bittersweet symphony

the razors edge has dulled. the mind is willing, but the body is still frontin. balance. achieve, then rest. i am being respectful. that said, the millennium falcon rang my phone with stump in tow. the bastards were scheming, while drinking heavily and watching baby raccoons chase chickens around the backyard. fine, i'll play. no feats of strength, but rather an offer of singletrack and sweat. "purification of the pores" i believe was how it was put. junior dick 3000 had been a positive influence on the falcon, but with departure, con esposa, the chastity belt has come off. stump appeared like the devil on his left shoulder, and they have been off and running ever since.

the path was dry, but rutted from the wet days. not yet buffed out, but evidence of trail work was still in play in the really clapped out sections. fresh, raw cuts on downed trees. boot prints and stamped down trail side grasses. trail angels, i'll call them. i don't get to contribute nearly enough, but without their hard work, none of this is possible. you can't fake the fitness, and the warm up climb on the gravel road had the purification rendering stumps jonny walker dinner stinking up my fresh air. he was standing and stomping, determined to hold the wheel, but his grunts and cussing were cutting into my enjoyable day. i left him and the falcon to hash it out together and made the turn onto the singletrack up towards eagles rest with silence and sunlight. lack of bike practice made the rhythm not easily found, but i managed to stay clipped in and ascending despite misjudgements and attempts at taking the worst lines possible on the trail. a flat section found me face to face with a black bear who decided that my 140 pound physique was more than he wanted to fuck with on this day. popping out on eagles rest, i disturbed three tourist who had ridden up themselves and were of the impression that they had been the first to ever conquer this climb on bicycle. disillusioned alaskans. of course. i ate my lunch while they lifted, looked at, squeezed and rocked the swamper. something about knowing someone who won a race in alaska on a singlespeed this one time, eh. i was finishing up when the drunkenly purged falcon and stump topped out. suddenly, we were even numbers and i opened up another clif bar, sat down and waited for the pending interaction between these two and the alaskans to take place. i tried to wager how long it would take for offence by one party or the other to be taken and possible verbal sparring to take place. i didn't have to wait long.

descending was a treat. i've waited for this since the swamper arrived. the curved blades on the fork afford a balanced amount of flex and natural rebound. the rocky sections were braaaped right through. i was thinking about pisgah, and how it would be to be back there riding those trails. i miss them. i'll go back, and take this bike with me. i'm a different rider, now. that crew makes you raise your game and get better. you had no choice but to crap or get off the pot. if not, your ass rode alone. goodman creek trail is as buffed out as i've ever seen it. the falls were in full flow from a rain shower that knocked the dust down and re-ignited the run off. i stopped to cool off at the falls, rest my hands and wait for my riders. i was a log side witness to a blood bath that was taking place on the descents. two alaskan, stump and falcon in full on four cross mode racing each other down the mountain. ego knows no limits at any speed, even slower ones. i had to dive off of my log to keep from getting taken out as they swept past. i did see stump high side one guy and almost take himself out in the process. i had to see this finish. i took off after them and started catching carnage within minutes. stump was first, front wheel taco'd and him helmet less from where he took it off and threw it up the trail. alaskan rider was next, bonked and pushing his bike up a small hill. i rolled past, handing him an almond snickers bar in silence. i was able to catch a glimpse of the falcon and the remaining alaskan making the turn off of goodman creek onto the lower part of hardesty and as they disappeared from view i heard a loud crash and saw a rear end of a bike flying through the air. these guys had been racing so hard, they took each other out. the turtle of the group, the 3rd alaskan, whom i had not seen since the top, rolls past me surveying the scene of carnage. arriving at the unspoken finish line first. the tortoise beats the roided up hares once again. i laughed at the irony of it all.

in the end, everyone arrived back at the cars, friends. the alaskans wandered over with beers in peace, i passed around a large bag of sea salt chips while the falcon threw in a 5 pound bag of twizzlers. a buffet like this will break the ice at any gathering. we parted ways with highlighted maps of great rides over in bend and a phone number for ride partners for the tourist, and a cycling cap from the shop in alaska for the falcon. i was glad to see the tide turn from where it was at on eagles rest. in the end, it's about the ride, not the bullshit.

journey to a centum

i was irritated at the phone beeping in my bag. i hit the brakes in the pouring rain on a cold december day, retrieved the phone from my messenger bag and opened it with a terse, hello. "hey, it's lb . i'm at the lottery . guess who's name they just called?". i don't remember much of the phone call after that. i stood in the middle of the bike path in the pouring rain, late for work, smiling.

i remember the first time i ever heard of the western states 100. it was back when runnersworld still wrote about running and in the back of each magazine they did a "how they train" segment on runners of some acclaim. i used to cut out and keep my favorites. the one of matt carpenter sticks out as one that i still have. the other is of a strawberry blonde, moustached guy dressed in head to toe powerbar gear crossing the finish line of trail race from squaw valley to auburn, california. i remember opening the california state map and looking up auburn. tracing my fingers from lake tahoe to auburn. even on the map of a large state like california, the race seemed "big".

i've been lottery lucky, then injured with a major injury that took me out of running for a year. the next year, relocated westward and healthy i was lucky enough to race my way in via the montrail ultra cup. a sudden loss kept me from the starting line that year. then the lottery found me again, where i trained for 6 months only to experience the fires that so many of us had to deal with last year. depression, lack of motivation and finally, injury again. frustrated, i had actually let go of my western states dream this march, only to see my spirit respond. i hesitate to use the word miracle, but the emotional release seemed to put me over the top and i could enjoy this, again. spiritually. physically, my body responded. finally, undertrained but ready, 12 weeks later on june 27th, i was actually in squaw valley ready to run. it seemed like an undergrad education without the sabbatical to europe to "find myself". 4 years, 4 very different paths to my place behind that banner in squaw.

holiday

minor league baseball. 2 dollar corndogs and 6 dollar beer. fireworks a day early with kids circling the bases like whirling dervishes while parents pass one hitters and try not to care about getting caught. entertainment serenaded by the hippy hyena feeling the need to scream and howl at every explosion that moistened her nethers. late night bike rides on cruisers with u-locks sticking out of back pockets. back alley shortcuts to get after midnight burritos from spots on a local would know about.

post journey recovery has been about enhancing my resting pose. the day was slated for 90's and clear weather. the singletrack here is rooted in swoops, dips, rock. climbs of loam and descents so buffed out you can just skip like a rock on water. you can tell that mountain bikers had a hand in these trails. they might not have built them, but they damn sure maintain them. white trash and french kiss were up from cali. the bombshell was trying out to get a feel for her new hardtail. the millennium falcon was invited, but missed the departure time and location due to being trapped by the fog of his night of drinking. i was anxious to get the new swamper out for a shake out since it's been staring at me for weeks wondering wtf? the holiday weekend had the campsites around the reservoir filled with tent cities, redneck trucks driven up on rocks and more caravans than a irish gypsy convention. thankfully, none of these folks seemed interested in recreating very far from their coolers, so we largely had the trails to ourselves. started at sand point and followed the trail all the way to moon valley access road trail head. stopped at the winter work point for a swim in the river and lunch and then retraced our steps back with half the regroups and a lot more speed. the hunter and i bonded nicely after a few miscalculations on turns and a misplaced manual on a log ride that resulted in me typing this while sitting with a bag of ice planted squarely underneath my left glute. i look forward to the rest of the summer and fall. i smell an umpqua traverse coming.