The Spoon Couloir

Couloir skiing is what you’re supposed to do in the Tetons. You’re supposed to hunger for those long, steep, narrow strips of snow, lines that you have to ascend to assess, and lines that you’re fully committed to once you’re in them. I’m not sure, though, that I actually like couloir skiing.

Not my happy place.

Cy, Dapper Dan and I set out from Driggs early on Saturday in pursuit of the Spoon, an aesthetic couloir in GTNP that cuts through rock bulwarks on Disappointment Peak's northeast face. I hadn’t skied anything scary for a while so I was nervous. Let me clarify: the Spoon is a scary line to me, but it wouldn’t be for many skiers I know. I don’t enjoy skinning on icy surfaces, bootpacking up steep lines, or skiing in no-fall zones. I’ve been skiing couloirs for half a decade but definitely started before I was actually a competent enough skier to safely do so. Fortunately I have had supportive partners every time and definitely got real lucky

once or twice.

We were skiing with pointy accessories (an ice axe or a whippet, Black Diamond’s ingenious ski pole with a pick on the end for self arrests), a new concept to me, and one I’m not entirely comfortable with. If I need more sharp objects than just my ski edges, I’m leery of the consequences.

Skinning at dawn.

The forecast seemed to be on our side; no snow had fallen in a week and the impending storm kept getting pushed back in the day. We made quick work of the long flat skin from the Taggart Lake Trailhead to the toe of Disappointment and then booked it uphill, me lagging slightly behind those two with their long-ass legs. Cresting the shore of Surprise Lake, we were hit with big gusts funneling through the basin. The snow was polished to an icy sheen by the constant wind. We picked our way around the Amphitheater Lake basin, found softer snow in the apron of the Spoon, and put our skis on our backs. The first traverse freaked me out because I hate bootpacking sideways on steep slopes, but we decided to continue uphill after I had stopped hyperventilating. It was fast going at first, the boys punching steps into the supportive snow, but near the top of the couloir the wind intensified, slapping our faces and blinding us with vicious spindrifts.

We fought our way across the top to hide in the flattish berth of a rock. The guys were patient as I transitioned shakily, paranoid that all of my gear would be ripped from my hands by the wind and thrown into the abyss.

Cy finds some soft snow after 800 feet of hardpack.

The avalanche danger appeared to be minimal. The loading zone was scraped clean and the couloir was groomer-firm. We each skittered down the slope, and I made nary an arcing turn; my top priority was to keep my ski edges dug into the snow. Each time another gust blasted me, I sat down and plunged my whippet behind me. Pretty graceless way to ski a couloir, if you ask me.

That said, I'm a much better skier than I used to be, so the descent was uneventful. The three of us were very happy to exit the Spoon without incident and we traveled down to Delta Lake via a much nicer and almost as aesthetic second line. The snow in Glacier Gulch was soft and the terrain was playful, but I wasn’t as appreciative as I would have been with fresher legs. Somehow the trek back to the car was much longer than the ingress, but isn’t that always the case when your boots are rubbing your feet raw and you can hear the siren call of Coors?

Dapper, stoked to be in soft snow again.
Little did he know he would be split skiing the rest of the descent.

Safely off the mountain, I reflected on the fear that grips me in couloirs, and wondered if it’s worth it. Climbing and descending consequential lines scares the piss out of me for extended amounts of time and I don’t really enjoy it. Am I a real Teton skier? Should I content myself with skiing low-angle bowls and effortless powder trees? And would that be the worst thing in the world?

Or will I forget the paralyzing fear once a few weeks have passed and start perusing trip reports again, dreaming of big, beautiful lines?

I mean it is really fun sometimes.

Mole Hill...to Mountain...to Mole Hill

Yesterday sort of out of the blue Wes offered me a shot at the Pisgah Stage Race, the insanity of which I had scoffed at for years.

Appalled, frightened, titillated, I retreated to the internet, studying maps, elevation profiles, and race reports. I realized what all stage racers surely know: life would take a backseat. I'd have to play soccer with kid gloves, ease up on the beer consumption, carefully tend to my bike, lose days of work.

In the end my decision was clinched by my job--the boss-lady will be out of town that week, leaving me "in charge", and that, combined with my utter lack of prep and questionable mental fortitude, makes it one helluva long shot.

It's crazy how even the suggestion of such great heights has galvanized me. All right, I won't do it this year, but instead of surviving the Swank I want to race it and own it, I want to kick ass at every cyclocross race I enter, and I want to entertain the notion of the stage race, not in the distant imaginary future, but in the next couple of years.

Now that (finally, wonderfully) Asheville has its own cx series, I can enjoy that stupid, awesome discipline without the usual caveats--no long drives, no missed work shifts, no uninspiring grass courses in the Piedmont. Along with an unusually large Brevard contingent I attended an evening practice race and the Bent Creek throwdown last Saturday and surprised myself with a: a threshold intensity I could've sworn had evaporated, and b: an uncharacteristic bloodthirstiness. My favorite part was clawing my way through the ranks of women in front of me, piloting the deutschbike around their sketchy singletrack maneuverings and "sprinting" away in slow motion.

Da posse

It's not just cx that's got me wickedly stoked on riding right now. Joh and I rode Farlow on Sunday and while I embarrassed myself with my timidity, it was still a grand time. Best of all, four of us ladies partook of a Dupont night ride, which was beyond fun. Clattering down Rocky Ridge at dusk, skirting huge toads and piles of manure, listening to the coyotes, we could not stop exclaiming, "This...is...awesome!"

Da gurls

Uphill/Downhill

We rode Becky Mountain today and it reminded me how much I loveloveLOVE stupid road climbs. They're just so...painful! And stupid! But not boring! Or monotonous!
But then we rode the not-intimidating downhill on See-Off and the even-less-intimidating downhill on 276 and, guys, I have to say: I am the worst road descender in the history of the world.
This is a recent development. There was a time when I didn't* suck ass. But now I am scaredscaredSCARED. And I stubbornly refuse to take advice from Squirrel or the Saint or anyone because I'm too busy being scared to "find the apex of the curve", etc. I'll let loose for a few minutes but then get that TERROR FLASH and then grab the brakes even harder/sketchier. Loyal readers: is there a cure?


*Why is the little spell-check underline showing up on the word "didn't"? Am I going crazy? "Didn't" IS the correct contraction of "did not", isn't it?
Oh God, now they're underlining "isn't" too. Ack.

Return and Departure

after a summer of house-sitting/dog-sitting/pool-sitting at various remote, beautiful, and inconvenient locations, i finally moved back into my cute, convenient, comfortable apartment today. i'm no longer responsible for anything besides the groceries in my fridge and the dishes in my sink. the subaru can once again chill for days in the driveway, instead of shuttling my gas-guzzling self from one end of the county to the other. now i have a chance to relax.

just in time for oramm.

my personal mechanic has tuned the bike to perfection, and i'll be riding over to old fort with dirty wes d...the KOP...old man balls...#1...the man who has so many titles he's starting to sound like an old school rapper. now i'm off to buy some fig newtons and beef jerky, trail food of champions.

t-minus 36 hours, give or take.

oh boy.

VeloNews Is Too Slow

So I'll fill you in, oh faithful reader*.
St. Marie dropped out...gahhh...I know...he threw down too hard on the first climbs and then he was all like "Ouch" and Squirrel was like "Save it for tomorrow, you stallion you." That was exactly the conversation they had.
The Manimal finished. However, he didn't quite top his top-20 result at MOUNTAIN BIKE NATZ. Helllloooooo, wrong discipline much? He also threw up. He really did leave it all on the course.
Overall a stellar day for the crack BC racing squad. And we'll be ringing in the morning with a long flat criterium!! Against national caliber road racers! Yaaaay! I think I might throw up too.
pretty preride.

P.S. GOOD LUCK to everyone stump-jumping or fat-tiring this weekend!! Or, you know, acclimating to sweet German terrain...JEALOUS.
P.P.S. Old Chub and Fat Tire are EVERYWHERE and it's killing me slowly with unslaked thirst.


*Does anyone read this? Am I talking to myself? Ah, that's ok.

Oh Lordie...

i am not the most decisive person. i go back and forth like a game of pong. i will make the most definitive-sounding statement ever (i.e.: i'm NOT going to nationals. you can't MAKE me) but with very little persuasion my iron determination will corrode faster than an underwater penny. actually, this very frequently involves national races. fer'example:

collegiate mountain bike natz '07. i shilly-shallied trying to decide whether to make the trek from CH to LMC for so long that i finally got left. really. i said 'yes', he said 'later'. i had to cool my fury by going off and partying at ASU all weekend.
collegiate road natz '08. i pretty much said no to this one. and then maybe. and then 'ehhhh....'. and then no, again.
open mtb natz '08. i was totally going to do the french broad classic instead. totally. it was in town. i could win money. it was so duh! except then...someone suggested vermont. why not? because...oh, okay.
collegiate mtb natz '08. no question! go brevard! woooot!

so what's my point? um, it seems in this eleventh hour that i am actually going to fort collins for road nationals. ick. oh, it gets worse. we're driving. oh, it gets worse still. i can't even race road!! i get dropped by fat-bottomed girls! i'm also missing miz squirrel's stumpjump (but everyone else should go. it'll be superb, no doubt.)

there are so many reasons why i don't want to do this! i haven't even listed half of them yet! but the weirdest thing? i'm actually starting to kind of look forward to it. i told you i'm indecisive.
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