I find myself in a good place. I am beginning to feel lighter, stronger, even...faster on the bike. It seems it has been an eternity since I last felt anything close to that. The summer of 2008 was the summer of sludge and resistance, like somehow gravity had in store for me a cruel trick, an extra burden. There were only s many times I could rationally blame wheel or bottom bracket drag for that heaviness, as if I were riding on Jupiter.

By no means am I where I want to be. I want to be lighter, and much, much faster. But of course, who doesn't?

And so I continue that chase. Pedaling, spinning, and not eating my way to better overall fitness. Hopefully dropping body mass behind me as I go. I knew I was in trouble when sometime around August I started to feel added mass around my mid section when I bent at the waist. It was as if I had developed pockets, and someone had stuffed gel packs into them.

Perhaps though the most dramatic improvement has been in my energy levels. I feel better at night, and better in the morning. I still get a post-lunch lull, but its nothing a quick walk to the grocery store and an apple or orange or diet coke can't solve.

So, while my wife will mock me for saying so, I think that now a full six months after my sleep schedule was turned upside down and decimated, I can finally say that I see the light at the end of the tunnel. And what is that light revealing?

I can only catch glimpses at this point. But I see long summer days, and long summer rides. I see the Wasatch Classic and the American Mountain Classic. I see the desert and the pine and the summer snow pack. I see bar-b-ques and fireworks and warm starry nights.

I see life.

I do not think that it is coincidence that I have felt this way in the wake of Camp Lynda. The energy that emanates from the people there is contagious. It always has been. But I knew my psyche and my life were changing last year, when among the usual suspects at the KTR that I was unable to tap into that mojo. It was a cold feeling. Lonely.

It was liberating and relieving when standing among everyone on the first morning of camp that I felt that energy seep through my mind and body once again.

And now, as January passes, and 2009 starts to roll into high gear I feel a great sense of optimism and excitement. I may never be as fast or as able as I have been in the past. I may never have the freedom to be as ambitious as I have been. But I don't have to know that. Or at least, I don't have to acknowledge it. What I mean is that I will be as ambitious and as exploratory has I have ever been. At least in the delusional Quixote-esque reality playing out in my mind.

And so, like my 'about page' has always said:

I'm 31 years old. I have a wife, 5 kids, and delusions of grandeur about mountain bike racing.

And frankly, I would not have it any other way.

My bike is crusty and filthy. Even after I hosed it off. When I spin the crank a grating, frightening sound fills the garage. The dry, cement-like clay is trying to permanently attach itself to the paint and frame.

But I am smiling.

Despite the rain and the muck and mud, the riding at Camp Lynda 2.0 was fantastic. A much anticipated and needed reprieve in the desert. And in many ways the rain added to the adventure. The sage and the cacti and the rocks were all washed clean of the dust of the desert. The fragrance of the dirt and the vegetation filled the olfactories with the scent of the desert. An earthy, pungent, clean smell.



And everywhere the ethereal mystery of the desert manifest itself. The low hanging fog and mesas and riders drifting through the nothingness all created an atmosphere of surreal enjoyment.

Not even going over the bars into a puddle of soupy mud wiped the grin off my face.

I am already looking forward to next year. But in the meantime another trip to the desert will have to suffice. As soon as possible.

2008 was a landmark year for me. The dominant story was the discovery and subsequent arrival of our twins. Children numbers 4 and 5 for my wife and I. We are still recovering and adjusting to the new "normal" in our lives. And we are loving (nearly) every minute of it.

My racing schedule was down in 2008. In fact, I really did not pursue anything beyond just getting out into the mountains as often as possible. There were no "A" races. There were no "D" races for that matter. Frankly, there really were no races, other than a failed KTR attempt and my own Wasatch Classic –which was hardly anything resembling a race.

However, despite that, I was able to put some gear through the gauntlet. And over the course of the year I came to appreciate a few pieces of equipment that have become staples in my riding.

Garmin Edge 705:


The Edge series from Garmin has set a new standard in cycling computers. I don't see any reason to ever invest in a computer that does not calculate heart rate, distance, speed and cadence, while at the same time tracking your route. In other words, the usefulness of GPS integration into a cycling computer has, for me, become a necessity.

The 705 is the latest innovation in that technology.

Two days after my Edge arrived from GeoManGear I had it mounted and ready to rock and roll at the 2008 Wasatch Classic. The learning curve, if you are coming from the Edge 305, or another non-gps computer can be little steep. But the routing process involved with my Vista HCx helped me to be familiar with the device. So I found that loading maps and routes was fairly pain free.

How did it perform in its first major adventure? Admirably.

I spent 12 hours on the trail during the Wasatch Classic, and when I finally turned the Edge off at the end of the day, it had a healthy store of battery power left. It tracked accurately regardless of terrain or tree cover. And it kept me on trail. Despite the fact that I designed the course, I did stray off route at one point – much to the consternation of the Edge.

In subsequent uses of the computer it has continued to work well. The color screen is easy to read and easy to navigate. Custom workouts, routes and courses are easily loaded and navigated. The ability to load topographical maps is fantastic, and turns the Edge into an actual and useful navigational tool; rather than simply a cycling computer.

One aspect of the Edge 705 that I have not explored (beyond the heart and cadence monitors) is the ANT+ wireless technology. The potential is enormous for third party device compatibility. Power meters are the obvious benefactor to this technology. And of course, when it comes to all things Power Meter, I suggest poking around Dave Harris's brain. He has a 705 and has been testing the ANT+ compatibility with his power meters.

Are there weaknesses? Yes.

But they are minimal. The data storage can be a little convoluted. Files are stored on the Micro SD card, but can be a little tricky to actually find if you want to manually access them. And, weirdly, Garmin's own Training Center software does not always talk the same language as the 705 (on the Mac), prompting me to use my Edge with the PC instead.

But overall, I have loved the 705.



Ergon BD2 Pack.


Ergon continues to impress me with their innovation and design. The BD2 is a pack that I have used extensively. I have used it on my bike of course, but also as a hiking and snowshoeing day pack. It is durable, useful, and the Ergon Team Green is hawt.

At the Wasatch Classic, I loaded the BD2 with food, 100 oz. of water, a water filter, repair and medical supplies, my SPOT tracker and other various items. The load stayed secure on my back, without causing undue fatigue to my shoulders, back or hips. And the rain cover has proved useful during my winter hiking excursions.

If the BD2 has a weakness, it is its narrow design. It can be a little cumbersome to access something deep in the pack, or to load up a bulkier item. Its a small issue, easily worked around, but at times it can be a little vexing.

I have tried a lot of packs over the last few years. And many of them have been superb, but the BD2 has emerged as my favorite.


CarboRocket


I can't be exactly sure what Brad is putting into CarboRocket. But it works, and it tastes fantastic. I have used this drink without stomach issues for several long rides, including my double dosage of the White Rim last year. I used it during the Wasatch Classic, and I use it during almost every workout and training ride. And sometimes I find myself drinking it just because.

Its not too sticky, its not a frightening color, and it's not loaded with undocumented chemicals. And again, it tastes good. Try it, you'll see.

Oh, and the new Raspberry Lemonade flavor is spectacular. No, it really is.


Graco Silhouette Swing


A week or so after the twins were born I went out and bought 2 Graco swings. These are not your normal baby swings. These are some sort of magical, baby soothing, sanity restoring, mechanical cradles. Honestly. I think my wife, or I, and perhaps both of us, would today be in an asylum if it were not for these swings. We were at our wits end with the twins, who were not sleeping well, unless being held in our arms. Which, if you don't have children, sounds very cozy and nice. But it is utterly exhausting.

The existence of these swings was unknown to me before my mother suggested we get them. We have a traditional baby swing. It was next to worthless. I do not know if it is the cradling nature of the seat, or the fact that it actually is designed for new born babies, or that "the swept style frame blends flowing lines, ideal proportions and purposeful details to define quality and comfort" that makes these swings so effective. But they work. And without them, I might be writing this from the group computer at the State Hospital.




Exit Question: What piece of gear could you not possibly do without?

I often describe Mount Timpanogos as 'the sentinel of the valley'. And for good reason. It is, both physically and I think figuratively a guardian and protector. At the very least, it feels as such. But perhaps illustrating my point would be more valuable:

Part of my new role at work is restoring and printing old art and photos. The Library of Congress has a vast and endless supply of high resolution files, free for the taking - and manipulating. Some of my favorite discoveries have been WPA posters, leftovers of an older America.

The purpose behind the posters was at least two-fold.

First, as part of FDR's New Deal, the poster project was designed to put artists back to work, and second, the posters themselves were part of an ongoing public service to educate, inform, entertain, and even in some cases coerce the American public into healthy living. Topics ranged from warnings about syphilis, to the benefits of breast feeding, to safety at work.

But beyond the, in my opinion, rather bizarre posters were many that were actual and appreciated works of art. Among these are the National Park posters. Of course, I have a soft spot for National Parks, despite the bureaucratic hand wringing that plagues them. They, quite simply, are one of America's greatest assets.

The look and feel of the posters reflect the zenith of the era of the American Family Vacation. Those tourists that Abbey found both repulsive, and amusing seem to be embodied in the very colors, designs and sentiments of these old posters. Indeed, I cannot help but picture myself in a wood paneled station wagon, driven by a plaid wearing father, cruising through the back roads of Yellowstone, or the Grand Canyon when I look at these relics of American history.

It is certainly possible that the nostalgia I am projecting into these simple posters is unwarranted. Even silly. And most certainly exaggerated. But to me, they represent an era of American innocence, a true cultural utopia (in a sense) that existed between WWII and Vietnam.

It seems to me that after Vietnam, the idealism of the vacation, and the representation of that idealism was lost in the angry era of protests and entitlement. But then, I may be projecting my own political world view on historical events. But then, don't we all?

What am I getting at?

In the spirit of emulation I have tried (successfully?) to create my own WPA poster. And in an effort to celebrate our National Parks, I decided to highlight one of my favorite local parks. That is, Wasatch Mountain State Park.

Wasatch Mountain State Park is Utah's oldest State Park. Founded in 1959 it is home to some of the most beloved -for me- backcountry in the state. And so, with a thick sense of nostalgia, and perhaps an over estimation of the idealism the WPA posters represented, I created the following:



Exit Question: What is your favorite National Park?

The wintery mountains take on an other-worldly feel after the sun sinks out of sight. The weekend full moon accentuated the gloomy lightness of the snow, sharpening detail that would be lost in the darkness and tree cover of summer. And although the sun lingers in the sky during the summer, when it does finally disappear the mountains are much, much darker.

My sister enjoys the moonrise at Big Springs

The white surreality of the snow, and the vibrancy of the bright moon created an ideal atmosphere on Friday night. My sister and I wandered fairly aimlessly, simply going where we pleased, along the river, through un-tracked meadows and into the trees. As the winter night descended around us we plunged off a steep, deep mess of scrub oak. Under the surface of the crystal blanket of powder were branches, lying in wait to grab and trip and pull down into the white abyss. On more than one occasion each of us ended up sprawled across the slope and laughing at the absurdity of falling flat on our face.

Luckily, I was the one with the camera.

Watch your step

And then there was Saturday. Higher elevations meant deeper, more powdery fluffy snow than the night before. An ambitious spirit took Keith and his dad and me up and up, following the determined track of some unknown backcountry skier. The evidence of his reward well documented around us, as the swoopy turns through the soft powder testified.

Working our way up through the steep ravine

As we climbed higher the multiple possibilities for exploration spread out around us like fog lifting to reveal a new found world. And indeed, it is a new world. Ridge lines and ravines and stands of pines that otherwise would be nearly impossible, or at least much less enjoyable to access were discovered, there for the exploring because of the deep, soft snow that obliterates the jagged, rocky, rugged mountains underneath.

And now, I sit, a little sore and worn out after a high quality winter weekend. I find myself longing to go back to that high country, but this time with camera gear, lunch, and more daylight.

2008 is done. Gone. Over. History.

2009 is staring us in the face with an expectant look, sort of saying "what are you going to do about it?"

Well, a lot. At least that is the plan - as it is every year.

A few features I am planning on implementing into this blog for 2009:

• Product Reviews
• Essays (excerpts like yesterday's post, and other, more general writings)
• Trail guides/maps
  
• Guest posts (interested in writing a guest post? Contact me.)

Another feature I am going to implement is what I am calling the "Exit Question". At the end of a post (perhaps not all, but many) I will pose a question. It may have to do with the subject of the post, or it may be completely random. The idea behind it is to encourage more participation, more feedback and more insight from you.

Which leads me to today's exit question:

Exit Question: What would you like to see more of here at Epic Riding?

I have recently started a new collection of essays. I have no idea when they will be finished, or what they will exactly become. They are, like everything else in my life - a work in progress. However, the idea right now is to write a series of 12 essays - one for each month of the year. Posted below is an excerpt from 'January':

Darkness comes early. The waking hours are only slightly warmer than the night. A frozen, dirty crust banks the roads and sidewalks. It was at one time snow. But now, now it is an unrecognizable icy, oil caked, menace, a long term squatter and an eye sore that seems to be the longest lasting remnant of winter when all other signs of its dominance have yielded to the coming of spring. But now is not that time. Instead now, it is January. It is the deepest, darkest time of the year. A time of hibernation and daydreaming. Dreaming of longer, warmer, brighter days. Of pine trees and swaying aspens and dusty singletrack. Of sweat and early mornings above 10,000 feet.

It is, ironically, a time of renewal, of resolution, a calendar mandated new beginning. At the height of seasonal death and decay, we celebrate life anew. Happy New Year.

The daydreaming is an escape. Despite the fresh powder and the snow shoes and the ethereal white capped trees and the muffled silence of a mountain winter, there is still that need to displace oneself into an ideal of warmth and sand. The coming of summer is an eternal hope, one that generations from the very beginning of time have clung to, celebrated, and lived for. Summer, the polar opposite of January. The climax of light and heat. Summer, so far from this, the darkest and coldest month of the year. January.

And so I daydream. Of singletrack snaking through mountain meadows, on and on into thick forests of pine, through icy creeks and on into a horizon that could never be reached. I dream of the stifling, oppressive heat and the thick heavy air of a sticky July afternoon. I dream of the thunder and dark clouds and sudden rain of an August storm. I dream of short sleeves and dirt caked faces, white teeth glinting stupidly through dusty smiles. I see races and podiums against the stark and bland stare of my basement wall as I spin for hour after hour on the indoor trainer. I hear rushing waters and songbirds and warm morning wind while I climb that endless, pointless, destination-less stair master at the over crowded gym.

Commercial gyms love January. That spirit of renewal grips the populace like a fit of hysteria. Suddenly, despite decades of inactivity and slothful sedentary living, everyone is ready to shed the pounds and years of living like a rock, sitting idly and only moving when acted upon by another, stronger force. And so of course the gyms around the country thrive on the mass delusion of resolution. And each and every year, every January the cycle is repeated. But by March, as the ground begins to thaw and the days grow longer, the gym membership becomes more and more irrelevant. And not just for the resolution crowd, whose fiery zealotry for the treadmill has long gone cold and stale. No, by spring, I myself am looking for that break in the weather when the air changes, the temperatures rise and life overcomes the frozen clutches of annual death. But for now, I am content to stare again at the wall or the television or the throng of people hurrying along, rushing to nowhere while the rubber mat beneath their feet spins aimlessly.

January is not all cynical mockery. There are days in January that are worth the wait. There are those moments when feathery powder engulfs the entire body, surrounding it in a blanket of white, pillowy exaltation. A moment of terror and brilliance, where life and death seem equally as likely. And then the moment is gone and you are back to reality, speeding down the mountain with skis or snow shoes.

There are those pristine evenings when the sun melts into the horizon, the last of the light reflecting off the snow in a blue hazy fantasy world, like something out of a dream. There is the quieting of traffic and people when fresh snow covers the city, herding the masses into their homes, fleeing from the elements while the newly fallen snow illuminates the land, creating a surreal twilight out of the dead of the darkest of nights.

And best of all, there are the days in the desert.

There is a mythical and mystical brilliance about the vast, open, empty, thriving deserts of Utah. A land rich in history and red sand and stone. A land ancient and infant, unexplored, and yet welcoming in its hostility. That is, the remote solitude is both its danger and appeal. It is a land best enjoyed and experienced in the winter, when the mountains slumber under the snowy depths, and the heat of the desert retreats, becomes a tolerable, desirable, welcome change of climate after the months of summer heat. And again, January displays its irony. It is only in the dead of winter that we escape to the heat of the desert, in order to fully appreciate the heat of the summer.

Utah always has been a land of paradox.

Exit Question: Are you reading this through a feed reader? If so, click through to see the new Epic Riding template design.

The sweat and sting of summer, and the memories of powdery, dusty singletrack and tall dewey grass are still fresh and vibrant in my mind. But the stark contrast of the here and now is awe-inspiring. The Wasatch mountains are full of fresh, white, pillowy snow. And the beauty of that winter coat is readily apparent. Everywhere the white and the peeking browns and greens of defiant tree and earth create a sort of dreamscape. Especially in the evening, when the sun sinks behind the horizon, defeated and dejected after yet another day and another futile and hopelessly optimistic attempt to melt the world below.

As the sun plunges out of site it cries out in a final, desperate gasp of color and light, painting the winter in unknown hues and shades. For a brief moment the world is at peace, and the only thing that matters is the cold air and the natural colorscape of a winter sunset in the rocky mountains.


Mill Canyon Peak. Wasatch Mountains.

Keith is selling his medium (17.5) 2008 Gary Fisher HiFi Pro XC. It has many upgrades over the stock model, including:

• Bontrager Race X Lite Headset/Stem
• Bontrager Race X Lite Carbon Seatpost
• Bontrager Race X Lite Carbon Saddle
• Bontrager Race X Lite Carbon Crankset
• Bontrager Race X Lite Carbon Handlebar
• Rock Shox Reba SL G2 Geometry with remote lockout
• Rock Shox Monarch 4.2 rear shock
• Bontrager Superstock wheelset
• Avid Juicy Seven Brakes
• SRAM X9 Front and Rear Deraileur

This bike has never been ridden. It is in perfect shape, and is available now at a great deal.

Buy it here.

Labels: gary fisher, sale

Implementing a sort of cruel social obligation, Kenny scheduled, as he has several times before, a ride on New Year's morning. And so, while I crawled into bed as soon as possible after that other social obligation --staying up until midnight-- I found myself thinking of excuse after excuse to simply not show up for the 10AM ride.

But as I drifted off to sleep, the appeal and the lure of climbing up Squaw Peak Road on my mountain bike, over the frozen and packed machine trodden snow overcame any doubt and any excuse. I slept peacefully, knowing that in the morning a cold, challenging, and very nearly absurd bike ride awaited.

Excellent.

Up and up the snow we all pedaled. The snow was cold and firm, which meant limited time off the bike. Which meant that the normally built in explanation for hoofing it up the mountain ("well the snow is so soft!") was eliminated. In other words, fitness and the bottom of the year lack of it, was laid bare for all to see. And mock.

But alas, the finger pointing and snickering and cookie blaming was, like time off the bike, minimal. Instead we all quietly, although conversationally, made our way up the mountain, just as we have so many times before.

And as I climbed I contemplated the risk in beginning the new year with a fantastic bike ride. It is, as I see it, a two-edged sword. On one hand, there is little better way to begin the year. A solid, entertaining, enjoyable workout can easily set the tone for the days and weeks ahead.

But, on the other hand, it might be hard to top. You know what they say: "eat a live toad first thing in the morning, and nothing worse will happen that day." Riding a bike is hardly eating a toad. And so the potential for let down looms over the rest of the year.

But not really.

Indeed, I am optimistic for the coming year. I find myself once again drifting off to sleep at night with far horizons dancing through my mind. I see the White Rim and Gooseberry's north rim. I see deep forests, and open meadows. I see, everything that I hope to see in 2009. As well as other scenes that are merely distant fantasy, perhaps a reality on some future day.

And as for now, when I close my eyes I see the passing snow and tire tracks of Squaw Peak Road on New Year's day.

Labels: New Year, squaw peak

There is a certain irony, and even paradox in the fact that we celebrate the re-beginning of all things in the dead of winter. At the zenith of cold, and death and frozen decay we put aside the old and the past and the already has, in favor of the next.

We look with anticipation and hope and expectation at what may come. And what may come? It is nearly impossible to say, except that we know whatever it may be, it will come.

And so, as we have always done we simply move forward. Or rather, we stand in place and the days come and go around us while we try and fit as much life into them as possible. And then one day, all the days we will see in our lifetimes have come, and gone.

But until then, I will ride. And I will hike and run and swim and smile and laugh and change diapers. I will sit idly in some unnamed grove of trees on some unnamed ridge on an unnamed mountain and see into eternity.

I cannot stop the days from passing. I cannot stay the flow of time. But I can become an integrated part of it, rising and falling like the sun each day, and like the sun, attempting to see as much of the earth as possible.

Live and love in 2009.

Happy New Year.

Labels: New Year