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Coffee + solitary spinning = thought Beer + more riding = thought I stink. Therefore I am.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Roland.
Where for art thou?
And in the words of the crabs........
Dockity Chock; Dockity Chock
Where for art thou?
And in the words of the crabs........
Dockity Chock; Dockity Chock
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Capturing in words – the happiness I felt this morning while making a Hobbit Directional sign – over coffee in the shed.
This – following a great day – albeit – a work day – that started at 5:30 am with a great ride down the ridge where I took no less than 40 photos as the environs – after 14 years and approximately 2,311 times down the same trail – and my mind is still blown every day by the beauty of the area we live in.
Immediately following that ride – work. Enough said.
Then, whence upon returning home with the crew on the can; gay and joyous banter and a great 1x ride home on something old, something new, something steep something middle…then – skating until dark with friends – albeit – all of us skating pretty poorly.
Following the shed work, a complimentary upgrade to business class on a 777 to Chicago (small miracles) where upon I did watch ‘Tent City’ and realized that Rick Charnowski and Buddy Nichols have their shit together beyond belief – and that they capture not only the essence of skateboarding – but the essence of adventure and life. A 4 week road trip through Australia – simply to experience life and skate and adventure. Nothing could be more important.
All of this – following a great 4 hour ride Sunday with my lovely wife on trails that see few people – and even getting lost – which is rare these days.
That – preceded by an 18 hour road trip to Carbondale and Aspen to skate, skate and skate. We rolled for about 10.5 hours of those 18 hours – some of it on some of the gnarliest alien terrain ever. And just had a blast focusing on something as simpleas rolling around on a board….and seeing yummy mummy’s; and getting into fights (almost) and getting really scared but having that fear turn into inspiration (more on that trip and the CAPSULE).
Up to the present….Andrew Mccarthy is on Oprah this week – so he ischecking into our hotel – who cares..but the gay man behind the check in desk says I look very young after he notes my birthdate…he says he can tell it is because I laugh a great deal.Best compliment I have gotten in a while and an important reminder….now to sit in this kick ass window seat and overlook the busy city street and the river and the lake.
Bob, I’ll take “this is fucking sweet’ for 15 points.
This – following a great day – albeit – a work day – that started at 5:30 am with a great ride down the ridge where I took no less than 40 photos as the environs – after 14 years and approximately 2,311 times down the same trail – and my mind is still blown every day by the beauty of the area we live in.
Immediately following that ride – work. Enough said.
Then, whence upon returning home with the crew on the can; gay and joyous banter and a great 1x ride home on something old, something new, something steep something middle…then – skating until dark with friends – albeit – all of us skating pretty poorly.
Following the shed work, a complimentary upgrade to business class on a 777 to Chicago (small miracles) where upon I did watch ‘Tent City’ and realized that Rick Charnowski and Buddy Nichols have their shit together beyond belief – and that they capture not only the essence of skateboarding – but the essence of adventure and life. A 4 week road trip through Australia – simply to experience life and skate and adventure. Nothing could be more important.
All of this – following a great 4 hour ride Sunday with my lovely wife on trails that see few people – and even getting lost – which is rare these days.
That – preceded by an 18 hour road trip to Carbondale and Aspen to skate, skate and skate. We rolled for about 10.5 hours of those 18 hours – some of it on some of the gnarliest alien terrain ever. And just had a blast focusing on something as simpleas rolling around on a board….and seeing yummy mummy’s; and getting into fights (almost) and getting really scared but having that fear turn into inspiration (more on that trip and the CAPSULE).
Up to the present….Andrew Mccarthy is on Oprah this week – so he ischecking into our hotel – who cares..but the gay man behind the check in desk says I look very young after he notes my birthdate…he says he can tell it is because I laugh a great deal.Best compliment I have gotten in a while and an important reminder….now to sit in this kick ass window seat and overlook the busy city street and the river and the lake.
Bob, I’ll take “this is fucking sweet’ for 15 points.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Rain. Cold. Fog. Lions and tigers and bears.
Normally – when I go to the neighbors house for dinner – who happen to be food and wine and beer snobs – I eat and drink way too much. This night – however – I had the bug to ride early and long the next morning – so I abstained. From the spirits as it were. I ate like a frickin’ recently emigrated refugee – but I didn’t drink too much.
So when the alarm went off at 5:15 – and it was foggy and freezing out – I wasn’t too bummed. With all the sunny days we get here – it’s kinda nice to ride in the fog. It opens up some avenues that might not be as approachable during the middle of a hot summer morning. I declined from the original route of intention – as it involves much high grass and bushwhacking –a nd in the fog I could get seriously lost (not like Gilligan’s Island but more like Land of the Lost)
The road was squishy, and slow, and I felt extra slow. That kinda – took a day off and now my legs feel like garbage – kinda slow. But it was awesome out – and I was alone –and I had 2 potato and cheese burritos in my pack – and a thermos of hot coffee in the bottle cage.
In equine terms – you could say we were quite well off.
I rode the thing that carries the stuff to the place all the way. It was pretty cold. Cold enough that the water that was hitting my legs was freezing into little ice crystals. I think they call that freezing.
It was very dark and wet and slippery – and I cleaned one drop that I definitely didn’t want to ride alone – but I didn’t see it. In many places visibility was like 10 – 12 feet. Sketchy.
So – on the way down the road part at the end of the ride I am all prepared for that soaking through miserable feeling – when all o f a sudden I bust out of 6,000 feet – and holy jerry falwell – it’s clear as a bell. The road is dry – the fog disappears – I literally pop out of the bottom of it and can see.
Usually it’s the other way around – which we call an inversion. So – if this is the opposite – is this a ‘version’.
I scratch my way through the lunch hour really wanting to skate – but my left ankle is really hurting from some slams Sunday – and I am resting up for the pilgrimage to the land of holy concrete in Aspen and Carbondale. A new skatepark with a full pipe and a cradle. SCARY. 6 sessions and three parks in 48 hours. Holy advil Buttman.
We are going to stay with Choo CHoo – rather than spend the 180 bucks on a hotel. Her suggestion was to eat and drink that money rather than sleep on it. So – a belly full of sushi and hops on the floor sounds pretty good to me at this point.
Normally – when I go to the neighbors house for dinner – who happen to be food and wine and beer snobs – I eat and drink way too much. This night – however – I had the bug to ride early and long the next morning – so I abstained. From the spirits as it were. I ate like a frickin’ recently emigrated refugee – but I didn’t drink too much.
So when the alarm went off at 5:15 – and it was foggy and freezing out – I wasn’t too bummed. With all the sunny days we get here – it’s kinda nice to ride in the fog. It opens up some avenues that might not be as approachable during the middle of a hot summer morning. I declined from the original route of intention – as it involves much high grass and bushwhacking –a nd in the fog I could get seriously lost (not like Gilligan’s Island but more like Land of the Lost)
The road was squishy, and slow, and I felt extra slow. That kinda – took a day off and now my legs feel like garbage – kinda slow. But it was awesome out – and I was alone –and I had 2 potato and cheese burritos in my pack – and a thermos of hot coffee in the bottle cage.
In equine terms – you could say we were quite well off.
I rode the thing that carries the stuff to the place all the way. It was pretty cold. Cold enough that the water that was hitting my legs was freezing into little ice crystals. I think they call that freezing.
It was very dark and wet and slippery – and I cleaned one drop that I definitely didn’t want to ride alone – but I didn’t see it. In many places visibility was like 10 – 12 feet. Sketchy.
So – on the way down the road part at the end of the ride I am all prepared for that soaking through miserable feeling – when all o f a sudden I bust out of 6,000 feet – and holy jerry falwell – it’s clear as a bell. The road is dry – the fog disappears – I literally pop out of the bottom of it and can see.
Usually it’s the other way around – which we call an inversion. So – if this is the opposite – is this a ‘version’.
I scratch my way through the lunch hour really wanting to skate – but my left ankle is really hurting from some slams Sunday – and I am resting up for the pilgrimage to the land of holy concrete in Aspen and Carbondale. A new skatepark with a full pipe and a cradle. SCARY. 6 sessions and three parks in 48 hours. Holy advil Buttman.
We are going to stay with Choo CHoo – rather than spend the 180 bucks on a hotel. Her suggestion was to eat and drink that money rather than sleep on it. So – a belly full of sushi and hops on the floor sounds pretty good to me at this point.
Definitely a moment of Self realization.
Sunday. 12:30 or so. Skating alone. Drinking coffee. Hotter ‘n’ a Well Diggers Ass. Well – hot. Trying different tricks…seeking the one trick that will somehow register and connect – and get my focus and stoke. Sessioning alone is tough sometimes – although sometimes it’s really relaxing. No pressure. No waiting. Very tiring – and harder to get the Mojo going.
Decided to just start trying switch axle drops. One of those intuitive roadblocks in the brain. Kinda like jumping into an empty swimming pool. You are dropping in backwards. Not natural. So I try like 12 – 13 times. Not a dynamic trick – as you start from a standstill. Slam. Bam. Slam. Slide. Then – I get one perfect. Then – another half a dozen slams and something clicks and I ‘feel’ the trick. Once you feel it – you know you got it. Then – progress into nose stalls to fakie. Again – really awkward – but the brain is starting to get it. Maybe it was the blow to the head.
The aforementioned moment comes when I am lying in the bottom of the ramp after a pretty heavy body blow. Why – I ask – on earth – do I care if I can drop into this ramp backwards. Why does it matter at all if I can roll on a little four-wheeled board into this curved structure in the opposite way than I would normally? It just doesn’t matter at all. And that’s the beauty. It matters to me.
Later. Dehydrated. After some heavy labor with The Herminator in the woods – the work is done and we crack an Old Guardian to celebrate Middle Earth. I am not a ‘Rings’ fan – other than Liv Tyler. If Liv Tyler were in a foreign re-make of “Paint Drying” I would probably own three. But – anyway – the name just came to me. Middle. Earth.
The 10.6% alcohol by volume of the Guardian does it’s thing. And after a day in the sun, hard labor, skating and the look on The Herminator’s face when I haul out a pint of Barley Wine – metaphorically speaking it really is Miller Time. Only – it’s Stone Brewery time – I guess.
That was realization on the ramp – this is actualization.
Is there anything better than cracking a beer at the end of a long weekend of sun and fun, knowing it’s all downhill on the way home and that the single-track will end at a gorgeous house where there are women preparing large hamburgers and a fridge full of fine foreign beer.
Sunday. 12:30 or so. Skating alone. Drinking coffee. Hotter ‘n’ a Well Diggers Ass. Well – hot. Trying different tricks…seeking the one trick that will somehow register and connect – and get my focus and stoke. Sessioning alone is tough sometimes – although sometimes it’s really relaxing. No pressure. No waiting. Very tiring – and harder to get the Mojo going.
Decided to just start trying switch axle drops. One of those intuitive roadblocks in the brain. Kinda like jumping into an empty swimming pool. You are dropping in backwards. Not natural. So I try like 12 – 13 times. Not a dynamic trick – as you start from a standstill. Slam. Bam. Slam. Slide. Then – I get one perfect. Then – another half a dozen slams and something clicks and I ‘feel’ the trick. Once you feel it – you know you got it. Then – progress into nose stalls to fakie. Again – really awkward – but the brain is starting to get it. Maybe it was the blow to the head.
The aforementioned moment comes when I am lying in the bottom of the ramp after a pretty heavy body blow. Why – I ask – on earth – do I care if I can drop into this ramp backwards. Why does it matter at all if I can roll on a little four-wheeled board into this curved structure in the opposite way than I would normally? It just doesn’t matter at all. And that’s the beauty. It matters to me.
Later. Dehydrated. After some heavy labor with The Herminator in the woods – the work is done and we crack an Old Guardian to celebrate Middle Earth. I am not a ‘Rings’ fan – other than Liv Tyler. If Liv Tyler were in a foreign re-make of “Paint Drying” I would probably own three. But – anyway – the name just came to me. Middle. Earth.
The 10.6% alcohol by volume of the Guardian does it’s thing. And after a day in the sun, hard labor, skating and the look on The Herminator’s face when I haul out a pint of Barley Wine – metaphorically speaking it really is Miller Time. Only – it’s Stone Brewery time – I guess.
That was realization on the ramp – this is actualization.
Is there anything better than cracking a beer at the end of a long weekend of sun and fun, knowing it’s all downhill on the way home and that the single-track will end at a gorgeous house where there are women preparing large hamburgers and a fridge full of fine foreign beer.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Definitely a moment of Self realization.
Sunday. 12:30 or so. Skating alone. Drinking coffee. Hotter ‘n’ a Well Diggers Ass. Well – hot. Trying different tricks…seeking the one trick that will somehow register and connect – and get my focus and stoke. Sessioning alone is tough sometimes – although sometimes it’s really relaxing. No pressure. No waiting. Very tiring – and harder to get the Mojo going.
Decided to just start trying switch axle drops. One of those intuitive roadblocks in the brain. Kinda like jumping into an empty swimming pool. You are dropping in backwards. Not natural. So I try like 12 – 13 times. Not a dynamic trick – as you start from a standstill. Slam. Bam. Slam. Slide. Then – I get one perfect. Then – another half a dozen slams and something clicks and I ‘feel’ the trick. Once you feel it – you know you got it. Then – progress into nose stalls to fakie. Again – really awkward – but the brain is starting to get it. Maybe it was the blow to the head.
The aforementioned moment comes when I am lying in the bottom of the ramp after a pretty heavy body blow. Why – I ask – on earth – do I care if I can drop into this ramp backwards. Why does it matter at all if I can roll on a little four-wheeled board into this curved structure in the opposite way than I would normally? It just doesn’t matter at all. And that’s the beauty. It matters to me.
Later. Dehydrated. After some heavy labor with The Herminator in the woods – the work is done and we crack an Old Guardian to celebrate Middle Earth. I am not a ‘Rings’ fan – other than Liv Tyler. If Liv Tyler were in a foreign re-make of “Paint Drying” I would probably own three. But – anyway – the name just came to me. Middle. Earth.
The 10.6% alcohol by volume of the Guardian does it’s thing. And after a day in the sun, hard labor, skating and the look on The Herminator’s face when I haul out a pint of Barley Wine – metaphorically speaking it really is Miller Time. Only – it’s Stone Brewery time – I guess.
That was realization on the ramp – this is actualization.
Is there anything better than cracking a beer at the end of a long weekend of sun and fun, knowing it’s all downhill on the way home and that the single-track will end at a gorgeous house where there are women preparing large hamburgers and a fridge full of fine foreign beer.
Sunday. 12:30 or so. Skating alone. Drinking coffee. Hotter ‘n’ a Well Diggers Ass. Well – hot. Trying different tricks…seeking the one trick that will somehow register and connect – and get my focus and stoke. Sessioning alone is tough sometimes – although sometimes it’s really relaxing. No pressure. No waiting. Very tiring – and harder to get the Mojo going.
Decided to just start trying switch axle drops. One of those intuitive roadblocks in the brain. Kinda like jumping into an empty swimming pool. You are dropping in backwards. Not natural. So I try like 12 – 13 times. Not a dynamic trick – as you start from a standstill. Slam. Bam. Slam. Slide. Then – I get one perfect. Then – another half a dozen slams and something clicks and I ‘feel’ the trick. Once you feel it – you know you got it. Then – progress into nose stalls to fakie. Again – really awkward – but the brain is starting to get it. Maybe it was the blow to the head.
The aforementioned moment comes when I am lying in the bottom of the ramp after a pretty heavy body blow. Why – I ask – on earth – do I care if I can drop into this ramp backwards. Why does it matter at all if I can roll on a little four-wheeled board into this curved structure in the opposite way than I would normally? It just doesn’t matter at all. And that’s the beauty. It matters to me.
Later. Dehydrated. After some heavy labor with The Herminator in the woods – the work is done and we crack an Old Guardian to celebrate Middle Earth. I am not a ‘Rings’ fan – other than Liv Tyler. If Liv Tyler were in a foreign re-make of “Paint Drying” I would probably own three. But – anyway – the name just came to me. Middle. Earth.
The 10.6% alcohol by volume of the Guardian does it’s thing. And after a day in the sun, hard labor, skating and the look on The Herminator’s face when I haul out a pint of Barley Wine – metaphorically speaking it really is Miller Time. Only – it’s Stone Brewery time – I guess.
That was realization on the ramp – this is actualization.
Is there anything better than cracking a beer at the end of a long weekend of sun and fun, knowing it’s all downhill on the way home and that the single-track will end at a gorgeous house where there are women preparing large hamburgers and a fridge full of fine foreign beer.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Andy, you ignorant Dolf Lungren wanna be slut.
First of all, like Rob Lowe in the West Wing – I fully support your right to use your ‘position’ to espouse your views in print. I think that’s the first amendment – right? But please…I had to comment.
I waded through the top of your tech column for the first (and last) time – and the image that came to my mind was the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons – your column read kinda like: “blah, blah, blah bike, blah blah, blah ride, blah, blah, blah bike part”. The saga of yet another industry insider pining for the latest and greatest in order to ‘enjoy’ a ride – gag me with a fucking $900 fork.
Granted, I am years away from my last race, I haven’t weighed my bike in about 7 years. I have joined the ranks of the “ex-racers who ride now to have fun and smile and be outside and love it”. I only deal with the technology that I feel really benefits my ride experience. Crabby retro-wool wearing luddite grouch? No. I do have some lovely wool undies I bet you would like – but – I enjoy technology and bikes. My Santa Cruz Superlight is an amazing piece of gear. I love the lockout, the plush ride when it’s unlocked. It’s light, it’s fast – it rocks. I also have a Kona Jake the Snake – and damn if that isn’t the most versatile bike I have ever owned. I have both bikes stripped down to 8 or 9 speeds – I can’t remember how many rings are on that thing in the back. But my favorite bike – my bike that gives me the most carnal joy – is my Spot John Deere green single speed.
Yes – I said that bad words: One Fucking Speed.
I fell into the ‘cult’ of single-speeding out of necessity. I blew out yet another suspension fork – and not being part of the star fuck bike industry glitterati (anymore) – I had to send it back and get it fixed. Being that bikes are a visceral part of my everyday (read: primary mode of transport) I needed a fix. A good friend loaned me his MB-1 single with a rigid fork.
I hated it. It was hard. It hurt. I had to hurl myself at climbs instead of spinning. For the first week I couldn’t wait to get my fork (and gears) back. Then I started to realize that the Christ like torture (I hear Mel is indeed making a documentary about one speeders) – the direct drive idea – was gratifying in a certain sadomasochistic way. The bike made trails that I had been riding for 10 years seem new and fresh and more challenging. It made me a better bike rider as a result of the momentum needed and the pedal placement. It made it HARDER. This was a good thing. A basic tenet of existentialism is to make things harder – not easier. It’s rewarding – see? All those fat French philosophers can’t be wrong!
I had to respond to your column – not based on disagreeing with your opinions. I have raced my 1X and never did it in a 1X race. I figure if I lined up with the rest that was just fine. I did have the finest finish of my career in an open class expert race on my 1x – top 3 – very proud of that.
I had to respond to your column based on the juxtaposition (that’s a 5 syllable word Mr. Journalism) of your tech talk about through anus bolt cross max l - 69 – and your trash talk about a bunch of folks who were just HAVING FUN RIDING THEIR BIKES!!!!!. Isn’t that the point? Isn’t that what raises your advertising rates every year? What was the point of ragging on the 1X’ers – other than to make fun of a bunch of people who were having more fun than you and your gram weenie vacationing bike magazine staffers? Velo Snooze is a significant periodical in the world of bikes. Why take the LOW road and pick apart a sub-culture of a fucking sub-culture of a sub-culture? Why not use your pulpit to preach the culture of the bicycle instead of break it into warring factions.
Why not just be stoked that they are riding bikes – albeit – not your kind of bikes (which more ironically frequently have engines on them and ruin the very trails that keep your magazine in business – ‘nother issue – ‘nother time). Why not just be stoked that people are smiling and having fun and having festivals and coming together around bikes? Oh – and buying your magazine.
Why not just shut the fuck up?
See – aren’t opinions great?
Hugs and Kisses and fuzzy bunnys
Kingnmby
First of all, like Rob Lowe in the West Wing – I fully support your right to use your ‘position’ to espouse your views in print. I think that’s the first amendment – right? But please…I had to comment.
I waded through the top of your tech column for the first (and last) time – and the image that came to my mind was the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons – your column read kinda like: “blah, blah, blah bike, blah blah, blah ride, blah, blah, blah bike part”. The saga of yet another industry insider pining for the latest and greatest in order to ‘enjoy’ a ride – gag me with a fucking $900 fork.
Granted, I am years away from my last race, I haven’t weighed my bike in about 7 years. I have joined the ranks of the “ex-racers who ride now to have fun and smile and be outside and love it”. I only deal with the technology that I feel really benefits my ride experience. Crabby retro-wool wearing luddite grouch? No. I do have some lovely wool undies I bet you would like – but – I enjoy technology and bikes. My Santa Cruz Superlight is an amazing piece of gear. I love the lockout, the plush ride when it’s unlocked. It’s light, it’s fast – it rocks. I also have a Kona Jake the Snake – and damn if that isn’t the most versatile bike I have ever owned. I have both bikes stripped down to 8 or 9 speeds – I can’t remember how many rings are on that thing in the back. But my favorite bike – my bike that gives me the most carnal joy – is my Spot John Deere green single speed.
Yes – I said that bad words: One Fucking Speed.
I fell into the ‘cult’ of single-speeding out of necessity. I blew out yet another suspension fork – and not being part of the star fuck bike industry glitterati (anymore) – I had to send it back and get it fixed. Being that bikes are a visceral part of my everyday (read: primary mode of transport) I needed a fix. A good friend loaned me his MB-1 single with a rigid fork.
I hated it. It was hard. It hurt. I had to hurl myself at climbs instead of spinning. For the first week I couldn’t wait to get my fork (and gears) back. Then I started to realize that the Christ like torture (I hear Mel is indeed making a documentary about one speeders) – the direct drive idea – was gratifying in a certain sadomasochistic way. The bike made trails that I had been riding for 10 years seem new and fresh and more challenging. It made me a better bike rider as a result of the momentum needed and the pedal placement. It made it HARDER. This was a good thing. A basic tenet of existentialism is to make things harder – not easier. It’s rewarding – see? All those fat French philosophers can’t be wrong!
I had to respond to your column – not based on disagreeing with your opinions. I have raced my 1X and never did it in a 1X race. I figure if I lined up with the rest that was just fine. I did have the finest finish of my career in an open class expert race on my 1x – top 3 – very proud of that.
I had to respond to your column based on the juxtaposition (that’s a 5 syllable word Mr. Journalism) of your tech talk about through anus bolt cross max l - 69 – and your trash talk about a bunch of folks who were just HAVING FUN RIDING THEIR BIKES!!!!!. Isn’t that the point? Isn’t that what raises your advertising rates every year? What was the point of ragging on the 1X’ers – other than to make fun of a bunch of people who were having more fun than you and your gram weenie vacationing bike magazine staffers? Velo Snooze is a significant periodical in the world of bikes. Why take the LOW road and pick apart a sub-culture of a fucking sub-culture of a sub-culture? Why not use your pulpit to preach the culture of the bicycle instead of break it into warring factions.
Why not just be stoked that they are riding bikes – albeit – not your kind of bikes (which more ironically frequently have engines on them and ruin the very trails that keep your magazine in business – ‘nother issue – ‘nother time). Why not just be stoked that people are smiling and having fun and having festivals and coming together around bikes? Oh – and buying your magazine.
Why not just shut the fuck up?
See – aren’t opinions great?
Hugs and Kisses and fuzzy bunnys
Kingnmby
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
So the bug has hit – and apparently everyone is riding uphill ALL the time now in anticipation of our misadventures on the Colorado Trail this summer – coming soon to a set of burning quadriceps near you. Lactic acid! Massive weight loss! Logistics equal to the invasion of a medium sized country! Cotton outerwear! Does it get any better?
I think the fitness for the trail is going to need to be more of an ATV type of fitness – as there is pushing – and there is carrying – and there are MASSIVE sections where you are above 12 – 13,000 feet – just sucking air and praying to stop pedaling.
So, in the interest of planting the seeds for that type of all terrain domination why not do some carrying? Better yet – do some riding, some carrying, some riding and carrying? I LOVE hike-a-biking wet, north facing slopes after recent rain when they are very slippery – especially in my Sidi’s as they are rated as a negative 600 on the doppler traction scale – just beating out the 4 day old grease covered banana peel. As I start the carry after some mega climbing my legs aren’t so much as burning – as feeling really dead. I don’t mind carrying – and I actually prefer it to mainline trails – in that riding places where no one else rides always makes me grin. Not seeing tracks is always cool – and as long as there are north facing hell like slippery climbs it seems like some places will remain safe.
The reward at the top of the climb/carry is amazing – the evening light – the smell right after the rain – the divide hazily shining in the distance. These are all great things. I wonder about the Cat that TP saw in the morning – I wonder if it’s checking me out – weighing my calves in its saliva filled craw. Can’t you just hear it? “Arggggh – some vegemite on those suckers – and a nice evening of watching 101 Dalmatians”. Yum.
The logs are slippery on the descent, my riding skills not so much as non-existent – but firing slowly. There are some kick ass drops on this descent and I want to ride it more – but it’s a ways out there.
Onto the last climb – and still no people – or tracks. I write cryptic signs in the dirt thinking that the boys may be somewhere behind me – but they stayed on the road. More carnivorous beast hiding spots, and soon enough I am home. Super heated and tired from the last long climb.
5:40 this morning – back on it – and imagine that – the legs feel damn good. Hell – I might get to work after all.
This am is a total bust – trying to ferret out some cliff re-routes – some passages to India. Nary a dothead in sight. No favors from the Gods of the woods this morning – they shined me. The mooned me. I got pissed – and then I took a giant dump and I felt better. Perhaps another day. Seems like some days the woods will give it up – some days they won’t. As Ed Abbey said about the sublime nature of the desert – kinda makes you realize the desert doesn’t care – the forest doesn’t care. Just you. And all the little people in your butt. I mean your head.
Wooo. Wooo.
I think the fitness for the trail is going to need to be more of an ATV type of fitness – as there is pushing – and there is carrying – and there are MASSIVE sections where you are above 12 – 13,000 feet – just sucking air and praying to stop pedaling.
So, in the interest of planting the seeds for that type of all terrain domination why not do some carrying? Better yet – do some riding, some carrying, some riding and carrying? I LOVE hike-a-biking wet, north facing slopes after recent rain when they are very slippery – especially in my Sidi’s as they are rated as a negative 600 on the doppler traction scale – just beating out the 4 day old grease covered banana peel. As I start the carry after some mega climbing my legs aren’t so much as burning – as feeling really dead. I don’t mind carrying – and I actually prefer it to mainline trails – in that riding places where no one else rides always makes me grin. Not seeing tracks is always cool – and as long as there are north facing hell like slippery climbs it seems like some places will remain safe.
The reward at the top of the climb/carry is amazing – the evening light – the smell right after the rain – the divide hazily shining in the distance. These are all great things. I wonder about the Cat that TP saw in the morning – I wonder if it’s checking me out – weighing my calves in its saliva filled craw. Can’t you just hear it? “Arggggh – some vegemite on those suckers – and a nice evening of watching 101 Dalmatians”. Yum.
The logs are slippery on the descent, my riding skills not so much as non-existent – but firing slowly. There are some kick ass drops on this descent and I want to ride it more – but it’s a ways out there.
Onto the last climb – and still no people – or tracks. I write cryptic signs in the dirt thinking that the boys may be somewhere behind me – but they stayed on the road. More carnivorous beast hiding spots, and soon enough I am home. Super heated and tired from the last long climb.
5:40 this morning – back on it – and imagine that – the legs feel damn good. Hell – I might get to work after all.
This am is a total bust – trying to ferret out some cliff re-routes – some passages to India. Nary a dothead in sight. No favors from the Gods of the woods this morning – they shined me. The mooned me. I got pissed – and then I took a giant dump and I felt better. Perhaps another day. Seems like some days the woods will give it up – some days they won’t. As Ed Abbey said about the sublime nature of the desert – kinda makes you realize the desert doesn’t care – the forest doesn’t care. Just you. And all the little people in your butt. I mean your head.
Wooo. Wooo.
Monday, May 17, 2004
These are not the Kodak moments.
These are not the edited images that you send to your friends to prove that you can still skate. They don't care - and yes - it is irrelevant.
These are the ugly times - when there is a trick that lives in your head - and in your nuerons - and it just had to articulate through your feet - and come out your board. Simple - right? Some tricks - and more tricks - it seems - grab me by the short hairs. They reside - and resonate within - and they won't go away.
Saturday night, after nearly four hours on the bike and a long day of chores I wandered back out there to the Mojo ramp - the mini-section - the trick generator as it is called in my priveate conversations with myself.
I got obsessed with the whole pivot and roll thing - and got some cool nose pick to reverts the other nite. Sometimes it's so cool just to go skate and not have an agenda - and roll and see what the body and board dictate as far as comfort and things to try. So - I was trying fakie/pivot to frontside revert - the whole frontside revert still a sporty outcome for me - so why not complicate it and go into if from a pivot - instead of nose or tail. The issue - the real issue here is getting your wheels to roll over the coping and into the vertical plane of the ramp - from the horizintal plane of the deck. It's very subtle. When gunning for the trick I really want to learn - and dissecting it into these parts - there is an order and a plan - but it all comes down to that commitment of rolling from horizontal to committed - then - as everyone always says :"Following it in". Hah.
So - got the pivots to fs revert on Friday night. Then - since the ride wasn't enough and I could still move my legs - I went back out - and messed around with it. And if you think about it - if you WASTE your time thinking about these things - if you have hours to waste on wondering if you can slide your board around on a wooden surface one hundred and eighty degrees.......it's really only one step further to a 5-0 to revert. the only issue is that your shoulders are totally rotating in the wrong direction in a 5-0, and you have to get set in the 5-0; rotate and pre-load your shoulders - and then get the nuanced roll of the wheel over the coping - fade into the ramp and then rotate.
On three - everyebody - let's go - REVERT!
So what are the life lessons here? Repetition? I counted 71 tries before I got the trick in a recognizable form. There was some serious slamming in there - some serious doubt - even some frustration.
We skated Kevy's Sunday and I just couldn't get it together. Sunday about 6pm - I decided I had to redeem myself - and went back out to my ramp. Tunes, coffee and only 60 or so more attempts and I pulled a few ugly ones. Once again - something I never thought I could do - and something - that by sheer strength in numbers - and by embracing my virtual INABILITY to do the trick - by loving the process of failing - only then - did I succeed.
That - and this FAITH - that if you just believe that you can follow it back in - that if you try enough times - it'll work out.
Hallalujah.
These are not the edited images that you send to your friends to prove that you can still skate. They don't care - and yes - it is irrelevant.
These are the ugly times - when there is a trick that lives in your head - and in your nuerons - and it just had to articulate through your feet - and come out your board. Simple - right? Some tricks - and more tricks - it seems - grab me by the short hairs. They reside - and resonate within - and they won't go away.
Saturday night, after nearly four hours on the bike and a long day of chores I wandered back out there to the Mojo ramp - the mini-section - the trick generator as it is called in my priveate conversations with myself.
I got obsessed with the whole pivot and roll thing - and got some cool nose pick to reverts the other nite. Sometimes it's so cool just to go skate and not have an agenda - and roll and see what the body and board dictate as far as comfort and things to try. So - I was trying fakie/pivot to frontside revert - the whole frontside revert still a sporty outcome for me - so why not complicate it and go into if from a pivot - instead of nose or tail. The issue - the real issue here is getting your wheels to roll over the coping and into the vertical plane of the ramp - from the horizintal plane of the deck. It's very subtle. When gunning for the trick I really want to learn - and dissecting it into these parts - there is an order and a plan - but it all comes down to that commitment of rolling from horizontal to committed - then - as everyone always says :"Following it in". Hah.
So - got the pivots to fs revert on Friday night. Then - since the ride wasn't enough and I could still move my legs - I went back out - and messed around with it. And if you think about it - if you WASTE your time thinking about these things - if you have hours to waste on wondering if you can slide your board around on a wooden surface one hundred and eighty degrees.......it's really only one step further to a 5-0 to revert. the only issue is that your shoulders are totally rotating in the wrong direction in a 5-0, and you have to get set in the 5-0; rotate and pre-load your shoulders - and then get the nuanced roll of the wheel over the coping - fade into the ramp and then rotate.
On three - everyebody - let's go - REVERT!
So what are the life lessons here? Repetition? I counted 71 tries before I got the trick in a recognizable form. There was some serious slamming in there - some serious doubt - even some frustration.
We skated Kevy's Sunday and I just couldn't get it together. Sunday about 6pm - I decided I had to redeem myself - and went back out to my ramp. Tunes, coffee and only 60 or so more attempts and I pulled a few ugly ones. Once again - something I never thought I could do - and something - that by sheer strength in numbers - and by embracing my virtual INABILITY to do the trick - by loving the process of failing - only then - did I succeed.
That - and this FAITH - that if you just believe that you can follow it back in - that if you try enough times - it'll work out.
Hallalujah.
