I was just thinking that it may be time to give up smoking. Here in Northern California the smoke from Wildfires has given me a chance to take up smoking while training. I wasn’t sure if the two would go together, but it seems to be helping. My workouts feel much harder, even the ride downhill to town can sometimes take my breath away. I must be really putting out the watts!
My husband attempted to kill me this weekend. And he came mighty close, to be honest. I still can’t walk normally.
Let me back up a bit.
Since we had a long weekend with the 4th falling on a Friday, Ryan canceled his plans to trek to Horne Lake on Vancouver Island and instead booked the weekend with me at our cabin in Mazama. He decided to take me up the South Early Winter Spire on a moderate yet classic route.
Ever join a group mtb ride and look around at your fellow singletrackers and think, Hmm, this is going to hurt … ???
Well, for reasons spiritual and intergalactic, it had been a tough week for me, but with Friday afternoon came the offer to join the fellas for a blast up Junction Creek and around the Dry Fork Loop.
Here is a timeline of the three hour ride:
Take enough time away from the keyboard and a slew of ideas present themselves for explication, like a group of 2nd graders waiting to say the right answer in social studies (hands up high, other hand holding the arm up, waving madly, “Oh me, me, me”… you get it). Some inspirational, some funny, some obvious extensions of of recent emotions and turmoil. My horoscope today said to discard the items in my life that resist decay. I thought that was interesting; historically I have ruthlessly separated myself from the things that lose their shimmer and novelty, as if trying to deny the march of time.
I don’t know if I have enough material for this post, honestly, but it’s best to capitalize on those rare mornings of good humor before the mosquitos start breeding and the sun makes it impossible to sleep in the truck past 6 am. As I prepped my morning yerba in Moab, I overheard the little girl who was camping next door as she left the restroom ‘facilities’ stating to the world in a sing-song voice, ”I’m-no longer-occupied!” I empathized, reaching back to the mornings after my first cup of coffee when I too feel possessed. Then there was the exchange between she and her little brother, Jake:
Calling a spade a spade, the recent Denver trip was a warm up for the real adventure. One of the keys to enjoying oneself while living in the tight confines of a small truck is to immediately dive into the tasks that you would otherwise put off. These tend to be the least enjoyable ones, like driving in the city, sleeping in the truck even when you don’t have to, brewing up some yerba mate on the tailgate, boiling water for dishes, and for god’s sake, keeping organized.
The thoughts that finally nudged me from my slumber were dimly related to my uncertainty as to when black bears begin emerging from hibernation, if there were any buttoned down near my impromptu campsite, if there were, would they be hungry, if so, could they smell my food, and should all of these things prove to be true, would I want to be caught between the disoriented and famished 350 pound ball of fang and fur, and its potential organic nacho cheese-flavored tortilla chip smorgasbord. The answer was no, and I wasted little time rushing through my morning rituals and heading down the mountain.
The miles rolled by more easily than expected (no doubt encouraged by a double mocha and an uncontrollable urge to just get the hell OUT of Durango) and early evening saw the silver Tacoma pulling in to the parking lot of the American Alpine Club Museum in Golden. Ed Webster was presenting a slide show that primarily centered on his epic desert sandstone first ascents. Though I only caught the tail end of the show, it was enough to steal a laugh or two from a seemingly wonderful man and marvel at the courage that some of his early climbs must have required. I felt like a well-versed tourist; having spent a solid decade knocking off many of the classic climbs that litter Colorado and Utah, I knew of the people and places that the prolific Mr. Webster ticked off. That climbing has not been a significant part of my life for the better part of 6 years contributed to the dissonance, but it also sent strange pulses of inspiration running up my spine and into the tiny 1-bedroom rental in my frontal lobe that dictates nostalgia. There was a certain luxury that identifying myself as a climber, a true adventurer, a hardman if you will, had once afforded. It used to flip a switch that relegated all of life’s other trivialities to a recycling bin conveniently located next to the afore-mentioned cerebral flophouse. Contrasted with the epic beauty of sandstone and granite walls, the impending doom and excitement of lightning storms and rockfall, the smell of carbon and dust that permeates sunburnt skin and strangely cleanses the soul, the minutiae of “real” life lose there significance.
Would have known that there was something missing for the world to be right or he right in it and would have set forth to wander wherever it was needed for as long as it took until he came upon one and he would have known that that was what he sought and it would have been. -Cormac McCarthy
On Wednesday I had the privelage of volunteering at the Mount Shasta Nordic Center, instead of working at the office. We had a grade school bring about 50 kids for a day of Nordic lessons and touring. It was a treat to be involved in showing children a new way to have fun and exercise in the outdoors. Community volunteers helped lead stations with games that developed Nordic Skiing skills in a fun and approachable way. By lunch time, most of the kids were pretty comfortable on their skis and looked forward to their ski tour. Living your passion is not just about doing the things you love, but having the chance to share those things with others. Share Your Passion!
