pass hunting

now you see it...


now you don't.


precarious. the snow season. keen on a ski and silence.

the thawing that, which was barely here.

wanted to get it while the "getting" was good. excuses could mount for more additional weeks waiting for things to be "better" or plush. fact is, even the snow in whistler sucks right now. i've chosen to miss enough days already. it was time.


solace. warmth. lunch.

it was nice because we cut the north side tracks for the loop, the folks inside cut the south side. both groups had excellent timing and shared space for a moment. idle ski talk from my single serving companions for the moment.


brightening up. the icy slush from the rain made it slick in spots, but it was better than no skiing at all.



fading out. along with the season if something doesn't change soon. yet all in all, a good day.

concrete hustle

"it's the journey, not the destination..."

i've always loved the quote above. i don't know who said it first, but it's always been one i've admired. it can be cliche if you let it. it's a philosophy i choose to let be a part of how i live my life.

which brings me to the touchstone you see pictured above. i had a curiosity about brooks saddles when i lived in north carolina. i even tried to acquire two in a trade. one that i ended up returning because i couldn't live up to my end of the bargain. i kept another one that was already broken in by someone else, who's sit's bones were certainly unlike my own and had loosened up the nut in front allowing it to sag, ruining it. i had known riders who had loved them, swearing by them. i had known riders who hated them. hated the weight, the hardness, the lengthy break in, etc.

my journey to oregon was part of a bigger picture. a life change. a lifestyle change. some personal change. i purchased this saddle on my 2nd day in eugene. right after i went on my first run here with LB and bili. i went home, put it on the only bike i had unpacked and assembled, and started commuting on it the very next day. it has since made it's way from the first bike to it's third bike. all the while, it's been part of my day almost every day. i couldn't stand 20 minutes on it when i first moved here. thankfully, my commute was just that, so it worked. it got time from me twice a day. as it broke in, my commutes started being inspired to be extended. then i moved across town and my time in the saddle became longer along with my commute. that was almost 3 and a half years ago. yesterday, the saddle eclipsed 10,000 miles of riding. commutes. rides to the coast and back. long, soul searching explorations. some while healing broken hearts or injured tissue that kept me from the expression of running. that saddle taught me to slow down and experience. take notice. stop and pick a few blueberries. that saddle has not always brought me comfort, but over time softened to me like a feral cat who's trust you eventually win and you learn to love and rely on each other.

i have an appreciation for the experience of this brooks, now. my friend in colorado is undertaking the journey of breaking one in on his daily commutes as we speak. i also have another friend in south carolina who i noticed has used one on his race rigs for the last few years. one beauty in this is that while we have never had a conversation about this, the experience has become our own. no expectation. in the moment, every day. the touchstone.

shiver

the dreams have been visiting me. chaos and silence. the night before had me hemmed up in local brew. plugging in the music while the cigarette smoke lingered outside the bike racks. the awesome 3 am burrito. despite the night, the dream returned, again...

okay. i hear you. stop whispering.

the gravel and moisture was wet enough to crunch. it was dark enough that the exhale was still visible. didn't take long for those to lengthen in tune with my stride. i came upon a raccoon still looking for a place to spend the evening. the climb warmed me, slowly. my eyes took the dew from the fog and captured it. lingering. face freezing despite the warmth and frost on my hat. my gloves were not quite enough to hold the cold at bay, but my core was warm. the higher i climbed, the more i found the rhythm. yes, yes. that's it. the steps got quieter, like running on eggshells. coming to the snowline i felt like i had the entire mountain to myself. i hadn't been here since the spring, when the journey was in sight...yet, it was inspiring to be back.

sometimes we have to look beyond expectation into ourselves. open our eyes and see that our state of health, happiness and circumstance in our lives have been, in large part, arranged by us. consciously or unconsciously.

carolina crapshoot

the perception and preparation for the wilds of mother nature vary based on geographic location. i know this. it still makes me shake my head when i see an area crippled by weather that in other parts of this very country, would be considered average daily snowfall. yet...flights are cancelled. there is not a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, a gallon or milk, or a case of busch light in the can to be had in all of the piedmont. so it goes.

luckily, we have 60 year old tractors with flat blades on them to push off our driveway. big green john deere's with heated, enclosed cabs to scrape off the roadways near our home. plus, logging chains to hook to vehicles who seemingly just couldn't negotiate the 6-7 inches of snow at a reasonable speed to keep them between the lines. the tradition of the carolina crapshoot is captured as much in it's ability to be crippled by such weather, as it is in the bonding together of neighbor and friend to pull the same idiots out of the ditch that get stuck every time this happens.


the timing of this storm was uncanny. while the hustle and flow of my visitation and the business of my trip had already been laid to rest. there were lots of parts of the soul that needed tending to. collateral damage, if you will. i know the personal affect this loss had on me, and i was a generation removed. there were others to consider. folks in the south lean on each other a bit to heal. the extra 72 hours spent there due to flight cancellations were well spent. what these folks know is a hard thing to have to know. that, in itself, is part of the culture as well.