map of the heart

Puff Baby, and Transcendental Shred

2011-07-13T08:50:00.000-07:00

I can check the Cream Puff off my list. Yesterday was a perfect day to
ride the Alpine trail in Oakridge three times.
The weather topped out at eighty degrees and the trail conditions were
superb.
It's hard to believe it's over though, after a full spring and summer
of training.

This time around I felt so much more prepared and the race was less
traumatic. Granted the course in '08 was brutal and the weather was 100+
degrees, but there were some key factors that helped improve my experience
this year.

1) Mental preparedness.
The silent ten day meditation I did last year helped me a lot. If I got through that I can
get through anything. It helped me deal with my thoughts that can
either be my friend or enemy. My inclination tends toward the dark side
and ten days with no way to distract myself gave me the opportunity to balance
that out. Endurance racing means finding the light in your own darkness, and fighting
deep down demons that might appear otherwise in different ways.

2) Physical preparedness.
Had some damn good times training and wonderful people to do it with. Part of doing
an endurance event like this is because of the training. It takes a lot of time and energy and after a while spending every weekend on epic mountain bike adventures gets tiring, but hard to complain about doing something so awesome so much. Abby Watson did the race as well and she and I spent so much time exploring Oregon trails and roads in order to train. Plus, she's one of the most adaptable people I know, which is a brilliant quality to learn from. She had a great first epic endurance race.

3) Bad ass and wu-wu Pit krew.
I've had some amazing support from massage therapists, acupuncturists, and my movement therapist. Ira noted that if my pit krew were on the sidelines, rather than wearing baseball caps and hoodies, they would be sporting flowy pants while waving crystals and singing as I went by. Auh....auh...auh.

However, Ira and Matt were so great to have for support. They didn't sing as I went by,
but they are constant sources of inspiration as fellow mountain bikers. They simply shred, nuf said.
Plus, my bike was dialed thanks to Ira. My body felt like an extension of the machine, like a yin yang promoting balanced energy to roll through the woods (om shanti..om). I am very grateful for that mechanic of mine.

4) Calories in the food hole.
My tendency is to eat whole, good, food. As much as possible I try to avoid refined sugar and artificial flavoring. Last time I did CP nutrition was a major issue though, and I definitely didn't get enough calories. Partly it was the heat from that year and partly it was that I tried to stick to my whole food diet. This year I was determined to not have the same problem. I trained with science food like unflavored Perpetuem, but knew I'd need a lot more than that during the race. It's hard to imagine what your body is going to want after so much riding.
The morning of the race I made myself eat huge breakfast portions at 4am when nothing sounded good. Then on the first climb up 1910 I continued to eat because I knew it would be easier earlier than later. Half way up the second round of 1910 my body revolted when I tried to feed it a bar. Okay, sticking to the liquid stuff, I resorted to putting gels, sugary blocks, and Perpetuem continuously in "the food hole" for the remainder of the race. At the aid stations I ate anything salty I could find, and towards the end of the race I was so happy to be done just because I wouldn't have to eat anymore. My stomach is still a little funky from the race. Nutrition is a hard one for events like these especially for someone who doesn't like to detach from the food they're putting in their body, but calories are calories and it seems like science food is the most effiecient way to get them.

My naturopathic pit krew person compared doing a race like this to birthing a baby. The training is like the pregnancy, the actual event is the birth, and she suggested that I give myself time and respect for what I've accomplished after - to avoid post-race depression. Western society has a tendency to just get back to life as usual, and to just keep an eye on what's next. Not me though, my Puff baby and I are recovering fully and going to take some time to enjoy doing nothing.

More Core than Core

2011-07-06T14:39:00.000-07:00

About a month ago I cracked my ribs on the Whoops trail in Bend.
It was my second run down and that trail is built to make one feel
pro, and though my plan wasn't to get air the jumps contradicted my
intention, pushing me to my gravitational limit. So with my butt almost as far back as my wheel I was indeed
going to land this fluky jump - until I looked up
and realized I was headed for a tree. My better reflexes turned my handlebars
out of the way and I came crashing down on my ribs. The better option, I'm
convinced.
The rest of the ride was pitiful.
Breathing hurt.
If anyone has injured a rib they know how annoying it can be. The simplest
movements, especially getting up and lying down, are torture. Then you'll
get mystery sneezes that feel like you've pierced the depths of your being.

Since I'd already planned on doing the 6hrs of Washugal a week later
I went ahead and did it. My ribs hadn't improved a bit, in fact, they felt worse than before.
My support crew consisted of Abby, Sarah, and
a bottle of Advil, and I did the race. It was painful yet awesome and riding home
from Washugal was just what we needed for our hundred mile mountain bike race
training.

Shortly after the race, and about a week and a half after the injury I went
to see a friend of mine who does body/energy/somatic/movement therapy. It's
hard to describe exactly what she does because it's very subtle. I told her
about my ribs and she did some light massage and instantly I felt better.
Not only that but she talked me through some movement therapy and I visualized
myself from the inside out - my whole skeletal system working in one unit. Implementing
that into the way I do everything, which is hard because of stubborn patterns that
already exist. But, Hans Selye observed stress to be a disease of adaptability, so rather than think I'm stuck in a fixed arrangement I am learning the ways in which my
body wants to align itself.

This process is more core than core, and it takes constant mindfulness. It's
retraining the brain and utilizing the body to its fullest potential. The body is
an instrument and anyone who at one time or another has been in the 'flow', which I hope is everyone, knows how supple, efficient, and comfortable this space is.

The mind, body, bike connectedness creates a perfect balance of conscious energy that
pairs wonderfully with my shreditation philosophy on life. This is just the beginning stage of learning a whole lot more about this way of living, but I'm curious and
excited to become more familiar with this insight.

I love theorizing life through mountain biking.

Shreditation

2011-04-04T17:33:00.000-07:00

April already and as I seal my Cream Puff registration the rain blows at the window. It has been so wet this year and hard to get into the flow of mountain biking. This past weekend felt like a mini condensed cross season as we rallied to mountain bike regardless of the rain and had three solid days of shred then overhauling bikes to wake up and get muddy again. The lack of sun or dry days is indeed mental training.

However, I really can't complain too much. This year has been full of some new experiences for me. I've tried road racing and loved it( I can't wait to try it on my new road bike!!!), tried my first Super D, and shredded around cactus in Tucson. Plus, Mountain Bike Mondays have returned and we've had some good days in there.

The other day riding down Coyote Gulch, spring flowers peppered the ridge, and I was having such a good ride it felt like I was writing a love letter in cursive on my bike. Just relaxing and accepting things as they came up, and it's not always like that, I know, sometimes things in life won't release my mind and I struggle all the way up or down. Sometimes I over think every obstacle, or show off and get my ego checked around a tree or rock. But shreditation inevitably pulls me in, and even if just for a few moments it reminds me that I am breathing, changing, and completely existing with the environment.

My calendar is filling up and the race in July will come quickly, but this seed of tranquility is sowed by my excitement for adventure. Arriba, arriba!

Rosa y primavera

2011-03-20T18:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday after waking up early to watch the Milan San Remo race I
was more than excited to ride my hot new pink bike to work. That
commute, I tell you, broke records. Pedestrians and motorists
alike stood with brief perplexity at the pink blur that flashed
in and out of their space in time.

Arriving early to work and locking up my ride some kid was yelling
out his window "Hey, nice bike!" I said thanks, then he inquired
"What's it's name?" I hadn't thought about that but the name Rosa
came naturally.

Coming from a background of mountain biking and a ton of road riding
on a ten year old cross bike that I'd raced and ridden into a pile of
steal bones, I never put much emphasis on the bike I was riding. The
cross bike offered some fine rides.
My mindset was that simpler was better and if my bike happened
to be heavier I'd just get stronger. So core. Or cheap. Or lazy.

After my first real ride on Rosa today I must say the bike makes a
difference. My dear friends listened to my gushing about the
responsiveness, the caliper breaks, and how I felt like I was climbing
on air, and descending on a pink cloud.

With all the rain we've been having in Portland the sun that's sure to
shine will transform the city into a candyland of cherry blossoms, tulips,
verdant pastures, and Rosa rides through it all.

Bienvenido la primavera.

V for Cycle Touring!

2010-09-23T13:58:00.001-07:00

Coastal Route from Oregon to San Francisco

It's hard to get motivated to start a tour when it's pissing down rain. Out of the two of us I had two waterproof panniers, my other two and all four of Ira's were not. We had to do some garbage bag customizing and concluded that if you're touring anywhere except the desert in the summer waterproof panniers are necessary.
The first day was the shortest millage wise, but perhaps the most exhausting. The excitement, anticipation, and rain drained us. We made it forty-five miles to Newport and though we had planned on camping we ended up at a Best Western where we were able remove our seeping panniers from the trash bags and dry them out.

The next day as the rain continued we questioned whether we really wanted to do this tour. We did so we continued south. Rolling along the Southern Oregon coast the on and off drizzle became more beautiful. The undulating ocean was a magnificent companion and the rolling hills kept us working, but not unbearably so. The Adventure Cycling maps provided many alternative routes to 101 but sometimes it was the only option. Riding on the highway makes for long days because you can't let your guard down. There are ignorant drivers out there who just don't realize the seriousness of their lack of experience driving a tour bus sized RV while pulling numerous other vehicles. Along with the assholes who just hate cyclists for who knows what reason. We had one get off our bikes and collect our bearings incident where a large truck swiped by pushing us into the shoulder that didn't exist even though he had two open lanes. All this with the graciousness of a redneck middle finger. It's really hard to remain cool when your vulnerable to these kinds of people.
However, there were also some counteractive acts of human encouragement that helped us along. We rode through the town of North Bend and were stopped at a light when we heard a toot-toot. We looked over to see a seventy-something year old grandma with a big grin, giving us a supportive thumbs-up. That was awesome and we rode on for a while wondering what her story was, why she was so thrilled by us cycle tourists.

Everyone has a story. That truck with testicles hanging from the trailer hitch, the motorcyclist taking a self photograph in front of the giant dinosaur just past Arcada Beach, and the bike tourist hauling a Burly trailer across the country all have reasons for being on the road.
One of the best parts of touring is being crammed in a hiker/biker campsite and meeting a medley of folks going different places at various paces for unique and passionate reasons. We met a Swiss couple who'd been traveling for over sixteen months and had covered a great part of Asia, and were headed to Central America, where they then would hit up Africa. Whew, they showed a great deal of knowledge for living out of doors.
There is never a lack of narratives to go around in the touring community. Always tips on routes and set-ups, always food and drink to be shared. It's a beautiful congregation with jubilant members flushed with life. And why not? Think about it you wake up, eat, ride, stop and eat while watching the ocean roll, ride, ride some more, listen, smell, feel, and see the subtle changes in geography and culture as you pedal along, find a place to rest for the evening, set up camp, and repeat. Each night of the tour I laid my head down completely satisfied to have arrived on my own accord. It's a real sense of fulfillment.

As we continued south the days merged and we started to feel the cumulation of our eighty to one hundred plus mile day average. We advanced the golden destination while talking about life and revelations and quieting as the sunlight filtered through the avenue of giant Redwoods and we let everything go. The two-thousand year old trees put our young lives into perspective, and we were awe-struck.
The beginning of the tour I knew my energy budget. After breakfast I could go about twenty-five miles before needing to refuel, but around the fourth day I noticed this wasn't working anymore. The big pot of oatmeal went down with a whistle but didn't hit the bottom. We were in the middle of the woods surrounded by pretty trees, but big deal, I needed fuel and an energy bar wasn't going to cut it. Beef jerky is good but not enough. That morning we had planed on just getting to Arcata to treat ourselves to some unprocessed food and good coffee, but it was at least twenty more miles.
Rolling through Patrick's Point there was a really fancy looking restaurant and a meditation retreat. No good. Finally we came to a diner that looked inexpensive. I had my hopes for some fine organic food, however, and this was not that kind of place. I ate some of the snacks in my handle bar bag and chancing fate we rode on. Within five minutes of riding we were in Trinidad and I spotted Rasta colors on a cafe sign and bam we were there. The chef at the Catch Cafe was kind enough to make us a stick-to-your-bones kind of meal and I instantly felt my body absorb it.

This meal saved my life

When we finally did make it to Arcata we bought provisions but needed to get out of there. It's a kind of vortex that might have you sitting at a cafe sipping coffee and before you know it making jewelery and taking up residency in a tree. We did laundry in Eureka instead, where the three witnessed drug deals in the littered parking lot of the Wash World had us in and out of that town.

Clean laundry and good food are luxuries when touring, and it's surviving on the bare essentials that makes us realize how much excess we live in. We were riding between the walls of an overindulgent society after all, but in our world we had to differentiate between wants and needs. Something had to be needed or very special to bring it along. The weight of stuff adds up.
That said, just outside of Mendocino on day six in a town called Cleone we rolled up to the hiker/biker site at dusk and found a man who stood satisfied after having finished a pint of ice cream. We chatted with him for a bit while he cooked an amazing meal of quinua, kale and veggies. He told us how he had rolled from Vermont to Seattle carrying a Burly trailer full of stuff for what he called "rolling potluck". This was his attempt to educate the greater public about eating local and sustainable food and he was passionate about it enough to lug the supplies around the United States. When we met him he was on his way to San Francisco where he periodically would find farms on which he worked and grounded himself before taking off again.

Late in the saddle the next day, but inspired both by our passionate friend fulfilling his whole-food dream and by the fact that we were so close to San Francisco. The other bike tourists influenced us with their leisurely ways and after sharing four moka pots of coffee we were on our way at about 10:30am opposed to our regular 8am departure. Ah well, already off to a late start we lunched in Mendocino. That day we still ended up clocking in one hundred miles, only getting to our camp destination to find it shower-less. That's no bueno after all day riding. We splashed ourselves clean as best as we could.

With a bit over one hundred miles left we decided to split the last leg into two days, making the final touring day the easiest since our senses would surely be overloaded by the city. That left seventy five miles for the second to last day, but thirty five miles in and I was exhausted. My muscles had gone along with riding this 65lb bike daily for hours at a time long enough, my mind wanted a rest too. The scenery was beautiful but the golden shimmer of the ocean wasn't new anymore. At this point we were able to tell time by where our shadows followed us and if I had one more day of seeing it do a full rotation around me I was going to pop. We tried to make it as easy on ourselves as possible. We even stopped for a laundry break in Bodega Bay and met some interesting folks in the trailer park where we washed, but the day had been hilly and continued that way. Finally after seventy-five miles and after our shadows had given almost a whole revolution we somehow made it to the Samuel Taylor State Park for our last night of camping. San Francisco was a breezy twenty miles away.

Late morning sundial

Early to rise the next morning and full of excitement we saddled up and made for the city. The last leg differed from the rest of the tour because we rolled in through bay area suburbs; San Anselmo, Corte Madera, Sausalito,and one distinguishing factor was the type of cyclist we came upon. They were all kitted out and riding to destination get faster and stronger. It made us think of all our buddies at home preparing for the cyclo-cross season. Fully loaded with anything needed to survive outside of the city we were like gypsies, and the carbon fiber roadies out for their afternoon training rides whipped around us with pomposity. Still we felt good, seven hundred and fifty miles in eight days. The golden gate bridge welcomed us and just as expected our senses were on overload with the chiming of different languages, the multitudes of people and the options for whatever we wanted.

Ain't this America?

Our bud Brian Ellen met us for lunch to witness our re-entry. We ate our food completely entertained by the make-upd, styled, extravagance of the city dwellers buzzing around us. Rather than being concerned about having my pocket-knife and head lamp in my musette bag I suddenly wanted lip gloss and my debit card.
We made it to Ira's uncle's house and he and his partner received us well. We ate like royalty, slept in the softest of beds and had a wonderful behind the scenes tour of SFMOMA. That blew my mind.
The next day we walked around the city, which wrecked my legs more than the whole tour of biking, and ate delicious SF food, and caught the train for our eighteen hour ride back to Portland.

I woke up the first few days of not riding with my body ready to go, but will admit how much I'm now enjoying my light and twitchy bike.
My heart thumps victoriously when I see the distance I covered with my
own two legs on the map that we highlighted. And the explorer in me is brightened to consider the next destinations of cycle adventure.

the anti cross

2010-08-27T20:37:00.000-07:00

so it turns out my adventures are
going in the opposite direction of
the majority of
portland cyclists this time of year.
as everyone
starts doing intense, short interval
workouts
i'll be putting long time in my
touring saddle, and am so looking forward
to it.
we leave first thing in the morning
for san francisco, and are hoping to
make it in a week or so keeping in mind
the touring mentality "it's the
journey that's the destination".

indeed, i can't wait to just wake up
and ride, and get into the rhythm of
the coast range.
i'll post photos and update stories
when we return.

cross might be in my future this season
but i'm not worked up about it. for now
i'm taking it as it comes. fully loaded!

Lalalala Lolo

2010-08-04T19:21:00.000-07:00

Today was great! Did Lolo Pass with an exceptional crew from River City. Dave, Ryan, Ward, Amy, Matt, and Yli-Luoma. Efficient, friendly and all around good riders. The highlight though, I have to say, was the sandwich Dave Guettler had for all of us at the top of the Lolo climb. Corn tortilla, with delicious cheese, apple and salami. Yum!

Ward and Amy are two of the ladies who are participating in the Gentleman's Race with me, and I have to say I'm pretty psyched. They're both strong riders with great attitudes spirited by the adventures in cycling. Ward has ridden, or at least knows about, almost any gravel ride that would seem epic to most, and Amy spins up brutal climbs with a smile and talk of sugary, bubbly drinks and salty snacks, and her cat "Meow". I'm not going to mind spending all day in the saddle with them next weekend, in fact, I'm really looking forward to it.

Adrift

2010-07-19T17:25:00.001-07:00

Just spent a week with sixteen cyclists between the ages of 55-67. They rode an average of 100k each day across the Oregon coast starting in Astoria and finishing in Brookings on the California border. Pretty cool to see folks still out there getting it at those ages. I had a wonderful time hearing their histories and helping facilitate their experiences. The two other guides I worked with were awesome. Ainaz and Guido. Exhausted after a full days work we'd decompress around the fire and talk about life, stories and the things we live for. I learned some awesome campfire cooking techniques from Guido, and some all around life lessons from Ainaz joon.

Coursing the curvature of the ocean were several cycle tourists. Their rhythms were unique as were the reasons they felt compelled to tour the coast. It was amazing to see how popular the coast route was, how young many of the cyclists were and the various levels of riders: those with support headed north to south, those self-contained headed north to south, and then those headed south to north against the relentless head winds. Each wore smiles of excitement and contentment.

What an amazing place the Oregon coast is for cycling. There are great campsites all along the way and breath taking geography to keep you motivated each day. Indeed, bicycling is the physical manifestation of freedom and what a feeling to be unanchored, and just focus on moving through each day. The ocean roaring at your side. It really puts things into perspective. I'm looking forward to doing my own tour to SF along the same route this September.

2010-06-29T08:13:00.000-07:00

Meditation:

Pedaling for me is like a pitchfork
turning shit into fuel. I'm working on
learning how to not bog myself
down with expectations, and rather turn my
experiences into fertilizer.

Being too
cerebral doesn't allow for me to
look around, feel the sensations
and check in with how it is
for me to be on the bicycle. Riding too
much into my head is an unbalanced
communication with myself.

We all know what it's like to be in the
flow: thoughts motivate movement. They
work with the body, and vice versa in a
symbiotic communication.

It's easy to get caught up in
the should be's: I should be
riding more hills, faster, harder, and
pushing ones self is good, it's healthy
if the heart is really in it. It's when we
mistake pushing ourselves with forcing
ourselves to do something.
The latter is a dangerous, ugly
place to be.

I want to check in with my body
often, and make sure my mind is in
a healthy place before I decide to
participate in any adventure, race, or
endeavor. Equipped with my own support
and confidence to get me through the
undertaking, I hope to let expectations
dissipate and be open to new
possibilities.

Into the sun

2010-05-21T09:55:00.000-07:00

Loading up my mountain bike for the tour into the
Canyonlands was exciting and I must admit a little
intimidating. After all, the trip was being arranged by
the legendary Steve Fassbinder, a.k.a Dr. DOOM.
Ira and Matt had filled me with stories of epic adventures
led by Doom, all of which were told with resonant enthusiasm
and a bit of disbelief at what they had done.
Passing up the opportunity to experience a mountain bike
tour with him would have been ridiculous. Besides I'd had it
up to my neck with muddy riding and was in need of the desert.

The first day of the tour was incredible. We drove 2.5
hours from Durango with a threatening sky chasing us. My heart
squeezed with a bit of fear and I questioned what I was getting
myself into. These dudes were serious adventurers, but my
attempts at not feeling good enough were shot down by their
infectiously positive attitudes. The weather stayed dry but the
dust storm to the head made that fifteen mile day seem much
harder. Also, as a novice mountain bike tourer I was
just getting used to the weight on the hips of my bike.
When we finally made it to the first camp we couldn't believe
our dusty eyes. The view was spectacular, the night cold with
only shakes of snow and a sunset that made me take a step back and
a deep breath.

Day two = rad. We woke up, rolled up our beds, caffeinated
and were on our way. Darcy, my team Vag comrade, departed leaving
me the solo female amongst the fourteen fellow adventures. We journeyed
around rocky canyon rims, we hiked our bikes up sections that made us
question whether we'd over-packed our panniers, and peddled through sand
occasionally squirreling out in sand traps. For the greater part of the
day we had good weather. We even had a bit of snow with regular sun breaks.
When we reached the turn off to our next campsite a sign had been posted
preventing us from riding further. It was only about a mile away and Doom
promised it was one hundred times better than where we stood tired, hungry,
and fearful of the rain that surely was on its way. With his motivation
we unloaded our bikes and hiked it to the promised spot, and, I say, it was
a great move. The area was peaceful surrounded by a breathtaking canyon
where waterfalls trickled and birds chattered. It rained a bit but soon
cleared up in time for me to dangle my legs on the ledge of the gorge
with my dinner of dehydrated pasta parmesan.

Projected to be a lot of time in the saddle the next day was the last
part of the tour for everyone except Jon and Doom. The geography was marvelous
in every sense of the word. Thanks to the rain that had been on and off all
morning the sand for a good deal of that day was packed and much easier to
ride on than dry sand. We took advantage of it and booked it as fast as we
could. On that last day I had finally gotten the flair for riding in sand -
keep your weight back and steer with your body. My quads ached from this
style of riding but I couldn't be bothered with that when all of my other
senses were overloaded with the amazement enveloping me. Here we were
rolling along terrain that was decipherable to the ocean floor, which at
one point it was. The vegetation seemed similar to coral and algae, and we
were like a school of fish blurp blurping our way through the smooth,
burmy trails between walls tattooed with hieroglyphics. The magic of the
experience was intensified as Jon Bailey played his harmonica so that at
one point my shit-happy grin came from a deep place in my guts recognized
as contentment.

That day we finished with a descent down elephant hill and booked it to the outpost where the options of wet food and barley pop seemed limitless. It felt amazing
to have accomplished the tour but at the same time sad that it was over.

We camped one last night as Doom and Jon prepared for their extended journey,
which as I write this from the comforts of my home more than a week later, they
are still on. Their senses are no doubt synchronized with that of the land, and
the lack of distraction from their focus of survival is enviable.

My suspicions have been confirmed - mountain bike touring is sweet. I'm already
scheming my next adventure. Ashland - North Umpqua trail, um, er, uh, hell yeah!

Explorers

2010-04-21T12:48:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was amazing. With the help of Matt Hall's enthusiasm Ira and I picked our tired asses out of bed and down to the coffee shop with our pockets full of food and our mountain bikes ready to roll to the trails around Hagg Lake, then up through some logging roads where we'd then hopefully drop out near Brown's Camp to shred the gnar before returning. An estimated time of 8-10 hours assured it was going to be epic. We were a little unsure about how our bodies felt about that after the century we'd ridden the day before. Matt showed up just in time and we made our way to the MAX then snaked it to Hillsboro.

At Hagg Lake the sky was threatening, and our energy was quiet, but we persevered. The first bit of dirt was a holiday for our doomsday thoughts. Little technical details that took our minds off the giant void we were about to explore.

We hit the steep pitch of Scoggins Road after mushing through the oily goop the Hagg Lake trail had turned into. A raven's carcass warned us to turn back while we still could. And we climbed. We climbed some more on gravel roads known only to axe-men. The views from this point were awe-inspiring, and we all rode with a sense of humility for the Sasquatches in the forest around us. The trees who-whoooed and clack-clack-clacked as our tires ascended the solitary roads. We continued to check the map but ultimately what it came down to was a test of trusting our guts. Matt's gut to be exact. When we came to a section of felled trees that would require more hike a bike than riding and seemed less likely that anyone should find us Matt insisted we continue through it. We did. Mounting and dismounting over the hurdles of forest debris until we felt the (dis)organization of civilization. As if we'd stepped into a shooting range we crawled into an area littered with concrete blocks, aluminum cans, and bullet shells.
Sunshine splashed our faces as we victoriously rode into Brown's Camp. The castle at the end of stage one of our ride was the picnic table where we lunched.

Riding our usual loop was excellent. The sounds of atv's, and the familiarity of the trails kept us hooting and hollering. By the time we climbed up Storey Burns we were worked, so not heeding the roshambo results, the thickening rain nor the signs of the two ravens warning us not to ride the additional Sictor Lars trail was ambitious. This was an adventure, after all, and we had made it all that way. Ira was kind enough to sacrifice a shoulder muscle for our over-zealous mistake (Damn knowing when to hold 'em!), and so we decided it was time to make our way home. We might even make it in time for a five pm coffee. With caffeine aspirations we time trialed our way back along hwy 6, through Forest Grove, and along the bitch of highway back to the MAX. Props to Matt and Ira for those motor-like pulls.

In Hillsboro we hung our bikes on the train and fell into our seats. Muddy faced explorers with miles of stories of a New World in our legs. The man mumbling curses to himself while fidgeting with his motorized scooter must have thought we were nuts, but we just stared at the rain splashing the windows as we approached the lives waiting for us in Portland. Though we arrived too late for second coffee our heads were buzzing late into the evening with adventurous shred scenes.

muddy monday

2010-02-01T17:25:00.000-08:00

Yes!
Today was perfect. Ira and I were on our
way back from the beach and had plans
to meet Tony P and Matt H for our holy
day of mtbmonday. From the coast
range the sideways rain was less than
inviting but once we arrived at Browns
Camp where Tony had picked the mud
covered Matt up we were psyched to ride.
Especially after learning Matt had out-epic-ed
us by riding out there.
We no longer feel sympathy for one another, but
remind each other that the Cream Puff will
be much harder than whatever we're going
through.
Riding the slick roots and rocks at Browns
Camp left us happy and looking forward to
the season ahead of shred.

two thousand shred

2010-01-25T15:36:00.000-08:00

i'm excited about 2010. everyone i talk to seems to
think it's going to be a good year, and we're all ready for it
after the unpredictability of the last one. the good thing about
2009 is that it shook many of us out of our comfortable positions and
made us take a good look at what we really want. it's so
easy to become stagnant in jobs, activities and daily habits that we
forget what sparks us.
while planning my year i'm keeping this in the front of my mind, and am very
happy with the goals to which i've chosen to devote my focus.
my application for graduate school is in and if all goes well i'll be starting
in the fall.
until then i've got some bike racing plans up my sleeve and am
going to put a good chunk of my energy into racing the cream puff.
two years ago i simply wanted to finish the race but this year i want to
kill it. beating my time of 14 hrs by two hours.
hopefully ryah will be interested in helping me train for this as we
work exceptionally well together.

documenting the process via map of the heart is all part of my plan.

fleeting days of honey...

2008-08-27T21:55:00.000-07:00

sticky, like the aftermath of
swollen fruit
the hours run closer
my eyes blink

leaves turn

an invite to be sound
really try to sensualize
the rain
sip a moment that cannot
be avoided

organic.

a smile that's real
pulls from the heart
slow, but risky
and feels so good

you flex like a breeze

contributing to
decomposition

one side of me surrenders
but
i still want to be a wild flower

fireflies

2008-07-22T12:45:00.000-07:00

a galaxy of bioluminescent memories
explored.

the responsibility of our species
implored and becoming realized.......

the iron scent of blood reminds
me
straighten up. sweat rolling off
my back.

the world cycles around us.
life inside

concrete, thunder, hands, and
a smile cracked.

we've found too much. only so
many of the riches can fit in
our pockets

a heart etched out of steel
of old times.

shimmering free in this
impression.

st. cloud

2008-06-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

mac and ray
again, peddling through the sun...
beautiful day through the gorge
over the bridge of the gods and
back through a wind that paused
as we ascended.
the cool air seemed to veil us
from the sun, though afterwards
we found our faces and legs
pink, tight and radiating some of
its heat.
and the mind is a funny thing...
taking us in and out of conversation.
philosophy talk, goofing, and then
caught in the depths of our own heads.
speaking when necessary,
but some things are stronger
when left silent.

gritty kitty

2008-06-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

no better place to be
it's very curious

riding so hard into your thoughts that everything surrounding
you commingles with your
energy
you've found inside that place that seems to pulsate with the earth.
happiness, stress, courage, along with every other emotion is entangled,
driving like a drill behind your heart to cause an immediate response.
you think:

strange, what am i doing here on this bike?

your mind wanders from the present.
possibly the rapture of feeling is too much,
idle thoughts are easier to come by

fuck, why does that sara mclaughlin song keep coming up?
shit!

oh, yea. you know what you need to do. stay right here
over this root, up this, turn here,
there you go your body is in sync again.

just like meditation

beautiful thoughts. that's better. you're drawing upon the
inspiration of the strong people in your life...

they are
not afraid of embodying emotion while traversing a moment
confronting discomfort
letting go

you're lucky to have their strengths along for
the ride to keep you moving.

tough, ardent, honest

then you realize you've been speaking (to yourself)
simply organizing the many dimensions in the being
through
the echo of ingenuity

markings

2008-06-14T14:14:00.000-07:00

willowy enough for me?
experience etched out
of something whimsical

following a hard line
to catch the last breaths of
sunlight.

and i exhale.
you do too

i can't speak of destruction
with too soft a voice

sing strong even when the walls
are crumbling
he says i live beneath the dust and
dirt.

perhaps when the illusion of where we think we're going settles around us our contentment reaches a pinnacle in the depths of our heart. art and love seem to make sense of foolishness, of brut thoughts

grow

2008-06-13T20:14:00.000-07:00

until i become immortal
i'll continue learning how to be
human.

open to the pouring sky

2008-06-10T23:14:00.000-07:00

i write because of the outside influences.
the variables that make the journey
an experience.

so that when i see a scowl on a face
or creases of laughter around
a pair of eyes
i will better understand the soul
like a lover's
rather than that of
an enemy