Are You Living It?

Ryan and I went out to sushi with my dear friend Jill last night. We try to catch up once a month and hit our favorite sashimi locale and tickle our senses wild with scallop, maguro, and amaebi (and yes, I love to eat the heads!).

It gives Jill and I a chance to catch up and chat about cycling, something we’re both passionate about. Ryan does a great job enduring our nonsense talk and definitely adds to the discussion by reminding us the perils we face in pedaling transcend all genres of sports, some more than others. Yeah, he keeps it real.

I tried something new in my training schedule for the Willamette Classic stage race. This in itself is not a bad thing, but trying a fairly big change just prior to a race, may not have been a good idea. Up through February I had been riding strong. Climbing with riders that I had never been able to hang with in the past. Willamette was looking good!

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.

Inevitably there are people in your town that you know, have heard of or seen who have reached almost legendary status due to something they have done, something they do, or just some sort of lifestyle that propels them into mythological status………

While the rest of my teammates were out doing battle on the last stage of the Redland’s Classic, I decided to pin the numbers on for the USAC Crit that takes place in downtown Redland’s during the Sunset Loop road race.  It is known as “the crit of shame” among the pros.  All the racers who either got shelled during the stage race or didn’t make the cut for the stage race squads get to have a crack at some good prize money and glory in front of the crowd that gathers to see the finale of the past four days of racing. 

It’s funny how a multi-day event will lead you through a range of emotions. The good - winning a prologue, the bad - losing quite a bit of time on Alpine, and the ugly - blowing my legs for two loaves of bread. (Don’t worry that explanation will come later…)

Friend of Live Your Passion, Jason Hooten, is a professional geologist in Durango, CO, and an avid outdoorsman.  We’ve climbed a lot of pitches and biked a lot of miles together.  He’s also a talented photographer, something that has made me pretty lazy about bringing a camera along on group trips to scenic destinations–Why would I take pictures, when Jason will be photographing the same stuff and doing it much, much better? 

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.

Passion leads to perseverence and in the end you get to see or feel things that common sense would not allow you to learn. Like today, on my way out to the start of the Alpine Road Race the rain was soaking everything.  The mountains we were to ride up into, hidden in the storm clouds and promising a soggy cold day.