What Is It About Santa Cruz Bikes?

Every time my old mountain bike is nearing at the end of its life, I try my darnedest to constantly borrow bikes instead of further beating my dead horse.

Last year I bought a house instead of a new bike, and as a result this summer my Bronson has seen the inside of the shop more than it has seen singletrack. I want a new pony. I borrowed a top-of-the-line Trek Fuel EX and found it was a great bike but not the right steed for me. It didn’t fit right and rode too much like a 29er…whatever that means these days. I borrowed a Trek Remedy, which was an absolute delight. It required a little bit of adjustment in my riding style but was thrilling downhill and even uphill. Then I rode both a Santa Cruz Nomad and a Juliana Strega, which are the same bike, so I’ll just refer to the lady version. Zero adjustment, to bike or style, immediate heart-pounding adoration.

Why do Santa Cruz bikes always feel like home? It might require some serious digging into geometry charts or a better understanding of pivot points than I have, but every Santa Cruz I’ve tried through the years felt intuitive and so, so fun.

Jumping!

The Strega is a big bike. I’ve never considered getting one because at almost seven inches of squish, it’s overkill for everything I ride. It’s a downhill sled dressed up as a trail bike. Or so I thought. I took it on obligatory lift rides at two different bike parks and it was joyous. It’s so muscular but manageable, so playful, so jumpable!

But then I took it on an aggressive thirty-mile all-singletrack trail ride. I climbed for hours and hours on it, motoring over chunky rocks and up steep loose switchbacks. The Strega doesn’t even have a shock lock-out, but hot damn can it climb. The pedaling platform is much more efficient than on my current Santa Cruz.

My only hang-ups were literal pedal hang-ups. I guess everyone else in the world is skilled enough to cope with modern, low bottom brackets but that is going to take some figuring out on my part. Also it’s a heavy bike. When I stopped racing, that stopped mattering to me, but the Strega is not begging to time trial up dirt roads or anything.

Cornering!

While I was riding a beautiful ridgeline through a burn zone in Montana on a perfect bike, I remembered that I have had a very torrid and abiding love affair with Santa Cruz. Long long ago, Sycamore Cycles was in downtown Brevard and Wes carried Santa Cruz for a while. When I was eleven I saw the first iteration of a Juliana and was convinced that I needed to own one someday, because it’s basically my name, duh.

One time, when I was in middle school, a family friend let me take her Superlight out for a ride and I remember so distinctly that amazing feeling of clearing, for the first time ever, the steep root-baskety left-hander on the Middle (Upper Lower?) Black Mountain climb.

When I first threw a leg over what is now my Bronson, it was Tim Koerber’s bike. We were riding Teton Pass laps and I was on a different borrowed bike, because I wanted to be done with my Specialized Era. I had done a lot of research and narrowed my next purchase down to a couple different XC’esque bikes, but then I got on the Bronson and didn’t make a single adjustment and found myself boosting root gaps on Jimmy’s Mom. By the bottom of one short DH run I made Tim an offer.

All of which is just a long way of saying, I’m going to buy a new Bronson ASAP because version 3.0 just got released and it has the same suspension design as the Strega. Yes please.

Climbing!

Bike Nerdery

I rode the Stag through a similar landscape yesterday and the difference in bikes is so interesting. Obviously the Half Chub was loaded for camping, is fully rigid, and has mechanical disc brakes and a double ring. Even besides that, they’re wildly different creatures.

It was clear that I sit “inside” the Krampus with its gargantuan wheels and itty bitty frame, while I sit “on top” of the Bronson, making it more maneuverable but less of a steamroller.

It was also a good reminder, as I dragged the Bronson through mud pits, into stream beds, and over downed trees, that twenty or so pounds makes a helluva difference. The Bronson has never felt so light. 

The Krampus is a brilliant bicycle though, stripped down, extremely capable, great at point and shoot chunder riding, rock crawling up steep pitches, somehow forgiving me over and over for running ~8 PSI and slamming my rims into root and rocks. It definitely prefers finesse but doesn’t hold it against me if I get a little sendy. The only upgrades I need are new tires (add traction and shave over a pound from each wheel? Yes please) and a different drivetrain. I love having a 2x9 on a bikepacking rig but I don’t love the temperamental, finicky, rhythm-crushing shifting I have going on. Friction shifting: plenty of hipster cachet but far too precious for what I’m trying to do with it.

Compact bike, compact camp.

It’s really exciting to own a set-up now, for the most part, and for minimal investment. Instead of getting crazy with the credit card I slowly accumulated pieces through the winter.

The essentials: 

Revelate Designs Pica seat bag: my most expensive piece of gear because it’s the only non-custom bag on the market that fits with my minuscule tire-seat clearance.

SealLine 10L dry bag with custom doodles and big ole Voile straps: this thing is cheap, unobtrusive, and doesn’t bounce too much when it’s lashed to my handlebars.

My dry bag is the coolest.

Patagonia Hybrid sleeping bag: what a revelation! It packs so dang small and combines perfectly with my lightweight puffy. And now that I finally have a sleeping pad with decent R value, my bag is warm enough for me in the summer, even though I was convinced I could only survive nights in my zero degree bag.

Aqua Mira: the most awesomest water purification system. I have the luxury of only riding through mountains full of babbling brooks that don’t have weird bugs and cow shit in them, so these little bottles of chemicals are all I need.

Spacious, perfectly worn-in Salsa framebag: I was at the pub talking about trying to gather together the missing pieces of my set-up and JayP, the OG bikepacker himself, said he had ten years’ worth of framebags I could dig through. Pretty dang cool.

The status of the sleeping bag is sort of a permanent borrow, and I don’t have my own stove or shelter yet. But other than that I’m jazzed on strapping shit to my bike and pedaling until it’s bed time.

So ladylike, as usual.

Last Minute Racing, Part 23

My downhilling mojo got lost somewhere in the garage and my running stoke has been unquenchable, so I wasn't going to race the Targhee Enduro this year. And then I was like, "Maybe." And then I was like, "Definitely not."

On Tuesday I pretended I was a competent bike mechanic. I successfully greased my pivots and unsuccessfully modified my rear suspension. Changed a flat. Gave up on the Stag and felt morose.

On Wednesday the course was released. It was very pedally and featured some choice descents. I made yet another 180 and registered. A cheap entry from Kate's Real Food made the decision easier.

I didn't want to deal with the minor hassle of getting the Stag race ready. I reached out to Fitzy's in hopes of borrowing a 27.5+ bike and Derrick graciously set me up with a Trek Fuel. Given my hot and steamy love affair with plus bikes (Salsa Pony Rustler and Rocky Mountain Pipeline) I figured the Fuel would get me jazzed and keep me upright on the dusty, blown-out corners of Targhee.

I did a couple pre-rides and the persnickety voice in my head wouldn't shut up. These hubs are pitiful. The drivetrain is so loud. My calves are rubbing the swing arm. Why would a dropper post only have 125mil of travel? WHAT THE FUCK IS A FRONT DERAILLEUR?!?! 

It looks pretty dang good though.

I was spoiled rotten with a sturdy, quiet, low-frills, high-end sexy beast of a bike. But I fiddled some more with the squish and reminded myself to stop riding like an asshat and then the Fuel and I started getting along.

The enduro start was much cooler than last year and the women's field bunched together under blankets at the top of the lift as we awaited our start. I was so glad to have a decent-sized field. We laughed and jumped up and down and spouted out the cheerful self-deprecation one always hears on a ladies' start line.

On Sticks and Stones I cleaned a line I've never attempted before, a techy root drop that wouldn't give me pause on a normal trail but for some reason gets me clenched at the resort. Because, you know, people with full faces and double crowns ride here. I let out a quiet exultation and finished the stage. smooth and fast.

We went straight to the climb this year. I felt wonderful. I wore a shark's grin as I chomped down Skittle-colored boys climbing slowly. Another ripping, flawless descent down 38 Special, my legs crying as I punched it out of every awkward switchback.

Hoping to keep ahead of the bros, I immediately started the Mill Creek descent and entered into full-on flow mode, reacting to obstacles and hauling ass with clear vision. The Fuel grabbed the trail in a vice grip and refused to let go.

I finished Day One exuberant but knew better than to count any chickens, given my abrupt and thorough humbling last year. The results popped up on the screen--I managed a last place on Sticks and Stones, a first place on 38 Special (such an XC geek), and a third on Mill Creek. Solid mid-pack. Upon further perusal, I realized that all of the pro women finished within a minute of each other, which got me all fired up again. It's so thrilling to be in the mix in such a strong, competitive field!

Tomorrow is a short day with a rough, purely downhill stage, so I know I'm not going to beat any of these ladies in their domain, but I raced my absolute best today and have no regrets.

OK So I Went to Yellowstone

The roads in the nearby national parks are clear of snow long before they open to cars, so it's kind of de rigueur to go ride bikes there in April, mostly in Grand Teton but also to a lesser degree in Yellowstone. Given my previously stated apathy towards Yellowstone, I wanted to get my first visit done by bike and as early in the year as possible. The park opened on Friday, earlier than GTNP, but I figured a Monday in April was still a safe bet. I corralled some friends and we hit the tarmac in West Yellowstone. It was cold and breezy but the road was smooth and the cars infrequent.

I was a little concerned, given my previous experience riding in the caldera of northeast Idaho, that the west entrance of Yellowstone would be miles of bland homogeneous pine forests, but I was pleasantly surprised. We wound along the Madison River, hollering at any buffalo we glimpsed, checking out a hidden waterfall, peering up at the hole-pocked, crumbly cliffs rising from the meadows. Mt Haynes stood sentinel like a rotting Half Dome; I doubt rock climbers attempt that particular objective.

Secret waterfall!
Pics courtesy of Emily

Nan had time constraints but when we reached a sign that read "Old Faithful: 16 Miles" we decided we should split because, duh, Old Faithful. Nan went back while Emily and Nate and I carried on. We saw a geothermal site announce itself miles before we reached it across the flats. We dismounted and wandered the boardwalks, admiring the deep saturated blues and billowing steam and burbling mud pots and frenetic pools where it looked like alligators were wrestling beneath the clouded sulfurous water. Oh, Yellowstone, I get it. Bizarre geothermal features that remind us of our violent earth. It was very cool.

So geothermal

We pedaled onward to the ridiculous overbuilt village that is Old Faithful. On the amphitheater seating in front of the geyser we had a picnic of sandwiches and fudge and sparkling wine (thoughtfully provided by Nate) while doing battle with the crows that wanted to open Emily's frame bags and hunt down snacks.

Mmmm Secco Frizzante

We waited thirty minutes and the crowd thickened. My skin crawled at the thought of being there in the high season. This is supposed to be a record-crushing year for the national parks because of the centennial anniversary combined with low fuel prices. Vomit.

After ten minutes of teasing us, Old Faithful went off, and I shed my cynicism just long enough to be dazzled by the spectacle. What a strange and wonderful world we live in.

I was amused to be one of the few in the crowd not taking a picture of the phenomenon with a GoPro, selfie-stick, DSLR, or tablet. Y'all...there are endless beautiful pictures of Old Faithful on the Internet. But I guess that's what one does in a national park now.

Look: two seconds with Google yielded a more beautiful picture than I could ever take.

We rode the slightly uphill thirty-three miles back with a headwind, even though I was convinced it'd be slightly downhill with a tailwind. Physics? We did less lolly-gagging and touristing because our butts were sore and our thoughts were focused on French fries.

I rode the Deutschbike and felt great admiration and affection for it. I bought that bike for $600 after road nationals when I was a senior and have spent less than $50 on maintenance in the six intervening years, despite riding it roughshod on road, gravel, and trails with little regard for its well-being. It's not comfortable or modern or appropriate for the valley, and it's not sexy like the Stag or fun-utilitarian like the Half Chub but somehow it's still a great bike for tucking in and mashing the pedals for mile after mile.

Tram Bar Deutschbike Love

We made it back to West and got our French fry fix at a sports bar that catered to fishermen. It felt more like home than the tour bus carnival of interior Yellowstone.

Nate pedaling disdainfully past bison

So I did it. And it was more awesome than but as dumb as I expected. I hear the Yellowstone backcountry is incredible but...I live in Idaho. The backcountry is incredible everywhere and in this state you don't have to pay $25 at a kiosk to get somewhere cool. And for that I feel blessed.

Rambling, Where to Begin

My apologies: once again the turgid flow of summer has struck me dumb.

I've successfully combated bike burnout by looking with giddy anticipation towards the 100k, with its promise of sparkly new trails and a women's field stacked full of my friends. I've also warded off the doldrums by fiddling with the steed--Lisa now sports burlier tires and a wider handlebar and her transformation to "trail bike" was complete when I discovered the joys of lobotomy. Lisa came with two Brains, Specialized's wicked fancy suspension platform that's better suited for Charlotte short track than the repeated beatings of Pisgah's eroded fall lines. In the interest of science I dumbed her down and found new pleasure riding downhill, because with the Brain turned off the bike squishes not when it wants to, but when I want it to.

And because it has been neither hot nor humid enough here, I'm headed south for a week in the Keys with the Ennii--sure to be a noteworthy experience.

A Tale of Three Bikes

Tristan on his charger

Purely by chance I had the opportunity to ride three different bikes in quick succession this week. The baby dinosaur is at the doctor's getting its appendix removed so I've been forced to get creative when the mountain biking mood strikes. First T Cowie was kind enough to lend me his Stumpy. It was way fun to ride but I've never felt up to the task when I ride Stumpies...I do those burly big-travel bikes a disservice with my timidity and lack of skillz. Plus it was so clearly Tristan's bike: a bit too big, rock-hard suspension, brutal gearing, ass-hatchet saddle, super wide bars. Tough to control, like riding a big stallion when I'm used to my little filly.

Another day Morgan let me use her after-dinner mint, the By:Stickel. My first excursion on a 29er! Climbing Sycamore, all those magazine phrases popped unbidden into my head: "stable through corners", "riding inside the bike", "clambering over obstacles like a rock crawler". But also: "ouch". I don't love hardtails, nope. Simple as that. 

The after-dinner mint in its natural habitat 

Yesterday several of us hit up the quintessential Pisgah singletrack, a short out-and-back on Squirrel. My steed du jour was a Yeti 575 and thanks to Dan it was already set up just right when I hopped on it. And from then on the day only got better.

Oh. My. God. I can't even express the joy of riding that bike. It was a big bike that felt little, it was nimble and squishy and raucous and confidence-inspiring and more than happy to bang its intrepid way over babyheads and root baskets up and down. Oh. My. God. I was beaming at every intersection and plowing effortlessly through tech stuff that usually gives me a pause. Within thirty minutes I was plotting ways to purchase the beauty, and trying somehow to justify such a frivolous move. If I'm not careful it still might happen. I get so damn acquisitive when I hang out at the shop too much. I've constructed my armor of "why nots" to protect myself from the Yeti: I don't believe in having a stable full of mountain bikes because, you know, run what ya brung. I really don't like climbing slowly. I don't like bikes that cater to my weaknesses; I want to improve my descending the honest way, instead of just getting a bike that encourages sloppy (albeit wickedly fun) ripping. 

I love you. 

Oh yeah, also, I can't permit myself to lust after a new steed right now because, well, there's a box en route to Brevard even as I type...

Uh oh

One is Silver and the Other's Gold

I made a bike purchase this week, purportedly in the effort to streamline my fleet, but really just to experience that *rush* again.

It's a Stevens cross bike but will function mostly as a road bike; Rimmer, St Marie, and T Cowie all rocked cantilevers on the road, so why can't I? The candy cane bike (for which I admittedly never held deep feelings) must depart the quiver to make room for this new arrow, but I'm holding onto the Redline, because it's a lovely lovely bike, a great commuter, and very dear to my heart.

I took the still-unnamed beauty on a short ride today and was quite happy with the experience. I seem doomed never to break the 20 pound barrier but I can't muster the energy to care; the geometry feels racey and it quite possibly descends waymorebetter than the Allez (although that may have been because I haven't taken off the cross tires yet). The Cane Creek cantis are a delight, and the Sram Apex group is snappy and feels more expensive than it is. (The jury is out on the double tap shifters though. I struggled a bit with the long throw. Methinks some adjustment is in order.) It also came with full Thomson bits and who doesn't love some dirty south bling? The wheel situation is still in flux, but as long as it rolls I can't complain.

It was just blue and white but...I couldn't resist imposing an Uhmerica color scheme on this German steed.

So there's a fresh-outta-the-box review, colored by excitement and by no means comprehensive. But on the other hand, I've owned the baby dinosaur for almost a year now and it deserves more praise than I've thought to give it.

Dear Specialized (and Sycamore Cycles):

I love my Era more than life itself.

K thanx bai

Also, loving the XX crank. A compact makes a durn lot of sense for mountain biking, and this crank is CRAZAY stiff. So stiff that even I notice it. And I cannot say often enough or with enough breathless emotion that my I9 Ultralites freaking rock. I would get in a bar fight over these wheels, if some hapless patron dared to claim another wheel was superior. This baby dino "review" may seem a fit of gratuitous eulogizin', but my point is more that I've now spec'ed my mountain bike EXACTLY as I want it and couldn't imagine it being any better.

I can't ride it so I take pictures of it. Sigh.

Tale of Two Bikes

the baby dinosaur has been talking to me.
it says things like, "stop braking. i got this."
and "look how much higher i can jump!"
and "let's session that."
and "quit climbing like a pansy. put it in the middle ring."
and "wash me. make me beautiful again."
it kind of scares me with its insistence.

road conference was this weekend. on saturday i pulled a hindenburg but got some redemption on sunday. and now BC is goin' to nationals. i anticipate much pain.

apparently the crit is circling the capitol building. that's pretty durn cool.

New Bike New Bike New Bike

Ok, so, the Alabama race weekend: rode kind of slow, climbed big hill, finished nestled in the bosom of Lees-McRae's formidable machine team both days...netted a 4th and a 3rd. No big shakes. My results are so consistent. And boring.

Now the good stuff. Having taken the NEW BICYCLE on its maiden voyage, I can present to you an utterly scientific and objective review of the 2010 Era Expert. I took it on ____(can't tell because it was kind of closed as of today...) with the Saint and T. Cowie because it's a darn good test of tech climbing and Pisgah descending. After adjusting the Era within an inch of its life, I was pretty much pleased with the position and we started the dirt climb. Out of the saddle, I felt exactly like I was riding a baby dinosaur.

That comment elicited some puzzled expressions from my companions. Basically, I would imagine a baby dinosaur has big muscular legs but feels a little clumsy, being fresh from the shell, so he treads very carefully. So: delicate but muscular. Which is definitely a good thing.

Then on the descents the Era demanded I ride totally out of control. I could not acquiesce because I was riding like a newbie hack, but soon, little Era. Soon.

Now I understand all those nancy words magazines use in reviews, words like "responsive" and "balanced" and "stable". Here's another one: "perfect". The new (as of '09) suspension design is absolutely delicious. It will require that I accumulate some Tristan-like knowledge of suspension so that I don't bop around with it totally set the wrong way. While experimenting I turned the Brain off and commented to the Saint that it felt very nice, but of course he was appalled and said that defeated the purpose of owning it. I've got some learning to do.

Also: it is the first new mountain bike I've ever owned. Even better: it's sub-25 pounds. Most importantly: it is shockingly beautiful. I cannot take my eyes off it. It is my pristine little baby dinosaur that sparkles in the sunshine.

Let's go ride tomorrow afternoon. Everyone.

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Dear Epic,


Imagine me and you
I do
I think about you day and night
It's only right
To think about the bike you love
And hold her tight
So happy together

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
For all my life
When you're with me baby the skies'll be blue
For all my life

Me and you
And you and me
No matter how they toss the dice
It had to be
The only one for me is you
And you for me
So happy together...





Oops. I lied.

Priceless

(Warning: gratuitous bike love ahead, once again)

Just in time for finals week, here's some multiple choice for you: What can't the plucky Epic do?
a. muddle around in Pink Beds, inadvertently flirt with illegal trails, have fun
b. survive the Bataan Death March of Yellow Gap Road
c. climb Pilot (leaving Mr. Enduro behind in the dust)
d. descend Pilot (possibly a little slower than Mr. Enduro...)
e. hit 40 foot gaps and play floor hockey

There are some things in life that require a big ole bike or a stick and a pair of sneakers. For everything else, there's the Epic.




P.S. Dear Specialized, don't I deserve some pro-level sponsorship? I have beaten this horse to death!
Just kidding. I do it for love, not money.

My South Park Moment Part II

I learned something today:
DON'T try and keep up with the Joneses, or in this case the Dicksons/Saints.

The candy cane and I will be celebrating our first anniversary soon. That was my last major bike purchase (except my recent acquisition of a hella awesome SECA. Worth it!) And I hadn't ridden the plucky Epic since the four-cross race in Cali. I'd thrown a leg over a burly dreamy SX and a sparkly new Stumpie, and a case of the I-wannas had got me down. I was hemmin' and hawin' in the shop tonight as newly-anointed gravity rider WD posed in his full face and the Saint got his Epicly expensive bike into perfect S-working condition...so he could sell it...so he could...pursue other interests?

"Wes," sez I, "how much could I sell my bike for? Retired folks like me need more suspension."
He eyed the flaking carbon bar and scratched paint. "Twelve hundred."
Now I daresay my little beaut is worth more to me than that. Emotional cost, you know. Devastating failures and soaring victories and all the mediocre bits in between. So I shrugged my shoulders and complained about money like I always tend to do and set off for a nighttime Long Branch adventure.
And that shut me up.
I am going to ride that bike until she breaks.
I love her so.

I Freaking Love BC Cycling

This weekend up at LMC was pretty awesome. In so many ways.

Before, our guys' gravity team made up for its shallowness with skillz, but now we have both depth AND fantabulousness--four guys in the top ten in a heavily stacked DH race!!?? MAN ALIVE. Real Tall surprised no one with a 2nd, and Park surprised everyone with a 3rd!

And can I just say that Tristan Cowie is amazing? Is that weird? I cannot even express how freaking fast he is, yet he is so positive and so team-oriented.This kid doesn't even race slalom

And, well, I am not afraid to say that Joh and I are the one-two punch of BC. Bang bang, we'll trip you up then kick you when you're down. Oh yeah, and then Tina and Dunc will come leave tire tread ON YO FACE. This year we've got each weekend covered like a wet blanket.

Tuttle doing what she does best

Yeah, talk about everybody loving everybody. Sarah sang to me on the last downhill and gave me the final gumption to GO. All the DH guys helped out, gave feeds, and cheered ears off at the rock garden, and the XC guys were pushing slalom bikes up the hill all day long. I can't imagine there's another team in the southeast where everyone takes such good care of each other. And such hilarity! T Bag and Irby especially--these boys get props for keeping me laughing all day long.

My races? My bike and I were on point the whole weekend. I took 1st in the mere mortals category (i.e. 2nd behind Carla) in the XC and short track, 3rd in downill, and (sour grapes...) 6th in slalom. All on the same plucky little Epic. It was just what I needed to bolster my waning confidence. Despite all the pressure and nerves, I do sure love to ride my bike.




Pics ganked from Hannah Trimble

Andy Schleck is a Pretty Man

He rides a Specialized, he is too young to rent a car, and he speaks nearly flawless English. We have SO much in common! I can totally picture our future together: him measuring out 400 grams of muesli while I stuff myself with Luxembourg chocolate...adorable quarrels when I discover that he has shaved his legs with MY razor...sprinting each other on the way up 215, only to wait in the hopes that brother Frank can catch back up...

Ahem. Anyway. The meat of the matter. ORAMM. OMG. Cyclingnews did a short post on it:

Sam Koerber and Thomas Turner are having a war of words over on Twitter. Turner started the feud by Tweeting, "Like wow, totally crushed the ORAMM record, SK ate my DUST." Koerber replied by re-Tweeting to a follower: "Don't want to name names, but SOME people are not gracious winners." A few members of the cycling Twitterati have joined the fray. Seven-time-Tour-winner-cancer-survivor-out-of-retirement-superhero-words-can't-express-our-love-of-this-man Lance Armstrong Tweeted, "TT just raced smarter--SK shouldn't be hatin'." Andy Schleck responded with the seemingly-unrelated, "SWM seeking American girl--ORAMM finishers preferred!"

All of which is to say, yes, I finished. And it was awesome. And I did it about an hour faster than I expected. And I got 5th. And I'll definitely be there next year!

What I learned:
1: To be in contention for a higher podium spot it is IMPERATIVE that you get to Kitsuma before the walkers. Oh well.
2: Two GUs, two Slim Jims, two bananas, and 160 ounces of water is plenty of fuel.
3: I can climb forever.
4: I am abysmally terrible at switchbacks. Need practice.
5: My bike is PERFECT.

So thanks to Todd B for putting on such a fabulous event! Now I'm itching for a nice short XC race, just in time for the Dam Jam!


P.S. I've been in some pretty places recently. Mostly without a camera.
I wish I also had pictures of the scenery at ORAMM and at the FBCC, the Swiss chalet in Toxaway, the farm house off Crab Creek...


Most recent wall installation in the apartment. "Art" for $5!


On the drive to Marshall


My last house-sitting gig


Pretty little morning glory in my backyard

Post Script

in my previous post i forgot to mention...although it's been said before ad nauseum...

I LOVE MY BIKE.

i need to name my valiant steed, because she has earned herself a title. possibly with some kind of adendum like "the great" or "the magnificent" à la memorable royalty.

i knew my little specialized was a fantastic XC race bike. a finely-honed blade of speed and finesse. slicing through the competition like a steak knife through melting plugra (that one's for you, tasha).

but it turns out she's also a workhorse. giving nary a thought to discomfort or mechanicals, she trots effortlessly and tirelessly through hours of pisgah slop and dupont grit. when my weak spirit has given out, the epic has only just warmed up.

so why did i discard her yesterday for an '82 ross? klunkerz thursday night group ride.forthcoming: the black mountain challenge with new retro category. get out your bridgestone, it's gonna be good.
dan? is that you?


but the little epic will be back for more action at the cowbell this weekend. i hear the course is 45% grass. bring it.

post post script: if you do one road race this season, make sure it's the french broad cycling classic. please look at this course profile. it makes me smile. 40 miles, 6100 feet of climbing. mmm zesty.