F you covid and thanks.

O the places I'll go (with these two)!

   Beginning of break. I read and hear about this covid fatigue thing. I suppose that’s what I’m suffering with. Not fatigued because I have covid-thankfully (been tested four times)-but living and teaching and husbanding and fathering and house maintaining during this pandemic’s what’s getting me fatigued. In addition to this, my beautiful state is hitting record-high acres burning due to forest fires in addition to the upcoming presidential elections are putting my noggin into all manner of bat shit crazy. Just heard that Hal Ketchum passed away last night (the 25th) due to complications of dementia! Give me a fucking break 2020! It mos def has a cumulative and exhaustive effect for sure. Maybe I’m not blowing off enough stress? I’ve ridden some killer miles but when I get home, the tabs in my brain begin to open up again; but fair enough, before I went cycling, I suppose I didn’t shut them down and log off properly. I’m grateful I can still feel that pillar of survival. Karen-my extraordinary wife-and I still laugh a lot. Mostly when we talk at night, sometimes in the morning. I couldn’t imagine being in a pandemic with anyone other than her. My oldest daughter was living with us for a while too and I am so immensely proud of her. I live with two awesome, smart, athletic women. Well, my sweet boo gives me her blessing to go without her to visit my brothers during a second, massive wave of covid ripping through this beloved country of mine. I was checking for Airbnb’s that would accept dogs in the Phoenix area and I was not getting any luck for the money I wanted to spend. She saw me struggling I’m sure. Not anything massive ('cept drooling or my lack of completion of sentence; but that's most days) but watching me cope poorly. No group rides when I get there, just me saying, ‘later’ to my ego and to take deep breaths, enjoy the company of my brothers and soak in the vibes the Sonoran Desert emanates either running or cycling within its spiritual confines. As with any good road trip, you have to have some choice tunes. My latest sonic fix(es) is: Ben Cooper aka Radical Face. I got two of his Family Tree series: The Branches and The Bastards. Ghost completes this road tripping Ben Cooper trio. Another one is Preston Lovinggood aka Wild Sweet Orange. I sonically came across an old CD of his called We Have Cause to Be Uneasy and forgot how amazing it is, so I downloaded his EP The Whale. Can’t forget my devil music-a good dose of Lamb Of God is a plus heading down the highway. On my six or so hour trip to Albuquerque, I reminisce on why I am heading towards this destination. Why I need to reset mentally, appreciate what I have and to commune on my mtb with forces outside myself. Furthermore, when I get there, I will blow of the carbon build up on the exhaust and intake systems of the machine called The Notorious M.I.K.E. Gotta make the machine run cleaner and more appreciative given the fuel and circumstances, creating purposeful velocity towards destination: chill-my-shiznit-out.  

Already feeling better. 

L-R: moi, Jeremy, and Woody

   First Ride: We went out to Black Canyon Trail (BCT): Antelope Cyn to Bumblebee. The last time I was out here was with Kevin, but now, this was a new route. What I also remembered from last summer was the loud, tinnitus producing, rapid syncopation of rattling from a rhumba of ninja rattlesnakes out here-that’s what made it spooky. You round a bend at speed and all you hear-not see- are evolutionary adaptations of Mr. Crotaluses keratin shakers. The only thing that did physically tagged me were the overgrown plants with thorns. I saw the cacti well enough, but the spreading branches got my left knee (the same knee I like to crash on too) pretty good. My second shuttle ride (my first was Monarch Pass). Took the Acura and needless to say it was on dirt roads. I remembered the trick for not getting bounced on the ripples was to haul ass so my suspension would ride on the tops and not push into the troughs via harmonic frequency. It worked pretty well although my black beauty was dusty. Like Monarch, this was a net downhill. Rocky as can be. Some super skinny singletrack that should you lose it, you’re going down a ravine with nothing but sharp, angular rocks and cacti to help break your fall. It’s that crushed granite stuff, so you had to stay alert-especially when chasing a local (Lem’s friend, Woody). Was impressed on how my nephew Jeremy was climbing. If he could descend as quick as he can climb, that boy would be double legit! You know I had to keep him honest by climbing at tempo. That evening, Neil and I stopped at Ambassador Cigars-a mighty fine establishment might I add-and I bought three, Padron 1926s, one was a Madura for my oldest brother Lem. Oh man, tasty but I dint smoke it down. When we were talking in my brother’s back porch, trippy looking cirrus clouds formed over the desert and made me smile. That evening, my brain was starting to settle down because it was finally arriving in break mode. Got 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep that night. You know how you can’t sleep in strange beds even though they’re decent when on vacay? My brain was finally settling. On our way home, Neil and I go halfsies on a bottle of 18 year-old, very rare, Glenmorangie for Lem’s birthday coming up. Addendum to the very rare Glenmorangie. 18 year-old scotch doesn’t leave a finish after you gulp it. Mos def feel the heat, even when I exhale immediately on the gulp. It’s a super clean, minimum-to-no finish. It’s smooth with a sublime taste. The taste is fainter with an older bottle than with something younger. I think I like 12-15-year-old scotches better because it leaves a nice, hearty finish and when I swirl it in my mouth and bathe my tongue with it, I taste what I smelled when I swirled it. I was hoping to taste what my nose smelt when I swirled it but I only caught a fraction of that bouquet. Drank it with spherical ice cubes. It was almost too cold; but with bourbon that spherical frozen hydrogen hydroxide mass o’cold really makes the bourbon pop. 

top of Ridgeback overlook

   Second ride. I fly solo on a tip Lem gives me: Apache Wash. It’s right outside of Anthem. Pretty cool yet simple trail system. I think the whole outer perimeter’s like 16 miles? I loop a couple of the steady state climbs-Ridgeback-on my segments. Noticed that my cleats were loose and thankfully I carry tools in my wagon, so back to the car I go to snug ‘em down at 5 nm a’piece. It’s very XC-like terrain so I let it rip on the climbs but stay cautious on the at-speed, downhill curves. It’s still a mixture of mostly crushed granite floating on talcum powder soCan’t be apex turning when Mr. Cacti are there to greet you rather suddenly. I notice a girl running in a two-piece bikini. I guess I would too if I was sun-starved (‘cept I’d be in a one-piece). Fun, flowy, and fast. 

    Non-sequitur insert: I’m a new fan of Suntori. A salient feature of staying with Neil is that we are kidless. It makes it easier because I (mostly) watch my Ps and Qs whenever there are wee ones around and since they were missing it really nice speaking without too much of a filter, having adult conversations (I’m a high school teacher), and drinking scotch whenever the need arises! Neil has quite the collection of scotch in his quiver. Mos def a fan of Suntori. It’s a little sweeter; but nothing wrong with that. Got in seven hours of uninterrupted sleep that evening! 

   Third ride. Gonsta scratch Mount Lemmon off my riding bucket list! Oddly it was a cold and windy day in Tucson, but this isn’t a start of a mystery novella, just me belly-aching before a 25 mile climb that’ll sting your legs with 5500' of elevation gain. The dealio is, is to park at a coffee joint called Le Buzz. In Le Buzz I order a double espresso and I get the 4-1-1 from a local on the route up. Thankfully I brought (and wear) my knee and arm warmers and a base layer, even though the temps are deceiving. At around 6k’ elevation, the wind is kinda ripping and I’m getting cold. I find the landmark Woody told me to turnaround at: Palisade Visitor Center. 

midway up

As I’m descending, my 50 mm deep dish, pan pizza wheels are acting like sails and I viciously get blown off my line numerous times. A little unnerving going 40 mph, so I get super alert again and ride it out-sometimes on the drops, sometimes on the hoods-prolly with the death grip. On the way up though, you can see ecosystems changing appropriately with its elevation. The road here is rough and when your tires are at 120 psi, I can feel ALL the road’s uneven micro-contours, chunkiness, and cobbled together sections-especially downhill. Even though I road ride in Colorado, we too have fairly long steady-state climbs but not 26 or so miles uphill. I suppose if you road ride up Mt Evans or Pikes Peak, but I don’t think it’s twenty miles of straight up. That kinda shocked the legs a bit; but thankfuly, what goes up, must come down. Thankfully the shoulders didn’t have rumble strips for when I deviated from my line due to me or this infernal cross wind. Had to pee something fierce and as you know, the public restrooms near mid-mountain were closed due to the ubiquitous effects of Covid. 

   Fourth ride. Rode at White Tanks Regional Park. It was a trail Lem took me on once before and Kevin and I attempted it too late in the scorching heat this past summer. Instead of going clockwise, I went counterclockwise, and it kicked my butt. Still having mother nature challenging you with all her Sonoran Desert beauty is still awe-inspiring (yet amazingly painful). Was going to loop the competitive segment in but it was getting too late and I had to get back to the visitor center. I was lucky to not have sliced a tire out here. Here, there is a plethora of sharp, big assed rocks. The funny thing is when I was on Mesquite Trail (?) I no longer saw any mountain bike tread imprints on the soil. Guess I was the only one dumb enough to attempt to ride this section counter-clockwise. My hardtail is taking me on some cool adventures. Out here it’s analogous to being a pedestrian, performing bi-pedalism in New York City. That city is a pinnacle of condensed human interaction and achievement. It's a visual show-and-reveal. The desert is like that for me. I am just rubbernecking trying to get in as much visual data as my reptilian brainstem’ll allow me to upload. It looks like Moab on Mars with all variations of cacti surrounded by a backdrop of gnarly looking mountain ranges. Figure in the 60- or 70-degree temps-man, sometimes I have to pinch myself that I’m here riding and communing with nature in my humbling and bumbling way. Thankful for the evolution of how everything arrived at this point in my space-time continuum for this barely sentient being to soak it in and grateful enough to resonate in my noggin’. 

   Last ride was with my Lem and my nephew Jeremy. We rode out at Estrella Mountain. Apparently the trail builders out there-thank you!-built some new trails that Lem wanted to check out. Lem brought his new whip for this one-his Pivot. He was one with the bike and he just went volume 11 whenever he could. My legs were amazingly compliant after all these days of riding because I mostly stretch post-ride (so hopefully that’s why!). Not going to bore you with terrain and stuff but riding out here, today with my kin-folk, really distilled the highlights of hanging with my brothers and their families. 

Estrella in Goodyear

I really enjoyed the closeness, the talks, the downtime, the breaking of bread, the drinking of scotch, the smoking of 90 point plus cigars, and just the silent electricity flowing within my tribe. The familial unit and the interactions therein really placed a tranquil yet appreciative frame-of-mind in my consciousness. No more trepidations of returning to work, but it allowed a mental reset and a healthier perspective for the remainder of my semester. Loved every minute I was there and you know why? Family. Ain’t gonna lie, I did miss my boo something fierce. I get to come home to that slice of heaven. Well, thank you and I’m gonna give this one a ‘W.’ Oddly, this pandemic made this memory even more sweeterer.

SLC with a UT (U of TX @ Austin) OG (with one from the 303, whose brah was OC now living in big D), and White Rim.

The views here at the White Rim Trail are amazing!

Made it to SLC, UT with my OG from UT (University of Texas). This was after Kevin and I rode Moab's White Rim Trail in a day.

If you've never done (supported, self-supported, single, multiple day...etc.) White Rim Trail; may I suggest you do it? It's 100% double track (it is designed for high clearance vehicles); but from that hundy percent, there's about 7% sketch.  Sketchy because of the pitches of the double track. Downs were more doable than the ups going counter clockwise (starting at Mineral Bottom and finishing at Island in the Sky (aka Shafer Trail). Here's my Garmin fo-one-one on our one-day glorious endeavor of a wee bit of pain but mostly fun adventure. Was it epic? Prolly. It was mos def on my bucket list o' monumental stuff to do. If you only have a hardtail, i found it deluxe riding the White Rim on my dual squish. Consider buying (or renting) a DS for this one.

My UT roomie and teammie, Grant

After some route finding and buying entry level SPD pedals because I forgot mine (we switched cars in the last minute), we finally arrived--by bike mind you--at our intended trailhead. It was a bunch of trails created by the city of Draper for the local neighborhoods. Rim was Saturday, now it's Wednesday and Grant and I (another teammate) head off to Corner Canyon in Draper. Let me give you a primer right quick on Grant. He was a cyclist I met on some random day out road cycling in Plano, TX (service road on 75) in the early nineties where we exchanged contact info. From there we raced on the same team, became roommates in college (U of TX @ Austin), got married (not to each other), went our separate ways (with each other), moved to Colorado (at different times), and we reconnected in the most fortuitous way (yet it seemed intentional)-phew!

Top of the climb, well, one of them.

Before the downhill towards town.

We climbed Canyon Hollow like three times because we did a super flowy, g'd out downhill called Rush and The Trees, twice (feeling the Rush theme here?). On our last climb up we ascended Jacob's Ladder to the nearest summit. Once up we adjusted ourselves, put some more clothes on and proceeded to blast down (a trail called) Ghost Falls.

It too was kinda tight, had some unexpected outcroppings of jagged, bumper style limestone protuberances that kept you honest and constantly scanning yet (like a lifeguard on the weekend surveying his pool) super flowy DH with the ground just a smidge tacky (kinda like your crazy uncle over for dinner) from previous rains which let us do our hellified gangsta lean (sorry Snoop Dogg) in the  semi-banked curves thereby keeping our velocity constant-or accelerating-as we entered and exited said semi-banked curves. As usual, we were not aware of the arc of the sun exiting early on her fall path because we were distracted by the novelty of these trails as if we were riding in the Summertime. Alas we head back to Grant's mama haus. What a fun time riding the local trails! Utah never seems to amaze me with her spectrum of riding terrain that's readily available, waiting for you sample. Needless to say, I'm still in a post-honeymoon phase from my White Rim soirée. Anyhoos, here's my Garmin data from Corner Canyon:

It was a cold start and (it) never really warmed up; furthermore, once the sun says, "later" the mercury plummets fairly fast here in the glorious Rocky Mountains-Wasatch version 1.0. Glad I brought my cold weather stuff (vest, base layer, leg and arm warmers and my Texas balaclava-not the dessert). I never took off my knee warmers for the duration of the ride.

On our ride, Grant's chamois was bunching up (he rode baggies), and it gave him a pesky saddle sore. The pain and the discomfort might be intense enough to not ride tomorrow. That's cool if that's the case, I can do some work related stuff (ahh work!). Hopefully my chamois butter can accelerate the healing but because the sore's on a pressure point...we'll see.

Thursday afternoon (because we're rather sloth-like moving in the morning) I call Jans on Park Avenue (a bike/sports shop) in Park City because of their helpfulness and professionalism to the bike industry and trail updates (but mostly of their service the last time Karen and I mtb Park City) about the status of their iconic Mid-Mountain Trail. Karen and I did portions of this last time and now, Grant and I wanted to ride the whole thing. Seeing the Wasatch Range as we drove from Moab, there's precipitation on dem dere hills so we didn't want to trash the trails because we're uniformed noobs. Sadly the mechanic on the other end of the phone replies, "I wouldn't ride it." Instead he recommends the Coyote Loop Trail in Heber City and the Dutch Hollow Trails in Midway.  After checking out the topos and reviews of each trail, it's off to Coyote Loop.

The drive to Heber City-as with any drive with the Wasatch Range staring down at you-was visually impressive. Again, after decoding the GPS we park right off the side of the highway on a tiny gravelly driveway where another car with bike racks was parked. A good sign because this has to be one of the trailheads. As we get ready, we see riders-owners of the car-return and it looks like a mud pumper was blasting them face-forward hitting their downtubes point blank while their kits' backsides looked full-sized (dark-brown) rejects from a rorschach inkblot test (my personal interpretion? they were ass hats for fucking the trail up). We call a(mud)n audible about our path of the trail. The trail's a crescent with the Riverview connector that makes it a loop, so our plan: we go as far as we safely can-free of mud-then pull an out-and-back when the ground's ready made concrete. Twenty miles mtbing is a quality, quantifiable number of fun so when my Garmin reads 10 miles we keep going, sussing trail rideability. The ground's wet and tacky now and as we keep proceeding counter clockwise it's turning into gravy. U-turn! Up to that point we were steadily climbing. 2000' worth of climbing. Part of the trail we shared with a sheep farmer so we had a livestock-belled, captive audience watching a pair of novices climb...and climb. Beautiful climb, switchbacks to keep us honest. Our arrival and the preceding rains made for high friction, tacky goodness for a shredding downhill. We're talking a mostly net downhill of ten miles. I lead on the climbs (mostly because I have an XC specific dual boinger-Scott RC Spark); and Grant leads on the downs (mostly, because he has a Scott Ransom 900 Tuned). So ten miles of down, here we go! Grant takes off and after a minute or so of not pedaling and hauling ass, you notice idiosyncrasies about the rider in front of you (like body englishing, turning habits, brand of shorts...etc.).

Here's what I notice: over randomly placed baby heads he skis through them like moguls. It's kinda funny. Ever seen a video of a camera person following a large lizard swimming (you prolly haven't but I have)? His butt does the same thing and that's what it reminded me of. Quiet upper body but hips moving as if doing some circa 70s disco gyration. I'm pretty sure I don't do that but I just now noticed that. Must be from his moto days. We both rail the berms. Inside knee counterbalancing all the weight (we're pushing) on the downhill leg. Inside knee pointing to the direction we want to go while twisting our upperbodies in order for our bellow button to follow the highlighted line our brain's projecting on the singletrack.

We pass a guy resting from a climb as it junctions with us and as we go past him and he decides to join the Thing1 and Thing2 chase. Grant noticing our trail remora lays down some extra watts on the pedals and amp up our juking and jiving in this flowy downhill (testosterone poisoning to the nth degree-guilty). Okay now we're going race pace. On a short climb it switchbacks and I'm able to look back to see if our remora's ovalized sucking disc is still operative. It ain't. He dun popped; but we're still flying like a bunch of lunatics. There's a sharp hill around the corner and Grant gets bogged on a large-ish gear, I pass and continue our near reckless descent (there's nobody out here, 'cept a bunch of sheep). It's not really reckless: we are aware of our stopping distances should an obstacle in the form of a human or rock appear. We know trail etiquette about hikers and uphill riders having the ROW. Regardless we're (safely?) bombing this run and voilà (pronounced voh-EEL-a), we're back at our car.

The Firecracker 50, 2018 edition: OUCH! update

Have done fo' mtb races so far y'all. In order: Ridgeline Rampage (2nd), Fangdango (won), Firecracker 50 (got my ASS handed to me, 18th), and Rattler race 1 (3rd, dropped a chain!). Let me begin with:

 I. Am. A. Grateful. MoFo.

Have done a lot of cool things this summer with my wife and kids (not necessarily together mind you) and we're still not done. I foresee some more XC races, some more tom foolery, some more quality pool time, and eating in the very near future if not right now damnit!

Calf marked, packet picked up. Time to poseur myself as a marathon XC racer. I'm a 50 year-old expert racer.

Firecracker 50 (it's a 52 mile mountain bike race in Breckenridge on Independence Day)

I did this twice. Look at the X-axis, that'll give you some climbing perspective

Holee muthuh f'ing mackeral! That was just downright ugly and difficult (kinda like some of my dates-not the fertilized ovary of a date palm which i find DELISH-in high school). The thing about doing marathon races in loops is that you have to face the climbs, the gnarly downhills, the sketchy sandy bits at speed (or at slow, in my case), twice!  Argh!

and...we're off!

Our group takes off and we hit the long ass road/dirt climb. We are yanking a fierce pace! First it's a group of 18, then 15, then 10 and I'm saying holee shnap! I'm actually hanging on. We pass a small group of the category that went before us (40-49 Expert Males). I'm saying to myself, Self? Don't these bitches know we have another 48 miles left? And good job hanging on you handsome devil! Then a tiny little buff dude in my category finds another gear and I'm attacking off the back. Later you fast mother f*(^ers! It's been nice riding with y'all. Thank you for letting get a mental draft for as long as I did! On the second lap, on a super scorching downhill (my Garmin said I hit 31 m.p.h. here), I made a note to myself to employ during the second lap. I said, hey self! what up you handsome sumbitch?! You can carry your speed through this sweeping lefthander without hitting the brakes if you do some sweet ass inside-outside-inside apex carving. I was making a lot of notes to myself actually but this one was prolly at the top of my time saving antics to make a new PR (which proved to be fruitless).

Karen snapping a picture right after I get a wee bit of air on my new whip! thanks Raceco.org

The promotors carved a new section of climbing trail this year and the extra climbing proved too much for my altricial race preparedness. Needless to say it was still pretty badass, tight, loose dirt, rocky, bermy, flowy singletrack, plopped into the middle of one of the more super scenic part of the Rocky Mountains that happen to be in Breckenridge.
Second lap and I'm dying! My first lap time is just average and I mentally prepare myself to just survive and tourist this thing towards the end. On a personal note, I passed a lot of youngsters, 1 male pro, prolly 5 pro women and I got mutually passed as well. Didn't care for the one lappers and their fresh kits and fresh legs/lung combo as they cruised by me.

what you don't see are some spent legs on the second go 'round.

I was so tired on the second lap instead of just taking handups from the cadre of cool, generous volunteers, I physically unclipped one pedal and stopped where I drank and ate while people passed me at the feedzone. I would eventually pass some of them up but it was no use trying to figure out who was in my category. Here comes the screaming downhill and sho' nuff here comes the lefthander. I see clouds of dust in front of me so I guess I'm fitt'na come up on some not so risky downhill riders. When I flow through the curve I see a rider standing behind some shrubs on the outside of the curve bleeding from the mouth (he musta biffed it at speed, hence the dust bombs). I lock it up and ask if he's okay. He says he's fine. I tell a paramedic anyways at the next first aid station that I witnessed a homie at the bottom curve of the downhill that's bleeding from the mouth from what I suspect was a high speed crash.

Chilling, post-race at our cabin/motel room in Breckenridge

I am able to do these races because I have such a supportive crew. The crew consisting of my badass wife Karen (right picture) who also happens to be a vegetarian, mountain biker. She's kind of the shit y'all. After I finish, I'm done internally and externally. I grab some beer and I earn another Firecracker 50 pint glass that I promptly fill with a saison. Then I hit some vegetarian grub and the glass-me-is slowly filling half full. Finished 18 out of 23. Here's a link to my Garmin data (you may have to login if you ain't down with the way o'Garmin) to see my sucky quantifications of my race unworthiness. Some  stuff worth mentioning...during one of my literal rest stops talked to a cool volunteer from Wisconsin who was visiting and was very cheerleader-like to the racers, rode nearly all of little French on the first lap and more than 2/3rds on my second lap, went on cool hikes with Karen, Mason, and our four legged chilluns in the evening when my legs were all jangly from racing, I nailed one of the hiking, metal restriction posts with my wide-ass handlebars/bar end combo, and I had a bad case of insomnia the night before prolly thinking about the race-oh well. The next day, Karen and Mason rode Horseshoe Gulch and ripped the trails while I SLOWLY walked the dogs.

Onwards to the next adventure!

O Deem. Summer Break 2018 Beginneth...

May I present the class of 2018?

Well folks, another year in the books. The high school academic books, that is. First time this year I got over a hundy miles straight mountain biking in four days. Was gonna ride this morning but a wee bit of rain made that decision for me (to not mt bike) instead. It's kind of nutty now that time--which is a luxury item really--thinking about what to do to become productive can give you paralysis of analysis. On the bike, things to do or plan enters my noggin like an epiphany of sorts. It's where I get my inspiration or else it's back to the (mental) pedestrian mode. I suppose both aren't particularly bad if you're doing something productive between the inspiring/pedestrian poles.

Before I ride, I usually like to start the morning downing some espresso, maybe a bagel or bowl of cheesy grits with eggs over easy mixed-in, then off to the trails. It's the summer break, ritualistic aspect of having so much time in front of you. You want to be intentional, purposeful, but not too regimented. I guess that's why I like to train solo. When you have to rely on yourself getting something done, you really have nobody to blame but yourself should the outcome not be in your standards.

A response to one of my quizzes

Training solo allows me to daydream, adjust my intensity, power down, rinse and repeat. It also allows me to belch and/or fart whenever I feel like it and not worry about being polite or my lack of self-control. I love the fact I don't have to wait for anybody or anybody to wait for my slow ass for that matter. Signed up to do the Firecracker 50 this year after a multi-year hiatus. Got second place at my inaugural, 2018 XC marathon event--the Ridgeline Rampage. My teammate Michael put a 17 minute smackdown/gap on me for the win. Damn he flew! Yeah boys: a 1-2 finish for Raceco.org. Broke in my dually at the race. It's like racing on my couch. A couch that has precise steering albeit the SRAM brakes kinda suck (aint no XT like on my hardtail) and my lower back absolutely loved it!

One of my BFF's is also my colleague-one-third of the homey trinity, so on our last day (where we had a luncheon at a classy country club where I had seconds!) we went on a ride in our neighborhood (yes, we're lucky to have 30+ miles of singletrack in our 'hood). We. Went. Chill. It was also 90º F that day too. So chill we stopped at a Starbucks where we talked introspectively about the conclusion of another teaching year whilst sipping on a lemonade and matcha, green tea latté. 'Twas a year full of erstwhile lazy, drama filled, inspiring, intelligent, almost adult mature, funny (and fun!), quasi-sad classroom students that can (and more than likely will) fortuitously Jekyll and Hyde you, throwing the vibe off that you wanted to instill at the beginning of class for a loop. We talked about the incredulity of the nation wide disease of cowards shooting their fellow classmates and asking ourselves will it happen to our beloved high school? We talked about our mutual student-Nick- who is so damn lazy but an incredibly smart and likable fellow that when he does work he's proud of his accomplishment(s) and he knows how proud we are of him. Actually, for a bunch of dudes, we likes to gossip about our science department colleagues and our other nutty HS departments (how sexist was that statement?).

Here she is, riding my buddy's back on a hike in NM.

Speaking of being proud, our oldest daughter, Maricel, graduated too. Going to Oberlin College. Ever seen the most excellent movie Father of the Bride? Sometimes, when she's super animated talking to Karen or to me, or both, I get an out-of-body experience and I undergo a cinematographic, close-up effect of her face panning into my view and I see this 18 year-old adult talking but what I really see is this (picture on the right).

Here she is now; two babycakes

Here's two of my all-time favorite girls juxtapositioned by fate and general badassity. Pretty proud moment for all of us. Her graduation seating arrangements absolutely sucked! Damn y'all Golden High School logistics coordinator from hell!

Real deal, y'all.

I'm not too strict of a teacher and I have a rather odd sense of humor/personality. This year I (unintentionally) set off the fire alarm--full on AFD response, school evacuation...etc. only to happen another day later when another chemistry teacher did the same lab. The lab dealt with  a mixture remotely resembling gun powder from three dissimilar chemical equations (different mole ratios) using percent composition, stoichiometry, lab techniques, manners, and common sense. When the last group combusted it in the fume hood, someone turned it off and I said to my self, self? do you think the alarm will go? Sho nuff, 10 minutes later my questions was answered.

Two days later, I told my colleague--who wanted to do the same lab--to make sure it's combusted in the fume hood. Apparently her fume hood sucked (or it didn't suck enough) and voilà, déjà vu all over again. At least on the days the alarms went off, it was on a beautiful, blue-bird skies, Colorado afternoon. On the second time, people asked if I did it again. Ha.

When we were doing locker cleanout, we teachers have to hangout in the hallways to ensure no fights break out and that the kids are actually throwing their junk away in the provided trash bins. When teachers leave their desks, students like to sit in their teacher's chair(s). I guess it's like sitting in the captain's chair. I tell them not to do that. One nice enough, mischievous kid, sensing this opportunity--who is smart, full of drama, dresses like a gansta (kinda not like me), writes using bad grammar (kind a lot like me) ran up and sat in my chair when I was out in the hallway, gesticulating like he was the teacher. When he sat up there, I yelled back into my classroom, "Who said you can sit in Daddy's chair?" All the kids said, "oooooh!" and some laughed and he felt embarrassed (in a non-threatening, non-persecutorial sort-of-way) and he sat back down at his own desk with a smile on his flushed face. It's all about the rapport I guess.

Well Summer, hello! Let's get some: riding, tom-foolery, shenanigenry et al started!

Pre, pre-Spring Break

Been a while.

Lots of things have happened since then. The most significant (of it) was our son living with us, now. Living with his Mom was too traumatic for him being the lowest, unappreciated kid on their pecking order with a blended family and accompanying self-destructive dynamics.

He started living with us (as the only full-time child) this past Christmas Break and along with frequent visits to his therapist and our united front with him, we are making some inroads with nutty arsed behavior and how he perceives himself. Grades are getting better, he's socially evolving, but all in all, in the greater perspective he's still a 12 year-old kid. If you don't have a twelve year-old boy; holy shit then you don't know what hell you're missing people (not the 80s band). He's a still a ding-a-ling, but he's our ding-a-ling and like I said, we are making some progress; not expecting a digital change instantaneously but it is measurable. Yea to little victories! Yea adderall!

I am a dad. Who cycles. A cycling dad per se. I should change the title of my blog to Cycling Dad and his sweet homie. Y'all should try it sometime-parenting, that is.  Either part-time or full-time. If you don't have thick skin and zen-like empathy it could really mess you up (or at the very least color the rest of your day or change its trajectory in a way you didn't like nor expect). If you're going to have a kid and NOT be a deadbeat it takes a lot of emotional energy and a lot of filtering what you're going to say when the gerbil falls of the running wheel called your projected self. This is the part where you're going to say shit your parent's say and the moment it hits you say Damn! I'm turning into my Dad!

Karen walks in...

Cycling Dad has a partner! Her name is Karen. She's a badass y'all. I feel for all the single parents out there fighting the good fight. If I didn't have such an amazing partner, whom I fooled into marrying me, I'd prolly be in jail for doing some outrageous shit to my kids, not be as grateful or as mindful, and not be a focused whole. Oh that Karen. She resonates deeply within my self (NOT myself). I can dedicate a whole blog on her badassery.

I switched teams (the serious dial has just been turnt down). I race for Raceco.org.

self-explanatory

It's the brainchild of my DS Kyle and his brah-in-law to annex a highly successful, local road team with the black sheep, dirt riders who are also quite fast on fat tires on soil (or did we annex them?). What this team gives me is validation and worth. I enjoyed my time with Natural Grocers; but this is just the evolution of the the selfish (as opposed to shellfish) cycling dad and his need to go fast with the proper support crew. First of all, my teammate happens to run Grist Brewery. So yeah, we're sponsored by crafty-assed brew master creating an array of delish beverages that can also lay down some watts in the dirt WHO IS LOCAL! That definitely fulfills a need.

Ain't gonna lie; Kyle (a classy yet cloyingly inappropriately funny dude, who's also a dad who races bikes) runs a badass shop called Raceco Tune. Badass technicians...that's inside Grist Brewery. It's a dreamy symbiotic conjoining ain't it?  A full service shop inside a local fave brewery? I can wrench on my bike (or let a pro do it) and enjoy a Berliner (not a jelly donut). A badass bike sponsor-Scott. With that said, I am the proud owner of a 2018 Scott Spark Team RC! O jes, ees purty y'all.

O jes, ees purty y'all!

I don't need a lot to keep me happy but making the switch to a new team has rejuvenated the old ass racer in me. When I say old, dude I'm now 51. Holy shite when did that happen (mmm, 51 years ago?)?

I like my teammies. Holy shite are they fast. They own some KOMs locally. Yeah, don't hate me because I Strava. I like Strava but I hear you on is it truly a ride if I can't download it? I'm safe. I represent cyclists and my team when I'm out riding. When I approach people  in a multi use trail, I do it as fast and as quite as I can and yell at the top of my lungs passing on your left mothaf***er! and actually pass on their right!  No, I announce myself chill-like, where I intend to pass and thank them with all my fingers as I pass them on stated side. I yell at dicks who ride bikes like, hey! don't be dick! When I witness their dickery to hikers and I apologize for their dickery to offended hikers.

Just ruminating in a quiet house, that's empty. My sweet Karen's off with her brother Drew and her close friends to participate in outdoor tom foolery and vitamin D synthesis in Moab, UT and the vacuum of her absence was a catalyst for me to express myself blogside.

Really looking forward to see what damage I can do (not on myself) on the XC scene now that I have full squish and a renewed hunger to race dirt (NOT your Grampa who happens to be the same age as the aforementioned).

Looking forward to seeing my brother in Dallas once my break starts. Should prolly take my hardtail, just in case! Heading down to Austin too to visit some homies and my alma mater: TEXAS! Hook 'em! They just lost to Nevada after a 14 point lead. It made me say some inappropriate words y'all.

I October Break Ergo I Am

Oh damn! Oh damn! Well folks after another challenging yet fulfilling quarter of HS Chemistry teaching, my inner child--Mikey, let's say to remain anonymous--is crying for attention. He wants some sun, he wants some ride time, he wants some Moab! Don't get me wrong, my lovely wife--if I were to use a us as a Venn Diagram--has a A LOT of overlap with what we find endorphin releasing activities; but she just got back from her October Break that she spent with her brother (me brah in-law Drew) at Universal Studios Orlando, specifically the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I was so missing and jealous of her luxuriating/vacationing/chilling time when I was freezing my hambones off during one of the earliest snowfalls/freeze warning CO had in a while. When she got back, my compass of OCD and completeness was recalibrated I started to think about what Billy and (two-thirds of the homey trinity) break would look like. We leave tonight and I am sooo Jonesing to go. He's an adjunct prof teaching Computer Science so I have to wait (boo-hoo!) 'til he's done teaching then we bail to Parachute. Home of some sweet peaches and that much closer to the Mecca of mountain biking. In fact, we're also heading to Saint George to do some Gooseberry Mesa and some Zion NP. Got a Go Pro to act as an audio-visually chronicler and witness to what will be dubbed as Operation Later Homie.

Day 1, Operation Later Homie

My novicity with timed shots from the Go Pro

 We made it to Moab after we left late Monday night. Dare I say, Billy and I rode Slick Rock enough times that it's no longer on our radar of trails to ride. You know what is? Hymasa and Captain Ahab. Can never get enough of that trail. Today, what made it especially remarkable was the bluebird blue skies and temperatures that greeted our arrival in this magical town. When we left Parachute, the mercury was right at freezing and as we  accelerated westward we watched the outside temperature climb and climb commensurate to the elapsing miles. It eventually hit 71ºF as we parked in a freebee parking right near the Amasa trailhead. I made a Go Pro video of it.

It's kind of jumpy so don't expect any Cecile B DeMille quality from it. What the video doesn't capture is how amazingly difficult and technical it is even when the scenery is sublime and dreamscapey in such a way we have to pinch ourselves that we're here let alone doing what we love to do most (with our clothes on): mountain bike (okay I enjoy skiing too). It's like Mars out here (that is if Mars had oxygen, water, an atmosphere, not as far from the Sun, had a shorter calendar year, and wasn't quite as cold but yeah; it'd be the same it it wasn't for those things).

Okay not really but it's really red with all these geological eroded formations from when the world was just a wee baby (but not a flat earth you flat-earth losers) and these stunning canyons cut from our lovely Colorado River. It's not unlike the Sonoran Desert where my brother lives; except it doesn't have quite the numbers of quartz wearing, cosmic antennae channeling, turquoise bolo tie wearing, vegans. What you do have are some serious off-roaders (both the pedaling and internal combustioning type) and eurodorks that are amazed by scenery they don't quite have in their Vaterland. I remember the first time I was in New York City. I would stare in dumbfounded amazement at the skyline and its art deco meets gothic meets high density residential meets historical/cultural intersections. I couldn't really come to peace with it because I just couldn't digest its data. Like Art I appreciate it; but don't understand the processes it took to get to that juncture of existence. Moab's scenery does the same thing. It leaves me in a state of wonderment, gratitudement, physically spentment, and awement. Just happy to not only spectate in its glory; but to participate inside its sphere of hip-ness with other weirdoes (minus rude a-holes that litter or are just general coal rolling a-holes, you know who you are) that have the same Venn diagram of overlap as I. We finish the ride in about two hours and Mr. Helios is still smiling at us.

can't make it back before the shutter clicks

I want to keep on riding whereas my brah-Billy, wants to do some programming to keep ahead of his work schedule. I appreciate that so we bifurcate due to different objectives. I do a second ride up Pipe Dream. Now I can feel the efforts of Captain Ahab as I climb and climb and climb. After an hour and 8 or so miles of tight, bumpy singletrack (not very technical), I say, no mas (which means "no mas" in Spanish). After I shower we hit Gilibertos No. 3 off of Main St. I had the Shrimp BK (Sonoran regional food preparation, hmm, I said Sonoran again) burrito. Why? Because my Garmin said I burned 1000 kcals. Man did that ever hit the spot, complemented with pickled jalapeños, pico de gallo, and two different types of hot sauce. In the morning, we take Operation Later Homie to La Verkin, Utah home of Zion NP and Gooseberry Mesa.

Day Two, Operation Later Homie
We arrive La Verkin, UT but there's a caveat-my boy Billy has to skype his computer science class from our hotel room at 1600h so we do a fun, pump tracky, single track in the JEM riding area in Hurricane before that time commitment. We fire off 10 miles of smile inducing, endorphin releasing speed racering in this talcum powdered singletrack whose features rolled, pitched, and yawed us to giggletown. The trail's names were: Goose Bumps, Cryptobionic, and Deadringer. I highly recommend these trails for you especially if you have a significant other who loves mountain biking but doesn't really like technical, exposed stuff.

Post end-of-the-world ride.

Are you jealous yet?

Last day of September...must be Fall in lovely Colorado!

can you see the fog in the distance? still gorgeous weather...

Not going to blast y'all with a bunch of pictures of leaves changing; but, would like to tell you about my oh-so nifty ride today with two of my fave homies and a new friend I met on said ride. In Golden there's a wee, remarkable eponymous bike shop  that sponsors a ride called The Great Bonk.  Unfortunately with the rains as a portent to Fall, alas The Great Bonk 2017 edition was canceled. That didn't stop my friend Kenny L (aka Kenny Lanhammer, the Lanhammer, the Volvo dude), from creating a version of his own called the mini-bonk. It too would take place in Golden. The routes started from White Ranch (ouch) to Mountain Lion (double ouch). Has been ages since I saw--let alone rode--with Kenny and Austin.  Fortunately for us, Austin still has sangria in his system from this trip to Barcelona (they're voting on whether or not to stay with España this Sunday) so he wouldn't tear it up too bad on the ascents. When I received the invite from Kenny, needless to say I had to go. Weather might've been a problem but it wasn't. Waking up early too; but it wasn't. Being possessed by Satan before I left the house could've happened too, but it didn't-so off we went! Karen was at her XC meet with her team. This might be too much information, but as cyclists--especially before hard efforts/events--'tis oh-so important to bust out a boom-boom. It's good for activities where you don't have to spend precious energy digesting, instead that energy can be used for pedaling and steering and talking shite with your friend. Not only did I boom-boom once; but twice. I call it Operation Stage Two. Oh yeah...

0800 here in Colorado's rather chilly, chill-chill so i started off with a wind-proof vest along with knee and arm warmers. Peeled 'em before I started climbing. Austin said, "That's what you get when you get dressed in the shade." Yup, it was warm but I kept these items in my Camelbak-which would prove to be fortuitous as the day progressed. The weather as we climbed smelled of Fall and it was crispy in my nares. The wet, downed leaves and the soil, along with a smidge of humidity, reminded our senses of the previous days' rains as we rode up and over. The rocks were wet too so that made us fairly vigilant of traction so we wouldn't biff it and hurt ourselves or our bikes. Absolutely love the changing of the seasons and couple that with a bike ride with one's homies? As Gollum would say: preciousss (or as I would say, "Self, dat's precious)! 

Ben caught us we were ascending Belcher. As we rode up in our little spheres of influence (and fitness) we rendezvoused at the first bench. That's where I snapped this quadlie...

Look at the blue skies in the background! L-R: me, Austin, Ben, and Ken

At this point we could've taken a longer, not-so-much climbing route to get to Mountain Lion; but I suggested we take the more direct, nastier climbing route. At this part of the ride, the weather started to get cold. That's when I donned my arm warmers as we hauled ass over dirt roads filled with puddles in the potholes as we avoided the washboard surface and oncoming traffic on the tight switchbacks.

Mountain Lion's in Golden Gate Canyon State Park.  We got a bit led astray from the our memory of the last time we rode here. After a bit of trail mapping we got back on our path. Holy molee I forgot how gnarly the rocks are here. The rocky, wet singletrack with roots and sharp, slabs of rock creates ledges that tests your ass-behind-the-saddle confidence were a'plenty. I spent alot of energy scanning and analyzing (and braking on) how I was going to enter and exit these bits of technical, potential head-over-heels catastrophe type things with minimal steering. Needless to say, once we finished Mountain Lion Austin and I--the hardtailers--were done. We were physically beat. I suggested we ride the paved road back into Golden. Kenny and Ben hit the singletrack once we parted ways climbing the brutal climb back to White Ranch. After a rather long, preying mantis-style tuck (wearing my vest and knee/arm warmers), Austin and I made it back and headed over to Cannonball Creek Brewing Co.  This is where the most satisfying part of the ride-the conclusion, happened. As the beer attenuates one's social viscosity, Austin and I talked about why we arrived in Colorado. He too is a transplant and has Texas roots. We mitigated our reasons for why we are here: skiing, the sunny days, cycling both on and off road, the weather, and healthy, gastronomic vibes Denver emanates to whomever has their receptors on. As I ponder even more, the whole Colorado racing/cycling thing wouldn't have been this spectacular without the presence of a catalyst-Kenny. I met him in 1997 as a long term sub at Scott Carpenter Middle School in unincorporated Jefferson County as we both sat in the principal's office. He said, "Hey man, if you're into cycling you should come ride with some of my friends on the Vitamin Cottage cycling team." Then lo and behold, after an infinite amount of permutations later on my timeline o'life...Here. I. Is. 

The thought of replacing kilocalories with beer--at this particular junction of the day--seemed like a great idea; but now, that buzz rocked my alcohol intolerance mightily. Before that buzzkill arrived (in the form of a headache), it was nice to cogitate and self-reflect on how we precisely arrived here. Kenny and Ben finally showed up (Ben crashed near the end) and the viscosity dropped from 10W-30 to 0W-20 (the W is for wassup bitches!). The weather held out (it would rain later) and man, the beers and our conversations really punctuated the end of a righteous time outside, soaking up the UVs shared with one's (cycling) brethren (as our sore muscles quietly grumbled). When it was all said and done, 5451' of climbing and 32 miles (prolly 4 on pavement).