Co-Ed Bachelor Party

Squad

In 2019 we started planning for a Canada mountain bike trip this month to celebrate our pending nuptials with Nate and Amanda, Sam and Jordan, and Chrissy, a group of people that could handle basically any ride, conveniently including women that would be happy pedaling all day and guys that were interested in goading each other into hitting gaps and stuff. But COVID happened and closed the border, as well as delaying my and Chrissy's passport renewals, so we cast our eyes elsewhere and came up with Winter Park, Colorado. That was the plan until last Tuesday, when we learned that Jordan, who went down early with Sam, had a major crash and broke bones at Trestle Bike Park. She needed surgery and they wouldn't be able to come along on the trip. 

Suddenly, Cy and I were thinking the same thing: Colorado is hot, Colorado is crowded, why were we planning to go there? He started pacing the kitchen and spouting the benefits of northern Idaho, his beloved old stomping grounds. I was soon convinced, so I called our other group members. Rather than resenting our last-minute change of heart, they were totally game to go northwest instead of southeast. 

Base camp, night one

We departed early on Thursday morning. After finding a campsite outside of Kellogg, we set off for what I'd mistaken for a short afternoon ride nearby. We were all immediately delighted by the dense dark woods and rich creek beds lined with ferns and huckleberries, but less so by the unrelenting climb that continued growing steeper and rockier. (The adjective "unrelenting" was used in the description of the trail, a detail I glossed over.) We finished the slog soaked in sweat, then descended over steep root tangles and scattershot rock piles and through stream crossings. One crossing was studded with the remains of a moose skeleton and Cy claimed a paddle for our bone garden at home.  

Top of a very hard climb

Friday was dedicated to Silver Mountain Bike Park, which quickly proved to be technical, challenging, fun, and humbling. We learned that black diamond trails are accurately rated and that I'm still a bit too skittish for real DH, but it was a great day. Cy and the Careys took extra laps while Chrissy and I drank beers and lounged in the sun, counting our blessings to not have sustained injuries or bike failures on the rough, feature-laden trails.

Silver Mountain was hairy

After sleeping in the Silver parking lot we headed over to Coeur D'Alene for an easy little dog ride, then kept going to Spokane where, Cy promised, there was a rowdy in-town trail system. We rode Beacon Hill despite the devastating (to our delicate mountain bodies) heat and sun, and found some of it absurdly challenging (chunky rock rolls into kitty litter) and some of it quite entertaining, including an impeccable pump track. After a quick splash in the very inviting Spokane River and a brief stop at a dispensary, we headed north into Idaho. The town beach in Sandpoint was wildly crowded so we ate some tacos and drove up to Schweitzer Mountain Resort. Cy's nostalgia grew palpable as we arrived at the ski hill where he held his first season pass and started down the path to becoming the person he is now.

On Sunday, I enjoyed an actual breakfast burrito at an actual coffee shop after a few days of campground granola, then Cy and I took the dog for a short ride. We all regrouped and pedaled a mellow but lovely trail to the Schweitzer summit, where Cy felt all the feelings. We took a rocky, loamy descent back to the base, set a shuttle, and dropped further down the resort road on a purpose-built downhill full of small and large features, ripe with good dirt and giggles. 

You can sense the nostalgia

Although we had planned to spend another night at the resort parking lot because it was easy, the previous night had been marked by strong winds that knocked over camp chairs and filled every crevice with sand, so the Careys lobbied that we descend. Fortuitously, we found a quiet, scenic campsite on the north end of Lake Pend Oreille and enjoyed an evening swim in the choppy but not too cold water.

A lovely evening at Pend Oreille

On Monday morning our paths diverged. The Careys returned to Silver (it was that good) and Chrissy moseyed home, while we had firm plans to go for a run that Cy loved. He truly undersold the experience. After four miles of perfect running trail we summited to massive, breathtaking lake and peak views and visited with some very docile, photogenic mountain goats. Definitely on my top five best runs ever list.

Now we have more photos of us together

Perfect, perfect running

Oh yes, there were goats

Despite obligations looming on Tuesday, we opted to make one last detour on the long drive home, splitting the distance with a Monday night stop at hot springs deep in unknown (to me) territory. Despite being very popular hot springs, we found them nearly empty and devoid of weirdos. An easy night's sleep at the trailhead and a six hour drive home ended one of the best road trips I've ever gone on.

A worthwhile detour

Idaho, it's terrible. Don't come here.

The Siren Song of Deseret

So we went to Utah because I heard they might have pretty good snow or something, forgetting that the last time I came through I almost didn't leave. It's a dangerous place, Utah. It's so easy to dismiss it because of the chokehold LDS has on every level of government, to scoff at the solemn silence of the big city on a Sunday, to be annoyed by the absurd and arbitrary rules hampering alcohol production and sale. We went to a tasting room without taps (no kegs allowed), had to purchase an entree each (no drinks without a meal), and could only have two tasters in front of us at any time. At the liquor store you can't buy "real beer" refrigerated or in six packs, and the walls are papered with morality literature.

And yet.

The Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons saw some light snowfall before we arrived but the locals bemoaned the conditions; at Snowbird, where Tyler's brother scored us cheap tickets, there's no chance of beating the powderhounds who ruthlessly track out every inch of the mountain with their fat plush skis.

And yet.

Best day of skiing yet. Ever. Words cannot express. Chasing Tyler and Ben all over a mountain that was all steeps, cliffs, trees, and all of it cloaked in deep, light snow that had me wallowing and falling and grinning. I was a better skier by the end of the day. Another day we went to Canyons, a massive Park City resort with practically none of the terrain or snow that made Snowbird so sublime. We rolled with a posse this time, having joined forces with Joh and Jamie, as well as a friend of the Nelson boys. Instead of pushing and progressing, we had a more chill day of bopping around, doing some sidecountry, ducking ropes, roasting groomers, and being generally pretty obnoxious.

Doing some light hiking with the JTs

And now on the drive home, as much as it makes me cringe to say, we've hashed out a plan to move to Utah next winter, because it's really hard driving back west without some intention of returning.

Oh, Utah

We wended our way through Wyoming and it was windy and wide-open, with striated bluffs sometimes rising out of the scrub brush. The crossing into Utah brought abrupt elevation changes, towering peaks, and rivers. Why did no one ever tell me this state was so beautiful? We met up with Joh and headed down to Salt Lake City for a potluck in the park with friends. The beach volleyball courts beckoned and I grudgingly played for the first time, and loved it, and went to bed with dusty feet.

The next morning Joh took us hiking in stunning Wasatch National Forest, where even a moderate walk yields the most grandiose views. Then we sated our mountainous appetites with huge burgers at the only pub in Samak (the tiny hamlet of non-Mormons who left Kamas and spelled their new town backwards). Joh then had to work but I wasn't finished with this landscape. A bit of sheer Facebook serendipity landed me in the capable hands of a local mechanic/bike racer, who showed me a tantalizing sampling of what Park City had to offer. I struggled a little but wheezed less than expected at seven to nine thousand feet.

Reunited

Gotta love how worthless pictures are at conveying scenery

I usually try to put new trails in context by comparing them to old, but analogies failed me now. No trails I'd ridden were like these; twisty, steep, sometimes rocky or rooty (but usually at polite perpendiculars), covered in an inch of fine moon dust, but most noticeably graced always by a majestic vacuum--the sweeping valley and heartbreaking massifs that kept snagging my eyes and ripping me asunder. There's no doubt it was the most beautiful place I'd ever been. I didn't even try to take a picture. The sun set and we finished riding in the dark. So, Utah. Never mind the wicked winters, the snobs and the Mormons, the 4% ABV beer. I love it.

Oh yeah, we also played on the salt flats

Colorado Continued (now with pictures!)

I thought Boulder was beautiful, until I saw Lyons with its panorama of rocky red outcroppings and the towering presence of Long's Peak in the backdrop. I went for a ride with the Oskar Blues marketing director's awesome girlfriend Marily, who took me skittering over dusty pointy rocks and slabs and swooping down loose berms. We finished the ride in short order to catch the racers as they sprinted through Lyons--we baked on the roof of the Oskar Blues RV with the other "VIPs", fit friendly women and photographers. In a town of less than 2000 people I think every citizen showed up to watch the pros blaze by.

Picture Rock, where everyone takes a picture

Spectating

Ella and I are both introverts and this trip has involved prolonged pleasantries with new people every night, and yet we're not worn out; it's energizing spending time with so many interesting, involved, generous people. I feel I must have a serious karmic deficit going by now and must be sure to treat any and all travelers in a most welcoming manner. 

The view from Royal Arch

Post-mozzarella in Boulder

Samples at Celestial 

Day Seven

Utah is the bestest. So far. More later when I have real internet (tomorrow, at the end of the road) and when Ella makes pictures happen since I've taken a grand total of two. For now let's just say this road trip has been fun, easy, and enjoyable. Much to my surprise, I wish I could stretch it for at least another week. This is one hell of a country, and all my friends scattered across it are amazing.

Day Five

i'm doing my best not to fall in love with boulder but it's pretty hard. the us pro cycling challenge is finishing just outside of town today and almost a hundred thousand people with their shaved legs and hammer gel t-shirts have crowded into the city.

ella and i stumbled upon the celestial seasonings plant yesterday and were greeted by myriad delicious samples and an interesting factory tour. the best part was the mint room, a cavernous storeroom with double thick walls to lock in the intoxicating smell.

then we went for a casual hike on the outskirts of town that became THE BEST HIKE EVER. seriously. flatirons + royal arch at the chautauqua state park. do it. glorious.

my long time friend annie and her man took us out and showed us the joys of boulder happy hour--half price food and drinks every evening. i woke up with a mile-high hangover but was cheered by the prospect of a ride today in lyons. terribly exciting.

Day Three

leaving brevard was even harder than anticipated, reducing me multiple times to a tearful child. but then i managed to fit all my worldly goods in the trunk of the rubasu with no trouble at all, and i picked up my traveling companion and as we embarked i could feel the weight of sadness slowly lifting. i'm looking forward, not back, at least for the time being.

we are crossing the country in a leisurely fashion. we are wowing everyone with our bizarre ability to find everything without the use of a GPS or smartphone. we are eating flatbreads and hummus and tomatoes in the shadow of the gateway arch in st louis. we are talking to lots of people about their grown-up jobs and how much they loathe them, and we are thinking perhaps deferring real life has been a good decision after all. we are pleasantly surprised with the midwest thusfar, but we are leaving now from kansas city and not at all excited about today's drive to denver.

Roses

Each barrier to the western venture has crumbled in such a timely and convenient fashion that if one were so inclined, one might say it was meant to be.

I was nervous about driving by myself because I have less than awesome car endurance.

Then wonderful Ella agreed to come along, and immediately bought her plane ticket home to prove that she meant it.

I was weighed down by the inconvenience of home-hunting three thousand miles away, in the land of expensive rent.

Then I got a (temporary) job at a place that provides free meals and housing. Go check it out, it looks BEYOND awesome: http://www.stanfordsierra.com/

I was stumped by the trip itself: how does one spend seven days making a four day trip, without blowing too much money and while optimizing fun? Spontaneity is all well and good but part of me rebels against it.

Then the itinerary fell into place with uncanny ease:
-Nashville, to visit Ella's glamorous friend Alex
-Kansas City, crashing at Alex's folks' house
-Denver, with my grandparents, and day trips to Oskar Blues (and riding with the beer bros!) and Frisco (riding with the Graingers)
-Park City and some good solid time with the Tuttle!
-haul ass to the Bay Area, bid Ella a fond farewell, and spend a week hanging out with my west coast family before starting the job at Fallen Leaf Lake

It's all coming up roses, for real. Now if only Brevard (and the woods, and my friends, and my boy, and his dog) would stop being so wonderful...

Oh Yeah, That Trip...

only a month late...thanks to mitch, sarah, and brad for the lovely pics...

someone should make a movie about us

waco, tx: happiest place on earth...
right? 

a very fine looking bunch of rumps

there's a first time for everything

having entirely too much fun.
must remember to make serious face during races

in other news, after standing still for what has felt like a very long time, i've taken some small steps forward (with larger steps to come). my secret new year's resolution was "get out and get some", and also to a lesser extent "try new things"...more ambitious than my usual resolutions, but surprisingly successful so far.

i don't mean to be cryptic, but i'll spill more when i've held myself to my own promises. i don't want to jinx it by showing my hand too early. 

And Then the Icycle

To the amusement of our cabinmates, we rolled into Fontana around 10:30 PM and piled out of the heavily weighed-down Purple People Eater, reeking of swamp rot and Chinese food, outfitted in camo and full of somewhat-entertaining anecdotes.

The next morning we were all stoked to race, because as everyone knows, road trips are the perfect preparation for competition: dehydration, sleep-deprivation, countless hours in the car, a glut of country music, a dearth of coffee, debilitating starvation and/or heinous over-consumption (depending on whether you ask the boys or the girls).

Needless to say, Dan won. And Sheedy won. And Geoff B won. And Sarah raced her first expert race LIKE A BOSS. And I won. And then I sort of tumbled down the hill during the night DH, and then sort of started eating Oreos and drinking and dancing, as you will have at the Icycle. As usual it was a weekend of joyful festivities with intermittent and only quasi-serious bike racing sprinkled in, and I think as usual everyone had a great time.

Ode to the Road

Once upon a time the BC team drove to Fort Collins for road nationals, and I was admittedly a little disappointed. Every road trip movie and book ever made has lead me to believe that the experience should be chock full of camaraderie, gut-busting laughter, spontaneous ridiculousness, annoying inside jokes, too much food, not enough sleep.

Years later, I finally got my wish.

We assembled a crack squad of road trippers, based off two important criteria: desire to ride bikes somewhere new, and ability to get time off work. Somehow this rigorous selection process yielded a foursome that meshed perfectly. 

I have access to no photos as of yet, so use your imagination.
Here we are brandishing Mitch's arsenal on a debris-littered gun range.
We're wearing so much camo that all you can see is
surreal floating torsos and heads. 

We started the trip off on an unbeatable high note--embracing our inner rednecks in the hinterland of southwestern Arkansas, where Dan's BFF Mitch outfitted us with all the guns, off-road vehicles, and Natty Ice necessary to fully appreciate the splendor that is the south. Fueled by a heavy meal from Country Vittles (the jewel of Crossett, AR), we ventured out into the ragged swamplands to shoot clays, knock over deer stands, splash through as much parasite-ridden mud as possible, and generally make asses of ourselves.

Here we are, dry and happy in sunny Waco,
which is apparently the best town ever,
home as it is to Uncle Dan's BBQ, the taco shack, and Cameron Park. 

Obviously we were sad to leave, but our next stop made up for it. Cameron Park in Waco, TX provided hours of thoroughly entertaining mountain biking on roller coaster trails that made the Floridians giggle. Then we stuffed ourselves with excellent BBQ and hightailed it to Austin.

Unfortunately, rain and storms dogged our step. Austin received something like 50% of its annual rainfall during our visit, which elicited from us a hearty WTF?! Of course, there were still Goodwills to troll, Texmex to consume, Mellow Johnny's to explore, exorbitantly expensive and beautiful cowboy boots for Sarah to buy, and so many bars to hop. Sixth Street had it all in spades: billiards, dubstep, mechanical bulls, fantastic margaritas, swanky hotels, crispy bleached blonde girl bands, and bearded dude blues.

Here we are presenting our muddy posteriors,
the aftermath of a day of mountain bike misadventures in Austin. 

Which is not to say we didn't try to ride in Austin. A foray into the slippery, silty Barton Greenbelt was entertaining if somewhat frustrating, but at Rocky Hill Ranch the carnivorous clay devoured our drivetrains and our spirits. The towel was thrown. So what else was there to do but retrace our steps to Waco and play there some more?

And then (why not?) we did some climbing in the sandstone haven of northern Alabama. Which is to say, Dan and Sarah did some climbing and Sarah gently and expertly ushered Chuck and me up the rock. I've gotta say, that bug has bitten me. Anyone have a pair of climbing shoes I can buy?

Here I am scaling a rock face at Palisades Park,
with a determined/constipated grimace on my face.
I was sure I'd never make it to the top. 

And so, to sum it all up (or to "shine the light", as it were): shotguns, mud, Shiner-Bock, cheap motels, expensive hotels, cowboy boots, live music, rock climbing, gubernatorial facial hair. All in all it was a marvelous adventure.

I'm Not Moving to Florida

it was the great land of the unknown. for me, it was the opposite of milk and honey; it was the land of sweat and no elevation change. for years i had mocked this unfortunate protrusion off the bulk of the country, this elongated blister that produced so many slow drivers and so few people that recycle. my roommate, a native of that state, had suffered my not-so-gentle ribbing for too long. "julia, it's time that you shed your ignorant preconceptions of my homeland. join me in an enlightening trek southward."

florida, for all its enumerable flaws, was not quite as bad as i expected. while i went brain-dead driving everywhere to do everything, that's a feature of any sprawling wasteland, whether it be los angeles, charlotte, or the midwest. we visited pristine beaches and played in the clear cerulean water. we pretended to have a bit of culture and took in some art at the dalí museum. yes, we were surrounded by stereotypical seniors who carried on loud conversations in grating boston accents, but there are plenty of northern transplants in toxaway and cashiers too. and even though the air was filled with the sound of honking and the smell of fast food, i sometimes caught a whiff of orange blossoms and ripening strawberries.

florida is a swampy flatland devoid of character (so i thought) and i brought my mountain bike without much hope that it would see action. false. through some helpful contacts i found riding buddies for two solid days in the saddle. first i hit alafia river state park, which imba has named an epic trail system. epic it was not, but fun it was. florida trail-builders are by necessity insanely creative. the trails were snaky masterpieces carved into limestone and dirt, through algae ponds, palmettos, and tangerine groves, with plenty of heart-stopping drops and ledges. the next day i explored balm boyette with a fellow spring-breaker and we discovered the new destination trail of the area: ridgeline. ridgeline, which was built in '08, was probably the most exhilarating two miles i've ever ridden. it was a corkscrew roller coaster of out-of-control whoops, each one taller than the next. no pictures or videos do it justice, so you'll just have to take my word that it was a gem.

i, of course, took nary a picture because the only time i think to extricate my camera is when i see mountains. let's pretend i took this:

"wow," you're wondering. "how did she manage such a nice aerial shot?" don't worry about it.

so. even as i sat happily eating toast in caitlin's backyard, wearing shorts in wintertime, shaded by wisteria and grapefruit trees, the thought never crossed my mind that i wanted to live there. sorry florida. you were kinda nice, but no thank you.

Unfortunate

That didn't go well.

Today was cold and crappy and raining. All day. St Marie flatted midway through and the neutral support had already used up all their wheels on the silly DI boys...ouch. Elk Killer netted a perfectly respectable 17th but I think he burned a match or three doing it...ouch.

I quit.

I suck.

I flatted too, but quickly received a new wheel. Pinned it for five miles and caught back onto the pack, but I was blown for the climb. I fell back and eventually gave up. I spent the next fifteen miles (to my chagrin) composing my litany of excuses, like any good cyclist would. Flatted. It's raining. Want to take a wicked yes (oooo Family Guy reference). Lost my glasses. Four hour race. Saving it for the crit. Suck. I do not like making excuses; they're embarrassing. But more than anything else, I remembered, for the hundredth time, that deep flaw that has marred my racing career:

I hate racing.

I love winning, and good results buoy me almost long enough to overcome the bad ones. But now that my final collegiate weekend has started with such a downer, I know I can't pursue my secret summer plans. Because I just don't love it, or enjoy it, or want it enough.

That said, I'm still looking forward to the crit. Because crits are always fun.

Wish Granted

Well, Elk Killer has the camera with all the pictures and I don't feel like retrieving them now (later, I promise) but I got my wish: the course is beautiful.

The first quarter of the 15 mile course is mostly flat/downhill with alarmingly sandy corners and small branches littering the road. Ugh! The rest of the lap is up down up down up up up up through the lush green uber-pastoral landscape. It's not as dramatic as Fort Collins was but definitely breath-taking in its own right. The lap finishes on a long semi-steep hill, and the race finishes on an even longer, much steeper hill. Fun!

How am I feeling about this? It's just like last year: even if I get blown to bits (likely) I'll still enjoy the ride because of the lovely terrain. I feel even less prepared this year and the weather is probably going to be nasssty, but I refuse to talk myself out of this pleasant sense of anticipation. It's on!!

Madison, WI

After a relatively painless 14 hour drive full of XM comedy radio (ick), we're here. I just can't believe how much of the country is ugly and boring. It makes me want to go find beauty somewhere.

Pre-riding today...I'm afraid.

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.

You Can't Have Cabin Fever Til February

Despite my protestations, I've now decided to prepare for road season. Because the only thing worse than a road race is getting dropped in a road race.
Fortunately, around here doing long rides is like sliding into tepid bathwater. Pretty easy.
Except, certainly not in temperature. It's really cold.
And also not in exertion level. It hurts something awful.
So the only way it's actually easy like stepping in the tub is that there are lots of nice people to join you. Wait. I don't mean to give the wrong impression of my social life. I hereby retract the analogy.
But what I'm trying to say is road riding is easy right now because a: there's damn snow all over the trails, b: there's damn chocolate all over my house, and c: other people (usually St. Marie the Enabler) want to do long rides too.
What was my point? Oh yeah. I'm totally taking a train to Seattle after I graduate. 86 hours, $260, nothing better to do.
Or maybe my point was that grits are even MORE amazing if you toast the corn meal first. Thanks, Baker Bill.This is why I won't be riding Long Branch anytime soon. Pic by Dan Bennett

Foregone Conclusion

After a month and a half of white-knuckled point tabulation and high-pressured website-checking I am pleased to announce Brevard College's conference win and receipt of a full Nationals allocation.

We're coming for your nuts

Why Not?

Since Dan P.Ennis has already been planning his collegiate natz wardrobe for a month (hint: coon skin) I reckon I can initiate a little sh*t talking...
In the words of Buju Banton:

There's no life in the West
I know the East is the best, yes
All the propaganda dem spread
Tongues will hafta confess

Amen. If you're on the wrong side of the Rockies, feel the fear.

Natz in the Books

Some stats for ya'll.
course length: 1 mile
course elevation: ZERO
mph averaged by DII chicas: 25
contact lenses lost by me in the middle of the race: 1
number of wrecks each that the Saint and I got caught behind (but did not go down, thank heavens): 2
my finish: 17th
my omnium finish: 18th. Weak sauce, I know, but I hung with the leaders in both races, which is much better than I expected. Can't help that everyone else hung with the leaders too...
the Saint's finish: 58th
the Manimal's finish: 62nd
# of stars'n'bars jerseys Carla has: 16, is it now?
# of dirty dirty south riders on the podiums: a lot!hours the Manimal spent with a feather stuck behind his ear: 3

Now I'm going to watch Kill Bill II and dream about 12 HOURS OF TSALI!