It got a bit sketchy on the up this morning.

I live in the Wasatch mountains. I have for my entire life. I have walked and pedaled all over them for decades. I know them as I know an old friend. And yet, I feel as if I am only beginning to discover the Wasatch.

For some years I fought the winter. I demonized it. I ridiculed it. I dreaded it. Those days are over. I am done simply tolerating the snow. I will no longer curse the cold. I am done bitterly denouncing the long and dark Utah winter.

I will now embrace it, love it, and become a part of it.

And like peace after war, or light after dark, I will enjoy the summer months more so than I ever have before. The contrast between the heat and the cold and the dirt and the snow will be more pronounced, more appreciated, and more distinct than the simple and categorical seasons.

After our dawn patrol this morning, I hung my wet coat and pants to dry in the garage. Not on a rack or a hanger, or even on a nail. I hung them on the handlebars of my single speed.

And that innocent display of practicality sums up where my heart is right now.


The down, on the other hand, was not so sketchy.

I can't help but feel that the attitudes and actions of so many people right now are going to hurt us all in the long run. The short sighted buy-it-now mentality that normally responsible, forward looking folks are demonstrating is alarming. Especially within the last week.

What, you thought I was talking about the economy?


No, that is not the debt I am referring to. I am of course, speaking of snow. Last week a monster storm dropped 41 inches of fresh powder in the Cottonwoods. 41 inches. In late March. The feeding frenzy that followed was monumental. Skis that were hung for the summer were thrown haphazardly onto racks and into the back of cars. Bumper to bumper traffic lined the canyon roads.

Everyone wanted a piece of the powder. And luckily, there was enough to go around.

But the bill for the indulgences of the here-and-now will soon come due. At some point we are all going to have to pay for our face shots. And the price required is going to come in the form of wet, snow covered, un-rideable singletrack. Oh, sure the skiing has been fantastic this month. Massive storms have brought massive amounts of snow. But, like last year the spending spree of today will be the post-holing of tomorrow.

But I am finding it hard to care.


All "hip-hop and sh**..."

That is how good its been. And perhaps I am being hyperbolic, or just experiencing the new found joy in a hobby long dormant. Perhaps. But then, even Dug is giving the ski season a "ten". So at the very least, it isn't just me.


First turns 3 days after a storm? That's the Utah County backcountry.


The "mini-Chutes" (formerly 'the gully') were immaculate on Saturday.

I am certain that when the invoice comes due, I will bemoan the slow melting snow. But that day seems far off on the distant horizon, like some hypothetical world's end where all things come crashing down on the thrill and the pleasure of the right now.

And speaking of right now...I am looking out the window at the heavy white blanket shrouding the mountains in yet another winter storm, and am having trouble hiding the smile spreading across my face.

I never thought a day would come when I would drink diet soda. And I really never thought a day would come when I would prefer diet soda over its sweeter, stickier, calorie laden counterpart. But the sugar content in soda is alarming. And I am no longer a 20-something with an overactive metabolism. And anyway, I have grown to dislike ultra-sweet things in my old age.

This is not to say that diet soda is a good idea. I don't even know what is in the stuff. Reading the label makes me feel like an idiot. Like I did in high school chemistry. There are letters - vowels and consonants - strung together to form words, or at least, what look like words. But there is no comprehension. At all.

Acesulfame potassium? Um. OK.

But I am belaboring my greater quest. And today that has little to do with whether or not diet soda is good for you. It's not. No, I seek a more nuanced goal, a more noble conclusion. A great and terrible secret that lies hidden in the depths of some corporate vault - that is - I seek to know the difference between Diet Coke and Coke Zero.

If there is one.

Both are zero calorie, zero sugar drinks. They are both marketed to the diet soda crowd, and they both claim to taste "even better than the real thing" (Or was that Pespi? Or U2?). So, really they are both "diet" Cokes. But they are not the same. Except they sort of are.

The two drinks taste slightly different from one another. But not really. They come in different cans. Diet Coke in a classy silver, Coke Zero in a stylish black. Diet Coke has a "with lime" variety, whereas Coke Zero has a "with cherry" version. Which is awesome. It really is. But then, after Fatty's summer Tri last year the D.C. w/ Lime was also incredible. So they both taste (relatively) good. They both are diet drinks, and they both are made by Coca-Cola.

So really, is there any difference at all?

Perhaps a short anecdote will help prove once and for all that yes, indeed there is a difference between Coke Zero and Diet Coke.

A few years ago I was working on an edit of a documentary film. The film was nearly finished. We were more or less just sitting down to watch the movie from end to end. Make notes, watch for any hiccups, that sort of thing. We gathered at the studio, and before we hit the play button, raided the fridge. Inside was a case of Diet Coke, and a case of Coke Zero. I stared, a little puzzled, at the cases and asked:

"Whats the difference between the two?"

"You don't know?"

"Uh, no..."

"Look at the cans."

"They are...different colors?"

"One is silver and the other is black."

"Right?"

"It's simple. Diet Coke is for chicks. Coke Zero is for dudes."

And there you have it.


Exit Question: Diet or Zero?

Not too long ago Dug pointed out that here in the Wasatch, even the avalanche forecasters are "poetical". This morning as I read the daily avalanche reports that poetical nature was manifest once again:

There are those moments in life when you’re outside with good friends, or even alone, and you realize something has changed. The sun shines more brightly, the colors are more vibrant, the powder snow bottomless. It’s like a momentary glimpse of a rainbow just after a hard rain – and everyone looks at one another with smiles – and nothing needs to be said. We mark our lives by days like these. This was yesterday in the Wasatch.

For a moment I thought he was describing Obama's inauguration day. (I jest!)



Indeed, as the pictures from yesterday prove, it was one of those great days in the mountains. But in the mountains the weather changes fast. And especially in the winter. Stable snow can become unstable within a few minutes of heavy snow and wind. What was safe yesterday is today sketchy and unreliable - so much so that the UAC has issued an avalanche warning for the central Wasatch range. However, hopefully the heavy snow will lead to more solid, fluffy, poetical ski days.



Singletrack? Who needs it?

A fresh powder dump in the Wasatch can only mean one thing: Dawn Patrol.


Scottie's Bowl, Little Cottonwood Canyon.


It was as good a place as any to drop in.


We could have just fallen to the parking lot below.


Mark.


Tyler.


Myself.


The Knuckle Dragger.


A day like today felt like a bonus. Especially after a week of sunshine and singletrack. The powder tasted superb. Trust me. I ate a lot of it. The dawn skin up the gut of the bowl was steep and rewarding. I don't know who the group ahead of us setting the track were, but they did a fine job. After I made my first turns down the bowl the only thing I could say was:

"May I have some more please?"

And so we climbed back up for more.

It was without a doubt one of the best commutes I have ever had into work. And it probably was one of the better trips into school for Dug's 14 year old son who showed us all up on his first day in the backcountry. Well done Ian.



Mark heading back for seconds...or was it thirds?

Something that has immediately stood out to me about backcountry skiing is the way that a slope, with just a line of S curves cutting through it can stir the soul. I am new to the backcountry scene. And so my opportunity to cut those turns has been limited, both by experience and ability. But with time that will of course all change. But even in the few tours I have done I have at least felt that sense of accomplishment that comes from looking back up at a hillside, admiring the turns and saying 'I did that. I was here today'.

Nobody can undo those first tracks.

And I am not certain that that particular evidence exists in any other sport. In mountain biking you follow a trail that people have moved over in every direction, every day, for years. And even when you do cross a primitive or little used section of singletrack, all that is left is the trail. Unchanged. As if you never were there at all.

But those turns cascading down an otherwise untouched snowy slope are absolute proof that 'you were here'.

And I find that extremely appealing.

It has been a summer or two since I had a target on my calendar that I focused on for months in advance. In 2006 it was the KTR. I remember reading about the race and the route in December, and becoming obsessed about it from that point on. Every day, every ride, was approached with a single minded focus on finishing the Kokopelli Trail Race. Other events have had similar, if less intense periods of focus. The E100 series, the 24 Hours of Moab, and even local XC races have all had time in the cross hairs of my tunnel vision.

For 2009 that focus is back. And the target is the American Mountain Classic. August 20-23 just became the dates in which all other dates will revolve. My training and racing will all be done in the name of the AMC.

It feels good to be focused. To have a concrete, specific goal. To want to be competitive. And what is the goal for the AMC? For now that is mine to know, mine to quietly stare down, mine to mutter under my breath when hill repeats or 6 hour training rides feel pointless and unrewarded.

So, like those spring days obsessing over the serpentine Kokopelli, I am very excited to spend the summer scheming about the high altitude singletrack of Brianhead, UT.

Exit Question: See you there?

Primrose Cirque

I picked up Aaron at 5:30AM, and by 6 we were skinning up the Alpine Loop road. We worked our way up what we call simply 'the gully'. It is a draw above Aspen Grove that opens up into a series of bowls and empty ridges. Perfect for powder shots. We followed Aaron's skin track from yesterday, and when were ready to drop the ridge the only turns on the slope were also his. We hit the still soft and fluffy snow, slipped through sporadic pines, and in a matter of minutes we were back at the car, wishing we would have had more time for more laps.


Red is up, White is down.



I love watching the sun come up over Timpanogos. Very few mountains welcome the rising sun the way Timpanogos does. The cirques reveal themselves, the cliff bands reflect the first light, the snow sparkles and shines. Just as we gained the ridge the light hit the mountain. The huffing and puffing of our skin up the hill faded, as we took in our surroundings.



Our final approach to the drop-in was fantastic. No wind. Solid snow, an established track and beauty all around.



The psuedo-cornice (cornicita, as Aaron called it) running along the ridge made for a fun drop into the bowl. Aaron took a running start at it and caught a nice bit of air as he plopped into the soft powder. We made our floaty turns, dodged trees, and generally whooped our way down the mountain.

It was over too soon.

I sometimes wonder why I do the things I do. There are many answers. Some more compelling than others. But underlying all those answers is that pursuit of the thrilling, the exciting, that adrenaline induced ecstasy that manifests itself, appropriately, with a long, primal whoohoooooooo!

Some days any motivation to be lean and fast is trumped by the chase of those butterfly moments, whether they come on singletrack or in deep Wasatch powder seems irrelavant to the fact that those moments are out there, and perhaps more than anything else motivate our efforts. Becoming fit is just a nice side effect.

When I dropped into one of the Meadow Chutes on Tuesday morning I was nervous. And excited. We had just finished a healthy skin up through beautiful aspen trees. I was tired, and the wind was blowing on the ridge. The transition from hiking to skiing was cold. I pointed my skis downhill, Dug and Rob had already disappeared into the white, their turns cutting through the thick, soft snow.

I lunged forward, not sure what the result would be. It had been years since I skied the type of powder I was now floating through. Floating. Floating? Yes! I made a few turns, the powder plowing through the air, covering my face. Yes! I would have grinned, but the snow would have filled my mouth.

I had heard how incredible deep powder can be to ski. How euphoric, even orgasmic it can feel. It had been too long for me to remember that sensation, that thrill.

Woohoooooo!

As I started climbing back up the hill, another skier took the shot through the meadow. His hollers echoed off the trees. I caught a glimpse of him as he swept through the snow and trees.

Wooooooo!

The thrill of those first backcountry turns was offset by the searing pain of new boots. My feet turned to stumps, and I literally limped off the mountain. There was another shot of powder, but the pain made that hard to enjoy. When I fell over and half buried myself, I needed Mark to help me out. I felt a little embarrassed, a little angry. Mark was cool, and stayed with me as I hobbled down the skin track and back to the parking lot.

As my feet returned to normal, and I started to digest the day, I realized that it was only a taste of what is out there during the winter. And for the first time in my life I actually hoped winter would linger, overstay its welcome, stick around for a little longer.

But then, I also realized that the same (but different) thrill ride that that powder induced was also waiting once again to be sought after during the longer, warmer days of a Wasatch summer.

Only this time on single track.

Saturday I was racing my single speed in the dirt and red rocks of Saint George.

This morning I was skiing the fresh powder of the Wasatch on my first backcountry tour.

It's not hard to remember why I love Utah.

It is time to race again. And not a moment too soon. I just hope the weather is better than the last time I was in St. George.

There has been a question within my own life that has constantly badgered me. I have been aware of its presence, knowing that at some point I would need to finally face it, confront it, and subsequently answer it. I have asked this question of my writing, and of my riding, of my career (such as it is), and of my family life. There is almost nothing I have done in which I have not at times wondered:

What the hell am I doing?

There are days when that question is asked humorously, or within the context of an adventure or some physical endeavor. I have asked that question at start lines and during races and out in the lonely desert. I've wondered aloud at whether or not I'd ever ride a bike again. I've questioned my rational thought process on rims in Moab and in the forests of Colorado. But, essentially, that question has always been hyperbolic, not even meant to be answered. It became a coping mechanism to help me get through a difficult situation. Because ultimately the events of the day found a way of answering the question. That is, I found my way out of the wilderness and into the society of rational behavior - again and again.

But the question has plagued other aspects of my life recently. Or rather, it has been more prominent as of late. From professional choices and questions and options to simple rhetorical musings, I seem to be unable to find a satisfactory answer. And of course the question itself, at least, seems much less hyperbolic when it has to do with more pressing matters of life and money and jobs and those institutions that society has of necessity put so much importance in.

I've never been one attracted to the traditional work day. And frankly have always struggled to motivate myself through week after week after year after year of those traditional working hours. But of course, it makes sense as the most effective way to earn and produce. And still though, I look at things ideally, questioning the system.

And I wonder if my tendency to ride longer distances in uncelebrated, underground events is not a reflection of my innate rejection of doing things a certain way because that is how things have always been done? Perhaps. Except that this summer I am looking forward to riding more established, shorter, sanitized races. And so it might be that the above wonderment is off kilter. Or at least not entirely responsible for my love of solitude and free races.

But I take comfort knowing that more often than not I have found answers, however temporary, to this vexing question in riding my bike. I seem to be able to piece together the puzzle of life a little more precisely when I am pedaling circles with regularity. It seems to be the oil that moves the entire machine of whoever it is that I am. And am trying to be.

And so I will keep trying to answer the question. And I will continue to look for those answers within the singletrack of the Wasatch and the desert. In the rocks and the rivers. Peaks and valleys. And from someplace within me, I am confident that at some point I will know, just what exactly the hell I am doing.



Exit Question: What the hell are you doing?

There has been a tangible change in the air. The taste of winter seems faded, muted. The sun is lingering on the horizon a little longer, and the birds are chirping a little louder. Spring is making its first attempt at breaking through the icy clutches of a snowy winter.

But, it won't last. It never does this early in the year. Winter will return to remind us that here in the mountains it lasts long and reaches far. But the glimpse of spring that this week has afforded us has been a welcome relief. A small reminder of what is coming as the days warm and the season changes.