sleeves and have them dangling but I can't imagine anyone doing so while biking.)

We cruised back and I made up some coffee while Mike thawed out in a hot shower. Later I went out solo, sticking to roads and the known thick ice on Sewall's Pond.

I had to wonder what some unknowing hiker, who may have seen the hole in the ice, thought. Maybe something like "nice day for a swim" or "Call 911!" or maaaybe
"More chlorine in the gene pool please." Silly bikers.

Sparklies in the Night

The shift to riding at night is one that I anticipate with some uncertainty each year. Will someone with the same consistent zeal for riding come through this year, joining me for the adventure? Will the trails be naughty or nice? Will I ride and play in the dark with abandon, caution thrown to the wind until I hit that patch of ice before mounting studded tires - only to feel the bike disappear from underneath me- with that hard hip hit that aches for a week?

So far I have been out for 7 or 8 night rides and been joined for three of them. Some are sweet, but mostly the social rides involve many stops for light issues and head issues. The chaos is expected. The good time with my buds and accompanying sluggish nature signals the time to downplay the virtues of speed and constant rolling - the solo times offering the chance to ride end to end without a stop. Alone, I unbridle my fitness, become comfortable with the myopic 8 foot radius of vision - and the darkness that blankets me when I stop, go silent, and turn off my light to breath in the night, the woods, the calm.

Last night I did the drill- hustling home after leaving work a bit early, rushing to dress and get out the door, and the anxious ride to meet the guys in time. Nearly always, the more I rush, the more I wait when we come together. It is a force of nature, complicit in reminding me the world turns as fast as the world turns, no matter how much anyone speeds up or slows down. Rushing and waiting come together in neat packages, just like order and chaos.

We rode out to Mast Yard which is accessedvia no more than 1/2 mile of road and then onto railroad bed and a joiner trail system known as Lehntinen Park or "behind the kayak place", or the Snowduster's trail which holds the essential nature of the ride. It combines several seemingly independent systems built for different purposes- snowmobiles, trains, hiking, barge tow roads, mast tree harvetsing - that mell together when we ride... for biking.

At the lot where I met my buddies, a tree-tall shadow man called out "You guys ride up by Runnells Road?" "Yep, we do." A hand extended out of the dark and we met one of the land owners that open their gates to recreation- a godsend for all of us who use land with little regard for the owner's perspective, yet we openly receive the gift to us all. He simply asked us to keep an eye out for anyone going by his house under construction. Another figurative bridge built between biker and the community.

During the ride we passed through about 2 inches of crunchy snow with some sections having been shielded from the storm beneath hemlocks where bare ground quieted the otherwise noisy crunch of our tires. We passed through a couple of sections of woods - briefly- that were like the sugar coated images in past cards and of National Geographic where on top of the snow that had fallen, crystalline sparklies had formed during the past day or so of cold. In one of these sections, sparklieswere seemingly suspended in the air. Mike and I remarked upon it but the others had ridden right through them, self absorbed or altered in some other way to miss the kiss of unique beauty. Each sparkle was multi-colored producing a prismatic illusion. Science explains the mechanism, experience notices the mystery. Both areas were down low and next to meadows so cold air from radiational cooling must have caused the phenomenon that evoked wonder- or vice versa.

3 hours later I rolled back up to my door and noticed a slight shift- that time had passed, that something about the driveway, the house, and me had changed. Not sure what- but different and right and a bit more worn in a natural way.
Riding at night. Welcome back.

What Minks?

I rode with some kitwits yesterday.
Kit- Wit: From the root knitwit re.: people that wear too many clothes when riding
Definition 1: cyclist who wears a $200 jersey and $150 shorts
Definition 2: cyclist who wears polar expedition weight gear compulsively
Definition 3: cyclist who wears a $200 jersey and $150 shorts over polar expedition weight gear when it is 65 degrees out, soaking it in his own perspiration before removing any one piece of it and when he finally does - usually on a steep hill, splashes his stinking sweat on your oh so cool kit.
I love riding with my friends, even kitwits. Yesterday we rode in the Minks Hills of Bradford and Warner, bushwhacking at one point to Devil's Den for a ritual sacrifice and needless exertion. Nice chunky caves there and a double secret passageway to the top. BUT NO MINKS! What the hell, I've never seen minks there. I guess they should have named the area Zebra Hills and then they would have killed all the zebras, and then I'd see Minks in the Zebra Hills. I like minks. They just hide when I come riding along.
I've seen minks on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee, which obviously means Lake Mink, but they disguised the reference to the furry buggers.
This time of year, my mind wanders cuz I really want to be riding more, I become restless, annoyable, and in need of purpose in my life. I'm like a toddler who is grumpy until placed in water- grumpy until placed on bike. That's me.

Race Across My Eyes

Saw the King of the Mountains Doug Jansen last night in semi darkness, indoors. He was silent, smiling, and eyeglassed. Sounds creepy doesn't it?

I guess the same could be said of yours truly since we were exiting the Lowell Showcase watch other people doing things, eat, and get fat Cinemas. The place is astoundingly huge- but maybe that's a reflection of my myopic Concordianess.

Boys, the movie that played was the Race Across The Sky - 75 minutes of Leadville 100 shot from motos, on foot and from helicopters. Friggin awe-inspiring shots of some of the ridge riding with pulse quickening orchestral tension as Lance seems to speed from land to sky. Well, it was a bit overly dramatic, but it was real footage with several interview breaks, personal vignettes of coming back from injury, including tears jerked as some got pulled when they failed to make checkpoints within the allotted time. Touching. sniffle...

Dave Wiens, who arguably owns the race after winning 6 times, is featured but man, I know quite a few of us groan when Lance is at the center, and he very much was in the film just as he was during the pre-movie panel dicussion/inteview. Yep, the movie was presaged and closed out with a supposed live panel in a theater - Travis Brown, Wiens, Armstrong, the race promoter and Trek MTB slave, er...domestique Matt Shriver. Pretty cool, almost natural.

The movie was a great depiction of this year's Leadville 100- from start to finish. Amazing that the guys who shot it did so only 2 months ago.

Go see it, buy it or whatever. It's a thrill. The trailer (click on the wee button)

Doubling Up

Here's some meat: http://staging.vimeo.com/6350152




It pretty much shows the 401 for what it is: exposed, fast, flowered, and a big floaty dream.

Rippin' It at Crested Butte

Holy bejeezzus! A force in the universe opened up and swallowed me whole, rendering me unable to access blogville. Until now.

Arrived in CB on a Saturday evening after calling ahead to Big Mountain Sports in the hopes we'd pick up the steeds. Dang- we'd have to wait until Sunday am. Remember the Tour de? Well, Pete at BMS has a Boonen fetish and had to put us off until after the Champs d'Elysee's bunch sprint, which I reminded him would end with Cav' thundering home ( And oh my god did he! )

At 11:30 Pete showed up and we headed out to Hartman Rocks thinking we'd get in a couple of low altitude(7500') miles before the seasonal afternoon T-storms roll in.

We hit the trailhead opposite a car dump a la The Hill Have Eyes, sure we'd be harvested for our organs if we hung around and accepted the hospitality of strangers.



Rode there over dusty trail and exposed syenite for an hour or so before the predictable lightning fueled end. Hartman's the high desert and a world away from CB's lush meadows and mountain side forests. The two areas are different and in my eyes, CB is more to my liking. OH yes, WAY.

Sunday night we spent much of the night lying awake in the hostel bunks in what ended up being a private room for a week. I pity the next tenants since we kept the "drawer of doom" stocked with stinking clothing... a stink that would take a week or two to fade fo sho. We even cringed when we'd enter the room and prop the door open to let the beastly cloud dissipate. "What IS that smell?"

Overnight, Clayton and I decided to hit the biggie on Monday and awoke to clear skies, an auspicious sign which we took to be affirmation to ride the 403 and 401. 5 hours and 40 miles later, the morning's bold decision panned out. The 403 and 401 are dominated by alpine meadows and ripping bench cut narrows. The 403 has a reputation for its steepness and technical sections. It had both, including the last mile of switchbacks grown in with bar-high flowers. East coast experience kicked in and we flew the whole 403, wondering why guides recommend dismounting and eeek, walking, several sections. Still it's fist bump worthy as you'll see here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4Mdom0IPVk

We kept on, topping out on Gothic at the trailhead for the 401 and after a breath robbing climb to about 12,000', began the sweetest highspeed downhill rip I've ever ridden- freakin' superfast sidecut on sometimes 60 degree slopes through meadows of delphiniums, sunflowers and skunk cabbage up to your shoulders in places, punctuated by switchbacks and crushed flowers- evidence of crashes. It felt like being on the edge with falling a non-option, so we didn't and instead cruised at mach 1 until finally the descent ended a half hour later. Giddy? Check. Shiteatingrin? Check!

5 hours later we rolled into CB, delirious with joy and fatigue. Kidz. Write down Crested Butte 403 and 401 on a piece of paper and put it in your wallet. It is one of your raison d'etre must-dos.
I'll pen more in the coming days including some pics and vids including the 401 and Monarch Crest which was all it is built up to be- alpine meadows and hours of downhill as fast as you dare.

Feelin' Groovy

Ahhhhhhhh. It feels sooooooooooooooooooooo good to be NOT racing. I haven't any series goals nor obligations to race this season and I have to say the season is going exceedingly well. Every ride is about having a good time, being in the flow, clearing clearables, and getting ready to ride 5 days in a row in Crested Butte.
TookyWheelWorks' Brian Rossignol is setting me up with a heavy duty Trek Madone Team box to ship the Top Fuel out and back via FEDEX. FEDEX, I believe in you. It ships out this week. It'll be cool and dark my friend, but we'll meet again on the other side and rock some mondo trails. Oh yes.
I've formulated a rough plan for the week there: a night of sleep followed by a day of chilling out to let the blood gases adapt to the 8500' elevation. Of course, we won't be able to resist some sort of ride on that first Sunday, so the hell with Rev A of the Plan, it's on the Rev. B - ride some on Sunday... but no real climbs.
Monday, we'll go down to Gunnison at 7500' and ride at Hartman Rocks. It's a high desert rock fest with around 70 miles of singletrack and host to the Rage in the Sage race. Tuesday we'll hit the 403>401 as a loop including Snodgrass - a long and hopefully inspirational day of wildflower bordered buff singletrack high in the valley. Wednesday, if our legs are still attached, we'll head up Cement Creek to the 583>400 and Star Pass at 12,000'. This is supposed to be a lesser known, pretty damn high and remote area at the top. I saw a couple of pics and it looked the closest to the feel atop the Pang La when I rode in Tibet, 'cept for the vegetation. Intriguing. Here's a pic:

Thursday we'll tackle Reno>Flag>Bear>Deadman's and finally the climax on Friday. Well you'll just have to wait to hear about that ride until it's done.(pssst, it's called Monarch Crest)
There are a handful of other uber rides in the area that I'm struggling to work in somehow: Strand, Deer Creek, Doctor's Park and Texas Creek. Maybe I'll commit mitosis and do them all. Time to split.