Sunday, December 16, 2007
White Pine Two
Back up to further explore the Tri-Chutes Bowl. Katy, Eric, and I broke a trail up the back of the bowl - through the trees - and skied a nice shot in the trees and into a gully. Decided the snow was a bit thin so hiked over to the low angle Tri-Chutes apron and skied. A pleasant time was had by all.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Pole Line Rocks
D. de Fur Man and I dusted off the skis today and cruised our way up to the ridgeline between Alta and Cardiff - Pole Line Pass. The world was our oyster, and the day couldn't have been prettier. The kind of day I think about when I think about skiing.
Rocks though. Why do there have to be rocks? Did ok (for not knowing how to ski) and managed not to hit too many too hard, but I tried to turn right over the top of a few sharp baby-heads and fell on my hand. I'll survive, but this is not the kind of day I think about when I think about skiing.
Twilight Splitboarding
Matt and I hiked up Mill D on Saturday afternoon/evening to see for ourselves what was all the hulabaloo over the recent snowfall. It was a grab-life-by-the-horns moment. You know what I'm talking about, if you've ever grabbed anything by its horns.
It got pretty dark on the descent, so we took it slowly - skiing split on the splitboards. A couple dork-out moments by each of us made sure we had a good amount of snow down our pants, and a surreal pink sunset ignited the pines around us. A perfect first tour of the season.
Hundreds of miles away Paul felt our ski-vibrations and called my phone just as we got back to the car. He's coming on Thursday to hang out and ski for a few weeks, I hope by then our snow meets with his approval. He's no fun when he's angry.
It got pretty dark on the descent, so we took it slowly - skiing split on the splitboards. A couple dork-out moments by each of us made sure we had a good amount of snow down our pants, and a surreal pink sunset ignited the pines around us. A perfect first tour of the season.
Hundreds of miles away Paul felt our ski-vibrations and called my phone just as we got back to the car. He's coming on Thursday to hang out and ski for a few weeks, I hope by then our snow meets with his approval. He's no fun when he's angry.
Some Green Eggs
There was an old (ish) woman (Katy),
Who lived in a Shoe (condo).
She had so much Ham, she didn't know what to do.
So she had a Ham Party,
and invited her friends (and me).
And all came prepared
for Ham Debauchery.
[it rhymes you know]
And well, it occurred to me to bring Green Eggs to the Ham party. You get it, I'm sure. But Eggs? To a party?
Well, I said to Heidi Beth:
Would I? Could I? Make Green Deviled Eggs?
Should I? Er, Can't I? And,
How does one? If one can, Make Green Deviled Eggs?
And is one 'L' or two 'L's most proper in spelling?
Deviled or Devilled? Both are correct?
Websters ambivals (not a word) - sits on the fence.
One 'L' is efficient (that's eficient to you, Webster),
And two makes 'El' Pair-o.
Crap my poem is completely derailed-o (derailled-o).
Oh! They were atrocious! Radioactive Cancer Causing Eggs! Devilled, indeed! But they were a hit at the party! I feel my bid for popularity and acceptance amongst Katy's most "inner circle" was well received. I have of course set the bar high now. Future social engagements will require further flits of bril(l)iance and much much much more food coloring. Inevitable is my failure, as is my blindness from retinal food-coloring poisoning. But today is a good day. A Beguil(l)ing Green Devil(l)ed day.
Who lived in a Shoe (condo).
She had so much Ham, she didn't know what to do.
So she had a Ham Party,
and invited her friends (and me).
And all came prepared
for Ham Debauchery.
[it rhymes you know]
And well, it occurred to me to bring Green Eggs to the Ham party. You get it, I'm sure. But Eggs? To a party?
Well, I said to Heidi Beth:
Would I? Could I? Make Green Deviled Eggs?
Should I? Er, Can't I? And,
How does one? If one can, Make Green Deviled Eggs?
And is one 'L' or two 'L's most proper in spelling?
Deviled or Devilled? Both are correct?
Websters ambivals (not a word) - sits on the fence.
One 'L' is efficient (that's eficient to you, Webster),
And two makes 'El' Pair-o.
Crap my poem is completely derailed-o (derailled-o).
Oh! They were atrocious! Radioactive Cancer Causing Eggs! Devilled, indeed! But they were a hit at the party! I feel my bid for popularity and acceptance amongst Katy's most "inner circle" was well received. I have of course set the bar high now. Future social engagements will require further flits of bril(l)iance and much much much more food coloring. Inevitable is my failure, as is my blindness from retinal food-coloring poisoning. But today is a good day. A Beguil(l)ing Green Devil(l)ed day.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Sessions in November
There exists, in another plane of existence, in an entirely separate and compacted universe, a crazy mountain bike ride that takes you from Bountiful to Emigration Canyon. This is an adventure, and around every corner is something crazy that wants to kill you. That's the Bountiful part - before you even start riding.
Matt and I took on the challenge of this ride last October with Katy. Our conclusion afterward was that this trail should be left alone. And if not left alone, should be ridden only earlier in the summer, because of the cold, wet, lost muddy misery that it came to symbolize in our minds. No experience from that point onward could compare to the trauma Katy and I endured under Matt's leadership. Ultimately, in the dark and cold, we had Martha come and rescue us at the bottom of the Mormon Pioneer trail (Little Dell Reservoir) - our intention had been to ride up the road to Little Mountain Pass, and then down the canyon to Matt & Martha's home in Sugarhouse. We had come so close, but were so far away.
This year, Matt and I decided to forget everything we had learned previously, and make a second assault on the trail. This year we would complete the ride. We would do it in early September. But September rained and rained. And it didn't happen in October. Ah, but November! November is the new summer. Perhaps we will ride again?
We decide to wait a little more. We test the waters with a successful night ride to Lookout Peak, covering some of the same trails (See KnightRider post). I head to San Diego with Heidi Beth for a week. Thanksgiving comes and goes. Turkeys are slaughtered for their giblets. We have our house robbed and my Titus Motolite mountain bike stolen (See previous post).
There. Now the time is right. Now we are ready, Gwass-hoppahs.
Revolution Mountain Sports [http://revolutionutah.com] comes up huge for me and loans me a "demo" Cannondale Prophet, they also offer to work with my insurance company if needed. Matt and I put on a whole bunch of clothing. And Martha drives us the the launch site: The Bountiful 'B'. It's a beautiful day, but cold (butt cold).
It isn't a very fun climb up the Skyline Drive dirt road. It's about 400 miles long, and is lined with Natives out shooting their guns and blowing up pumpkins. Bountiful is a magical place. Matt is scared for his life, but I flash Mormon hand signs and sing I Hope They Call Me On A Mission as we pass. Tapping into my Mormon reserves seems to momentarily quell the bloodlust of my Northern Brothers and Sisters - I can only hope it will last.
At the top it is really really cold. Camelbak hoses are freezing. Chunks of flesh are icing up and falling off. We look at each other and try to smile half-frozen smiles. A few words get stammered out between chattering teeth, "We're... doing... it."
Several hundred yards later Matt makes a significant tactical blunder. He decides, "Hey, I'm not cold enough, so I'm going to dive face-first into this here partially frozen over pool of water!" Before my eyes I see Matt hurl himself inexplicably into a small pond. Instantly my brain is flooded with logistical concerns: Will I have to tow Matt's frozen carcass home? Luckily, though, my suspicions that Matt is actually some sort of human-cyborg and is therefore unaffected by horrific pain prove well founded. He is fine, and probably still less cold than me.
Later, well beyond our point-of-no-return, we encounter our first significant snow. While this doesn't bode well for our survival, we make light of the situation and attempt to make snow jokes. After twenty minutes or so, and not a single successful snow joke, we move on.
We knew we were getting close to the point where we got lost last year, and began watching closely for the missed junction. There is no need. It's a pretty obvious place, not sure what happened last year (a glitch in our cyborg's programming).
There's no way to ride in this snow. Too steep, too deep. We resort to carrying our bikes on our backs for the next seventy-five miles or so.
Finally after climbing over two snow covered passes, we reach the critical junction: if there is snow on the other side of this mountain, we're going to die. There's snow. But Matt remains optimistic.
Eventually, we get to ride our bikes some. And that part was great. But here's the thing to remember (message to future self and future Matt): This is a hard trail. This is a trail that would be hard to ride in great warm happy conditions. This is not a mountain bike trail. It is steep and loose and pockmarked by horses. Heed these words next year when tempted to ride in December.
In the end, again, we are rescued by Martha. Failures. I dropped my bike on the ground and crawled into the subaru, a frozen popsickle of a man. My fingers shant recover easily. Even now I can barely type better than Matt.
We crazy mo-fos! It was a recipe for disaster! WE COULD HAVE DIED!
Matt and I took on the challenge of this ride last October with Katy. Our conclusion afterward was that this trail should be left alone. And if not left alone, should be ridden only earlier in the summer, because of the cold, wet, lost muddy misery that it came to symbolize in our minds. No experience from that point onward could compare to the trauma Katy and I endured under Matt's leadership. Ultimately, in the dark and cold, we had Martha come and rescue us at the bottom of the Mormon Pioneer trail (Little Dell Reservoir) - our intention had been to ride up the road to Little Mountain Pass, and then down the canyon to Matt & Martha's home in Sugarhouse. We had come so close, but were so far away.
This year, Matt and I decided to forget everything we had learned previously, and make a second assault on the trail. This year we would complete the ride. We would do it in early September. But September rained and rained. And it didn't happen in October. Ah, but November! November is the new summer. Perhaps we will ride again?
We decide to wait a little more. We test the waters with a successful night ride to Lookout Peak, covering some of the same trails (See KnightRider post). I head to San Diego with Heidi Beth for a week. Thanksgiving comes and goes. Turkeys are slaughtered for their giblets. We have our house robbed and my Titus Motolite mountain bike stolen (See previous post).
There. Now the time is right. Now we are ready, Gwass-hoppahs.
Revolution Mountain Sports [http://revolutionutah.com] comes up huge for me and loans me a "demo" Cannondale Prophet, they also offer to work with my insurance company if needed. Matt and I put on a whole bunch of clothing. And Martha drives us the the launch site: The Bountiful 'B'. It's a beautiful day, but cold (butt cold).
It isn't a very fun climb up the Skyline Drive dirt road. It's about 400 miles long, and is lined with Natives out shooting their guns and blowing up pumpkins. Bountiful is a magical place. Matt is scared for his life, but I flash Mormon hand signs and sing I Hope They Call Me On A Mission as we pass. Tapping into my Mormon reserves seems to momentarily quell the bloodlust of my Northern Brothers and Sisters - I can only hope it will last.
At the top it is really really cold. Camelbak hoses are freezing. Chunks of flesh are icing up and falling off. We look at each other and try to smile half-frozen smiles. A few words get stammered out between chattering teeth, "We're... doing... it."Several hundred yards later Matt makes a significant tactical blunder. He decides, "Hey, I'm not cold enough, so I'm going to dive face-first into this here partially frozen over pool of water!" Before my eyes I see Matt hurl himself inexplicably into a small pond. Instantly my brain is flooded with logistical concerns: Will I have to tow Matt's frozen carcass home? Luckily, though, my suspicions that Matt is actually some sort of human-cyborg and is therefore unaffected by horrific pain prove well founded. He is fine, and probably still less cold than me.
Later, well beyond our point-of-no-return, we encounter our first significant snow. While this doesn't bode well for our survival, we make light of the situation and attempt to make snow jokes. After twenty minutes or so, and not a single successful snow joke, we move on.
We knew we were getting close to the point where we got lost last year, and began watching closely for the missed junction. There is no need. It's a pretty obvious place, not sure what happened last year (a glitch in our cyborg's programming).
There's no way to ride in this snow. Too steep, too deep. We resort to carrying our bikes on our backs for the next seventy-five miles or so.
Finally after climbing over two snow covered passes, we reach the critical junction: if there is snow on the other side of this mountain, we're going to die. There's snow. But Matt remains optimistic.
Eventually, we get to ride our bikes some. And that part was great. But here's the thing to remember (message to future self and future Matt): This is a hard trail. This is a trail that would be hard to ride in great warm happy conditions. This is not a mountain bike trail. It is steep and loose and pockmarked by horses. Heed these words next year when tempted to ride in December.
In the end, again, we are rescued by Martha. Failures. I dropped my bike on the ground and crawled into the subaru, a frozen popsickle of a man. My fingers shant recover easily. Even now I can barely type better than Matt.
We crazy mo-fos! It was a recipe for disaster! WE COULD HAVE DIED!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
