♥ DirtSURFing ♥

winter mix

2012-02-01T00:08:00.000-08:00

nice to be scrubbing phil's out from under my nails again on a regular basis. it's been nice having time for powder days when they come, instead of missing out. being passionate and driven to learn something new. being inspired by the challenge that started as a wager between a couple of locals and believing i'll see it through. excited about getting back to what used to work and feeling like a fool for being influenced by a trend for far too long. watching a friend of mine experience a dream coming true, while another had a heart deeply broken. teaching someone something i am good at, and watching them struggle with it knowing where they will end up. seeing that belief in their eyes when they watch me do it. going it alone, and being motivated by that. missing warm salt water and wave reports. missing tee tee, every day. having a former belgian champion in your home, and discovering he's very human, not a god, despite being worshiped each fall and winter. building mileage and confidence and washing away the pessimism of others. rebuilding my relationship with running, and not taking it for granted. making plans that i can see through, and being excited by them. pedaling to see red fang, die antwoord and jim lauderdale all within a 48 hours of each other and living to tell about it. learning to tell people "no". coming to grips with the grip of social media. surfing in water so cold it makes you hate it. being okay with la nina blessing canada, but not the cascades. coveting a snow bike, like i do every winter. reading something that changes your life. not having anything to say, so not blogging about useless shit.

i'm in a fortunate place.

soul

2012-01-04T13:02:00.000-08:00

“all this happened, more or less.” --vonnegut

**************

been a busy winter. hibernation of sorts for words. keeping things simple by surrounding myself with organic experiences while pushing away those being shared on the world wide web. i had a day in november where i started looking something up on the internet and the next thing i knew, it was 4 a.m. okay. enough. i thought of my homie in tucson who's totally disconnected and thought about how envious i was in the moment of what he didn't have. more so, he didn't have this self perceived need to know.

**************

i used to surf alone, a lot. when i was young, i certainly didn't understand why things appeal to us and i at least had the presence of mind to notice and acknowledge it. i remember that once i got wise enough to understand my relationship with my body, the board and the wave, i found that i preferred paddling out, solo. some of my buds used to call it my social hibernation time. it was said in jest, but i could tell there was a hint of "is it me?" in the tone. it was never a hard path to follow for me.

**************

stop and hear the music

2011-12-13T14:45:00.000-08:00

"In Washington DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about four minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule. About four minutes later, the violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk. At six minutes, a young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again. At ten minutes, a three-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly. At forty-five minutes: The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About twenty gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32. After one hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all. No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music. This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people’s priorities. This experiment raised several questions: In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? If so, do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context? One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made… How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?"

the washington post. thanks to the firepotter for sharing this.

puglsey love

2011-12-05T07:56:00.000-08:00

http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Targhee Snow Bike 11-27-11 from Dave Byers on Vimeo.

i sent his article to the local nordic mafia and i could almost hear the panic attack happening on email. no tolerance what so ever. i have always had a crush on the original purple puglsey. finding a regular winter loop would prompt me to pull the trigger. cheaper than trying to build my own, for sure. thanks to the grand puba of fat at surly for turning me on to this article.

recipe

2011-12-01T00:08:00.000-08:00

we don't get a recipe card with favorable experiences laid out with guarantees down to the last tsp. we have to make choices and live with them. some play out, like procrastinating on getting into that yoga class that turns out to be exactly what the body needed on that day. sometimes they don't, like the 8 mile pedal home when it's 38 degrees and raining and you forgot to pack anything that had any chance of keeping you warm or dry. both experiences are equal in that they leave lasting impressions, but also equal in that we will probably get to experience them, again. they are not singular.

the balance of the seasons. the days are short. the single track is a little harder to find, but all the trails are open. making choices on what to do with free time and trying to not feel obligated or guilty towards one particular discipline. i love to run year round. but, i love the fact that i don't have to if i don't want to. i prefer time with friends, outdoors, over a indoor henry lightcap run on the treadmill just so i can put a digital number in my training log. i don't own a picture of myself on treadmill, yet i have thousands of me playing outside. it's cool to have a beer and sit by the fire. a ski with your gal. a slow snowshoe walk with an vintage warrior of seasons past, who probably was a a lot like yourself back in the day and is just grateful for the chance to get outside again, safely. balance out your spirit with your mileage, so when you go to that place of focus, numbers and daily totals. you won't lose sight of why we really live the way we do.

in the meantime. bonne chance to those who have tickets to play the participation lottery at your favorite nationwide runcations. win or lose, have a beer and celebrate the dream of it all.

change of fibers

2011-11-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

i always feel like such a rookie on days like today. trying to play a visual guessing game with mother nature. halfway through it you realize you've either overdone it or your picking up the pace because you've underdone it. talking through a mouth pulled tight by the cold. untying shoelaces with fingers whose dexterity has been shocked away. these are the days when sunshine can play tricks on you. shade can be a game changer. sunset can mean 25 degree swings between the start and end of a run.

the baselayer or outerwear changes from capilene to soft merino wool. jackets are dug out of the back of the closet and assigned their rightful seasonal place at the front of the closet. the spare drying rack is broken out and readied. the tall socks, the knickers. knit caps replace visors. the short sleeve shirts from past events are darkened by a closing trunk.

we start seeing our exhalations and finding frost on the bands of our hats and backs of our gloves. not all of those first few snot rockets will be perfect. they, too, will come back to you. we start selecting our places to stretch based on where the sun is highlighting a spot. the pace gets more conversational and the days are shorter. new batteries for the headlamps.

there is balance in the change of fibers. if you've been doing this long enough, you have two quivers of clothing that you've accumulated over the miles. summer and winters. certainly, this season will require a few more drawers to hold it all, but it keeps us outside and getting to know the summer trails we know so well, anew. paths covered with the leaves that shaded us, revealing just how close we get to those we share the forest with, sometimes. snow showing us whether anyone has been "through here, yet" and trying to play the game of matching up the tread of the shoe with your familiarity with the runner who wears it. breaking fresh tracks and feeling smug about it.

there is ceremony in this time and the learning curve acknowledged. you will overdress. you will under dress. you will learn to trust certain pieces of gear and you'll look to them to protect and support you as you separate yourself from the seasonal trail treader.

so it begins.

fall on the mckenzie

2011-10-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

not a lot of words with this one. i'll let the photos speak for themselves. i've spent the last two weekends trying to form a big callous and came out of it all a bit trashed, physically. i needed a mental health day while still respecting the physical demands of the task at hand. plus, i really dig running this trail on foot. two wheels, your too busy watching for what little rooty surprise that is around the next bend. much easier to make like the river and just flow. plus, i've missed running here. i used to spend a lot of time on this trail working on my relationship with myself and the flow of it all. there is nothing a few hours on this trail won't fix.

wore the bright orange adios out of respect to huntin season. 3 plus hours alone and rarely saw anyone after i got below clear lake. the only bummer of the day was not being able to take my beer out by the hot springs while i soaked, post run. i'll remember the flask, next time. how are the colors in your neck of the woods?

oh, and the irony of this post, considering my last one, is not lost on me. cheers, though.

body of work

2011-10-06T01:35:00.000-07:00

one door opens to swirling lights and crystal castles thumping through my chest. up the stairway and a bead curtain leads to low couches, dark lighting and smooth miles davis. taking a piss while gazing at a velvet elvis. listening to two fuckers bark at each other about existentialism under the smoke filled, admiring gazes of the two hipster chicks. all this was enough to let me know this gathering was expiring. my options were to head downstairs and let something get slipped into my drink or buzz bike it back to the house and maybe get enough sleep to get a run in before the next day began.

waking up and heading out the next morning, i couldn't understand why, if i had the dedication to get up and get out, why wasn't my body rewarding me by feeling fresh as a daisy so i could have one of those runs where i blog about it and tell everyone how wonderful running is. isn't that part of what this cyber popularity contest is? talking about some pseudo spiritual zen like run where the leaves are changing and i'm in tune with the flow. yes. i have those. i find myself fortunate enough to have those more than the average bear, for sure. the facts are, though, days like today are more what it's like. it's part of the body of work. party. go to shows. work all day. go to school. have a life. pay bills. make choices. the shitty days come whether we spend our lives living from run to run or we take running and try to squeeze it in to the schedule like a fucking dental appointment. fact is, some days suck. some days are simply from door to door and are dictated by the time i have to get it in. truth is, i try to see it like i see my coffee; i like have it as much as i can and every day. sometimes twice. if only...

true, it's a balance. in order to have that, your going to have those runs that keep you coming back for more and grab that soulfulness that sustains us on those low motivation days. i prefer to look to those days when i feel like ass when i start and come around as catalyst for my epiphancy (sic). i have momentary regrets over lifestyle choices, like the drinker who's perched over the toilet vomiting his guts out, swearing he'll never drink again. i always talk about being dedicated. doing the little things. stretching. yoga. i go through bouts of this, but regress, without regret. i've learned to look at the body of work. i've learned i don't need that perfect trail. great weather. a wonderful, restful nights sleep. there are no guarantees with this sport. we all slow down. we run less. we drift. it's okay. we can still take ownership of it, on our own terms.

my running is mine. nobody else owns it. it answers to nobody, but itself.
some lessons aren't easily learned.

odometer

2011-09-25T22:35:00.000-07:00

elk lake. 26 degree morning.

broken top from south sister trail

stoke that comes from 3 hours of high country single track

thankfully, we only had two candles or i would have needed to buy alot more beer than we had.
odometer turned over. no check engine light. moving forward in many, many ways.

sail

2011-09-06T10:38:00.000-07:00

(dawn patrol photo by bronco billy)

sleeping giant

2011-08-25T23:44:00.000-07:00

i left the demons and drama in the car, along with my shirt. i knew what color the diamonds were marking the trail. i knew i was in a strange land and i knew that if i followed those white diamonds nailed into the occasional tree it would bring me back to this place. it was unplanned, all of this, but i needed to be here. i didn't know how long it was or how much it gained or lost, i didn't care. i knew it was rocky by the way the first 10 steps beyond the trail head looked, but i wasn't concerned about my feet. i didn't have a water bottle or gels, and all of that was okay, too.

there is something familiar in these hills. it all looked very much like trail i had once been on before and while i was running i felt like i was getting closer and closer to home. i could see the resemblance to the southern cousins i used to haunt and i was invigorated by being there. i felt the humidity. the sweat. i could hear the creek either right by me or echoing up the valley to the overlooks that this trail kept taking me past. i saw caves, smelled rotting earth and run beneath the canopy of leaves that keeps these paths shaded and technical. i saw few footprints and was inspired to step lightly and not leave mine. it all comes back to this. it felt full circle. i remembered being hungry, once. driving myself out the door to paths likes these every single day and being filled with the passion that kept me seeking this entire time. those emotions and sensations have been dulled for a variety of reason. all of them aesthetic, external and really, not important. i felt inspired to add on, rather than look at the watch and gauge my effort. i took the time to stop and take in the view. i didn't withhold anything on my climbs or descents and if i crashed and bonked, i knew i would live through it. it's really not that big of a deal. it's just running.

sitting in the creek afterwards, watching tiny fish inspect my toes through the clear flow i couldn't keep my shit together. when did it all become so cloudy? who put the complications, there. the titles, the identity. the story. false goals. none of it matters. none of it. what's real is that hunger. those runs that you live for and further fuel the stoke for why we do this. that wisdom and confidence in races that you know your ready and it's time to enjoy the ride.

i'm ready to get going again. renewed.

the laughing heart

2011-08-14T00:26:00.000-07:00

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

@charles bukowski

ray

2011-07-27T19:41:00.001-07:00

she lifts her skirt up to her knees
walks through the garden rows with her bare feet, laughing
i never learned to count my blessings
i choose instead to dwell in my disasters

walk on down the hill
through the grass grown tall and brown
and still it's hard somehow to let go of my pain
on past the busted back
of that old and rusted Cadillac
that sinks into this field collecting rain

will I always feel this way
so empty, so estranged

of these cutthroat busted sunsets
these cold and damp white mornings I have grown weary
if through my cracked and dusty dimestore lips
i spoke these words out loud would no one hear me

lay your blouse across the chair
let fall the flowers from your hair
and kiss me with that country mouth so plain
outside the rain is tapping on the leaves
to me it sounds like they're applauding us
the quiet love we make

will I always feel this way
so empty, so estranged

well I looked my demons in the eye
laid bare my chest said do your best destroy me
see I've been to hell and back so many times
i must admit you kinda bore me

there's a lot of things that can kill a man
there's a lot of ways to die
yes and some already dead who walk beside you
there's a lot of things I don't understand
why so many people lie
well it's the hurt you hide that fuels the fires inside you

kissed by the sun

2011-06-08T11:24:00.000-07:00

taking the pre dawn wake up in stride. grumpy, con chemicals is the mood. open window and 60 mph helps to clear the fog. sunrise reveals clear, beautiful peaks. turning down a hard to find dirt road and taking it until it ends. trail head looks like a deer trail that descends into the depths of darkness and is one way, only. deep breath, take the plunge. legs still pretty clapped from a weird run at smith rock that i've had a hard time recovering from. i stop to tighten a loose lace and take stock in the calm. leave a bottle and my shirt behind and continue down to the lake. sun rays starting to come through the trees descending upon trilliums. both of us opening up as we are kissed by the sun. mind clears of the bullshit and pleasure emerges; the spirit no longer a punching bag for inner demons.

the loop shows me beautiful mountains. clear lakes. flowers, mud and melting snow. the sun on my skin feels good and climbing back up towards the truck a few hours later, the trail doesn't seem so dark anymore. neither is my spirit. recovering, soaking in the day sitting on the tailgate watching chipmunks run around, playing is a fitting and ironic reminder not to complicate this

i know, but quickly reacquaint myself with the joy of doing this. my koan solved. take stock in why it gets buried beneath all the external so easily. easy to make excuses, put it off. decide before we head out the door about how the run is going to feel, etc. cloud it all up. no need, really. all the runs don't have to be epic. the stronger the foundation physically and spiritually, the bigger the house when the opportunity for the epics arrive. take the scoreboard down. leave the watch at home. don't worry about your kit. take ownership of the experience.

tears for grete

2011-04-25T23:20:00.000-07:00

reading the tributes to the fallen. i've seen it go both ways over time. very generic, speaking about them as an athlete or champion. very noting of accomplishment that allows the reader to reference why we remember them. the footnote of death a small part of the prose.

it's been almost a week since grete passed and i continue to read about her legacy. sure, her pedigree as an athlete is duly noted and deservedly, so. interspersed with notes on her world records and marathon wins are good words about her humility. her tugging on the pant leg of fred lebow before her first nyc marathon because she didn't know where she was supposed to stand. sharing a seat in the olympic stadium with joanie after taking silver in the marathon. friends, as well as, competitors. i read an article from a wife of a sportswriter who maintained a 19 year pen pal relationship with grete after all the wins were done for her, even getting the last, short, email on thursday before her death with an apology that she didn't have the energy to put pen to paper and hoped she wouldn't mind...after 19 years.

records broken. races have been won by others. legacy intact, true...competition long finished. i remember being angry in 2003 when someone interrupted a conversation grete was having with a member of my pace team asking her "what was she famous for?" and wondering why she should stand in line for her autograph. i followed the woman out of the expo and dropped some knowledge on her about grete, to which the woman replied "i wasn't a runner back then, so it doesn't mean anything to me". i reminded her that part of the reason why women were running marathons were because of women like grete...no avail. when i returned, grete was still having a very in depth conversation with my fellow pacer, unfazed by the ignorance of others. sharing, freely of her time and energy. compassionate. warm. looked you in the eye. when she gave you a hug, she meant it and it felt so. this was a scene that was repeated at several marathons over the next couple of years. always she remembered all of our names and even followed what marathons we had been at between seeing her. she was supposed to be at twin cities in 2005 and we noted that her spot in the adidas booth was empty and few knew why. i saw her at the nyc marathon a month later and couldn't believe how unusually skinny she was. she had been diagnosed with cancer and was undergoing treatment, but had not yet made it public. that hug in new york was the last time i saw her. seeing thousands of folks have a moment with their hero is something i'll never forget

when i read the news of her passing, i was sad for humanity's loss. reading the tributes, the tears flowed because i realized that what i had seen in her as an athlete, person and friend was shared by many others who's experiences with her were as rich as what my pacer experienced at that marathon in 2003 and we all continued to experience at events over the next couple of years.

i have very, very few autographs. very few. the inside of my race bib from the 2003 LA Marathon is inscribed with her name, my experiences with her are inscribed on my heart.

smock

2011-04-20T15:46:00.000-07:00

aesop has a new project. this has been flowing through my ipod for a couple of days. you can get the flavor for YOUR ear here real soon.

flow

2011-04-19T00:23:00.000-07:00

"what started as a whisper, slowly turns to a scream"--ben harper amen, omen

i've always been pretty visual, within. i see water the way i want to move with it and strive to put my body and board in a place were i'm not disturbing what is going to take place naturally, anyway. i try to move over trail the same way. my first experience with flow was like this for me, back when it was a bone game...still without a name or understanding. external expectations speaking for an internal soul.

all that said, you still need tools for the trade. glassy, you don't paddle out. injured, you don't run. busted wheel led to some bad, lingering shit. finally recovered the physical and slowly...very slowly, i caught whispers of that spirit that used to draw me out the door every day. then, snow melt, sunshine, stoke...who knows what the perfect ingredient is, but we found each other and now i find myself so attracted to how trail running feels right now i don't want anything to disturb it. not a race. not a vacation. i have had the best runs i've had in over two years. that flow that drew me here in the first place and made me want to seek out places to live and a lifestyle where i could cultivate it. it's also similar to that *feeling* we get before we make that choice to push it towards that razors edge between excellent fitness and terrible injury. i've been there. this ain't no outlaw shit. my ego is checked. one thing i've learned from all of this is that right when i start to feel invincible, it's time to take a day off. if the flow is there, waiting to join me when i start running again that next day, then it's real. if it's faded...well, was it really there?

i had an old friend once tell me that just because the surf is shaking your house at waimea and things are going really good for you, that doesn't mean that's it's an invitation to come out and play. it could just as easily be a message to stay in bed and sit this one out so that you are able to receive the gifts of another, even better day.

post coyote 2 moon

2011-03-24T23:28:00.000-07:00

The spattering fidgets of MonkeyBoy on Coyote 2 Moon.

i speak unto you the things i am saying...

13. the bowling ball has a skull in it...

12. headlamps are awesome for illuminating fog and snow.

11. do gridley top chickens have large talons?

10. afro's and cervaza are a great way to top off the sweet single track descent down to howard creek disco party.

9. you wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.

8. it's refreshing to participate in an event where the most competition in play was getting the last hotel room in ojai after midnight on saturday night.

7. yep, kwijiboe dresses like that at every event, even 15 years later.

6. volunteers are the ALL knowing, ALL seeing, glue of this event.

5. until last thursday night, i didn't know they made an XXXXXL thong, let alone that it was suitable to bowl in.

4. quesadilla's make excellent aid station fare.

3. those propeller hats sure do whirl in the wind.

2. anybody else muscle sore from smiling and laughing?

1. "guys, let's remember that it's nights like last night that remind us why we do this."
--except from the soon to be published "the tao of icky ocky"

indeed. ya'll come back now, ya hear.

(howard creek volunteers. photo by blake wood)

take a step back from reading about championships. weekly mileage. prize money. minimalism. maximalism. michael jackson. yukon potato's and folding money gettin stuck to your sweet-n-low and call, tweet, facebook, email or, if you need to simplify, YouTwitFace an event volunteer and thank them. thank them for making your race reports sound so good. thank them for being a catalyst in the epiphany that led you to want to run these kinds of events and spend the time you spend on the trails each year. thank them for every trail they marked. bottle they filled. jacket they helped you put on when you were wet and shivering. thank them for the countless cups of soup, hot and ready to eat at 2 o'clock in the morning. thank them for finding you a place to sit and celebrate after you completed your journey on foot, still seeing to your needs after the task is done. thank them for stuffing your schwag bag. thank them for picking up the gel packet you accidentally dropped while you were slipping into your pain cave. thank them for occasionally risking their lives. thank them for what they've done and thank them for they will do in the future. then. ask how you can join them if you haven't already. do so and maybe one day you can be thanked as well.

pre coyote 2 moon

2011-03-18T11:14:00.000-07:00

(photo by catherine mataisz)

st. patty's day started off so tame. little coffee in downtown with padre in the town that was built by uncle yvon and the hells angels. tried to wrap my mind around paying 52 bucks to see the jay and silent bob, live. walked to breakfast at patagonia hq and tried not to play hookie by going surfing with the FCD guys instead of talking about shoes and gear all day.

vitamin d with the entire team out at ray miller trail. first shirtless run of the year was not lost on me as a central oregonian. further surfing lure was in place as supertubes was firing right across from the trailhead. this was my view for the entire 4 mile descent off the top of ray miller. beer, socializing, ahi taco's. lashing on the bowling threads for the ride over to the ventura bowling center.

check in. schwag bag. more liquid carbs. size 16 bowling shoes because all of the 11's had been taken. i heard a voice from within telling me to walk over to the ball display. there it was. the skull ball i'd always wanted, staring back at me. no holes? no problem. the guy who drills the holes was too busy making all the food we were consuming. this ball was rolling, now. not waiting to come back to oregon. didn't seem proper to let it sit and watch. the party consumed every lane in the place. teams of 8 rollers on each squad made for a long session and great team bonding. most of us were hoarse by the end. if "ninez" had counted as strikes, we'd have killed everyone...so it goes. awards. presentations. more schwag. cabbed it home to prepare for del boca vista phase 2 in ojai starting at lunch, tomorrow.

to be continued...

crows land

2011-03-04T00:18:00.000-08:00

"you can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time — back home to the escapes of time and memory."

-george webber
you can't go home again by thomas wolfe

musta been some 14 months or so after my latest retreat from there. i heard a song on a college station that sounded an awful lot like some local boys that used to play on my back deck for coors light and college girls. i laughed at the irony, but couldn't shake the feeling. i felt the humidity. the easy laughter. eating red beans and rice 4 days a week because it was cheap. honeysuckle growing up the side of the 92 year old house. bee's buzzing around the rotting apples on the ground from the crab apple tree. i went about my day, but couldn't shake it. kinda like waking up from a dream too soon, and you go back to sleep hoping to go back to that place. 48 hours later i quit my job. packed my old truck and drove up the grade back into the mountains.

it took me 3 days to get the mildew smell out of the air. another week to get the wood stove fired back up. 24 hours after arriving i had run north slope twice and soaked my legs in the davidson after each run. three weeks to get the weeds cleared out from around the blueberry bushes and harvest the figs. took me a week to get around to turning on the electricity...and that was just fine. i saw the sunset from the porch eating dinner for 3 weeks straight. i woke up and walked the perimeter of the property every morning for a month. took two days for the neighbors dog to come on over and find me...again, for the umpteenth time, and forgive me for leaving, again, for the umpteenth time.

in a place like this, folks pick up right where they left off. it's as if you never left. even to the point of remembering what you order at the local bakery. neighbors bring over canned veggies because they know you weren't around to put in your garden that year and confess to harvesting blueberries as if they had done something wrong...knowing it would have been far worse to let them fall to rot on the ground. screen doors. ceiling fans. mason jars of cold, sweet tea sweating in the afternoon heat. gossip about the carpetbaggers that have moved n'ta town, wondering if i'm gonna be the next one to sell...asking, without really, asking.

clouds around cold mountain. leaves rotting and falling. sourwood in the honey. flannel and sap from cut cords of wood, stacked, for a few winters off. jar of shine in the icebox. wanderlust starts to take hold. i plot, drawn away by a place inside me not nearly as strong as the one that always draws me back here. not nearly as satisfied with the simplicity as i once was. as they were.

i never intend on leaving, but i have never stayed. i know the neighbors dog is gone now. i have never been gone from there for this long. it wouldn't feel right to put somebody in that place. they wouldn't know it. they wouldn't feel it and too much would be too hard to explain to make it worth it. the yearn still returns for me, but the drive isn't as simple. maybe that's why i'm 3000 miles away from there, now. i meet folks from there from time and time and eventually we can't look at each other without feeling ashamed at how we left so easily. mere moments after it felt so good to talk about being from there and all the things we missed.

mistakes we knew we were making

orcas

2011-02-09T23:02:00.000-08:00

(photo by the lead singer of loverboy)

headlamp pickup. desert sunrise at 75 mph. warning ticket. gas and breakfast in the year 1973. yakima fog storm. wind, snow and chocolate milk. seattle rain, as expected and lunchtime beer and fish in anacortes. ferry to orcas and got tacked by krissy, but reversed it to score the pin fall. catching up with old and making new friends. shuttle ride with a bunch of hens. leisure suit shirt selection. water, beer, brownies and salad. collapse into big bertha and sleep. wake up. forget how to get ready to race. squeeze out a dump and head to the line...without chemicals in my system. roadie lead out and crappy legs. found the flow and started to move. got lost. got found. relaxed and remembered not to take this shit too seriously. just run. kept catching people until eventually i passed under a banner telling me to stop. gucci crew represented. stoked for padre and special k. ultragen, wool and down to recover. beer and soup while watching the others roll in. cold shower. dinner. birthday party. lower tavern juke box. hulu hoops. flannel and townies. good nights sleep and early rise. retrace route home with big breakfast and more stops to unfold myself from the car seat. drop off bronco in the crater. try to sleep it all off.

you can see the fruits of your weekend just by simply unpacking and sorting your dirty laundry. every crumpled piece of clothing is connected to a memory. it's been 19 months since i pinned on the number. i almost forgot how to do this. it was good to feel those nervous goosebumps again.

roseland

2011-01-31T23:03:00.000-08:00

at least portland got it right this time instead of that fiasco at the rose garden back in 2006. not the same show without carlos on bass, but interpol killed it. i did hafta lock the whip up three blocks away because of all the fixies hanging in the trees. someone needs to get the word out in portland that every show at the roseland is not a rave. leave your glowing pacifier at home. it was portlandia cliche on display to the illest. when in pearl, what did i expect? i have never been so happy to see high desert sunrise and a mostly empty coffee shop without an ironic moustache behind the counter.

democracy

2011-01-17T15:27:00.001-08:00

she could have a self promoting blog about her stance on eating, minimalist shoes, money within the sport or a boring training log telling everyone about the miles she ran each day. she could have gone to races that suited her strengths instead of spreading her experiences out over all the disciplines within, and outside of, her sport. she chose to be challenged. she chose to live. she did so while experiencing someone close to her lose his battle with a terminal disease. she lived this past year with the grace and excitement that she raced with all year long.

she was montrail ultra cup champion. she qualified for the olympic marathon trials at 49 years old. she finished 2nd at the western states 100. she won the us 100K championships on the road. she finished 5th in the world at the same discipline at the world cup 100k in gibraltar. she won ice age, white river, waldo and mckenzie. two of those were usatf championships. she logged miles. she did trail work. she volunteered at races. she shared her smile and her knowledge with everyone around her and motivated and inspired us with every race she ran this past year.

i know all of this because i know her. she's a friend. i didn't have a vote. i had something better, i had the chance to share miles. smiles. ups. downs. laughter. tears. pain. elation. experiences.

so proud of you, GM. your the UROY in my book.

ocean

2010-12-17T00:27:00.000-08:00

how yvon negotiates business

i started to bleed some words out several times. i have a draft box full of thoughts. reading them again, unfinished, i decided to leave them be for a bit. i think sharing the images of the moments reflect a bit more

bonding and understanding

barter system

the annual. overwhelming when i go back 365 days. where is my mind. body. soul. time to turn the page, again.

howl

2010-11-18T00:59:00.000-08:00

not a tremendous amount of words to say. actually started up writing an old friend with paper and stamp. pen pal style. i forgot how much fun that was. we do so much with email and blogs that good old fashioned letters and post cards have gone by the wayside. i have a hermit in tucson who "checked out" a few years back. cat even owns a dial telephone. patagonia said "live simply" and this dude took it personal and very much to heart. i got a letter in the mail from him. nice break from the bills, junk mail and mail order catalogs. something to that.

snowing as i type this. big flakes. my running gear is thawing out on the drying rack. headlamps really light up the flakes and make it seem like your world is only 3 feet deep. i stumbled and slid through the night run tonight. i started huntin, eugene style, solo. miss the group i used to hunt with. things are different up here, for sure. that dynamic is only one of them.

(nights of huntin's past. hoodie run or a convening of the competition committee?)

kitten and a coke machine

2010-11-05T01:03:00.000-07:00

it started with a screaming kitten behind a coke machine.

i think we found each other at the right time. her, wet and shivering. 3 weeks old with a case of pneumonia. me, 23 and very much outside of myself and concerned with the external first and foremost. her first week was spent at the vets. i felt like even as something so young, she deserved a chance. so every day i signed a form and watched my summer savings account melt away until she was finally healthy enough to come home. home was a small space and a roommate. i never intended upon keeping her. i guess somewhere between bottle feedings, trips to class in my backpack and nights spent sleeping under the covers close i became responsible for someone other than myself. i was trying not to get attached and only called her kitty, because naming her would meant showing everyone around me that i cared. i had been intent on finding her a home; but realized on the day the ad was answered after 14 weeks with me, that i had found her a home when i scooped her up from behind the coke machine. the decision was finalized with a misunderstood look from her as the potential adopter stood in the doorway. "sorry, there's been a mistake. she's not available." and with just like that, kitty became Tee Tee and my greatest friendship began.

dawn patrol

2010-10-11T10:00:00.001-07:00

the early buzz of the alarm. i don't know if it's the odd hour, or the anticipation of what lay ahead that prevents me from feeling my usual early a.m. grogginess. i think it's the fact that the remoteness of the location makes dawn patrol more of an adventure. packing. what to take. what to leave. it's serious, this business of starting your runs in the dark while not knowing what the weather will reveal to you once the sunlight opens up the mountains to us. those first looks, kinda like listening for the crashing of the waves while walking in the dark down to the beach front.

forecast was calling for 50's in town and 90% chance of rain. i knew it was raining in eugene and heading this way. the run was going to be on the west side of the sisters mountain range, where the storms usually back up before pouring over into the high desert. the sisters protect us, for the most part, so heading towards the field of play where they do battle with mother nature was intimidating.

meeting up. "mornin ya'll's" and early words. then silence, except for sipping coffee while driving up the mountain in the dark. coming to the parking lot at devil's lake, the silent gathering and kitting up was mixed with comments about what to take and what to leave.

the run began below the clouds, but no sooner had we started ascending did i notice that bronco's glasses were fogging up. and moisture was accumulating around the ankles of my socks. the dew on the eyelashes kept betraying my sense of comfort, but the conversation and occasional quoted beastie boy's lyric kept the mood light. a few quick stops to readjust laces, pee and shed layers, we finally popped out to sunrise and the junction of the pct at the edge of wickiup plains. most of the big mountain peaks were shrouded in cloud cover and i could see the storms forming on those cones. the plains are like badlands and serve as a conduit to join us up with the west side of the run off. i imagined that the sisters put down many a weather front here, and the landscape reflected the scars of the killing fields.

the beauty about alpine singletrack trapped in the clouds is that you don't get to see what is ahead of you. it's like turning a page in a book and having the story reveal itself to you, slowly. twists. turns. climbs. descents. climbing up on the pct towards race track meadows we passed by the james creek shelter with two red tailed hawks sizing up our crew to figure out which one of us they could take the easiest. dipping in and out of the misty clouds only to see an occasional mountain lake, you realize it's eerily quiet up here. even the softest step is noticed. the lockstep rhythm of friends who have run many miles together is punctuated by the fact that we are speaking without saying any words. respecting the experience with our silence.

3 hours in, survival instinct comes into play. searching for mountain springs to replenish water. carbohydrates and salt for the muscles to continue to sustain the experience. the landscape provides the fuel for our spirit, visually. whether karma or good luck, we find all that we are looking for trickling out of a rock. korima in play as fuel is split amongst friends preparing for the last hour. the gps is on, but nobody is paying attention to the data.

the clouds opened up with more rain and cold wind and we were forced to high tail it. patagonia provides us with nice gear and the appreciation of such was reflected in the enthusiasm that remained despite the weather's attempt at souring the experience. i remember the quote about "there there being no such thing as bad weather, only bad gear" or something along those lines, and i smile.

the final 1200 ft descent was followed by a cloudy 600 ft climb back to where we started. the clouds remained above us like a quilt used in a 6 year olds fort, and we played beneath it, dry and 15 degrees warmer. the ravine protecting us from the high mountain wind. passing through the pipe that serves as the snow tunnel in the winter, the run sadly comes to a final end. knuckles. smiles. the anxiety of the day subsided, and we emerge back at the trail head healthy, stronger and wiser from the day. happy to have been able to share the experience with one another. dawn patrol.

ghosts

2010-09-07T23:08:00.000-07:00

(self portrait by a ghost...)

the sacrifice and the reward. the golden hour awaits. drunken ghosts. abandoned chickens, wandering aimlessly. the random pair of new balance sitting idle on the log. huge, fuzzy deer antlers sticking up out of the grass while the head they sit on lay hidden within it. the lost sleep means nothing once the experience has begun. the morning sharpening the haze of too much willie, george dickel and loud talk of the previous nights debauchery and discussion. the alibis relayed to wives of the visiting drunkards are akin to a note safety pinned on a kindergartners shirt for his teacher. they sleep. i thump the dirt. they lay idle, like the shoes on the log. i move like the snow melting off the mountain peaks. but, i'm moving. i'll pick up speed, eventually and become part of something bigger; the flow of. it. all.

thump

2010-08-28T22:17:00.000-07:00

sunrise. coffee. scones con blueberry. fruit of the monkey. hooded wool and cold feet. creaky, achy calves slowly warming to the idea of what i am proposing. interwebs to help awaken. warm up the trail truck while checking to see what i'm wearing for this deal. trail head. find a clever place to hide the key. start slowly, wondering how i'm going to run anything at all, but having been in this place thousands of time before, i know the cadence will smooth out. lightening up, i start to move. my focus wakes up as the chemicals kick in. chippies seem to get out of my way just as my foot is about to hit them. taking the bermed turns when permitted, the climbing starts. i start to feel my breathing now and the ache that sits in our quads no matter how slow or fast we run this makes it's presence known. the creek beside the trail is quiet, done moving snow towards the falls. sweating now. the sun opens more of the trail up to me and i decide to forgo further shirt coverage. happy valley is a welcome sight. three young bull elk get up and run towards the treeline. one big mamma elk just stays where she is, eyeing me. i think we've seen each other before, so she knows why i'm here. passing over the bridge. and into another section of trail, i realize, again, how beautiful and enjoyable the purity of this all is. no race number. no goals. no watch. just taking advantage of what is available to me instead of making excuses or putting it off for another day. weaving past an old miner camp i cross another creek before starting my descent. fresh sawdust and missing section of ponderosa opens up the pathway from the spot across the trail where the big pine fell. moving into the sunlight and shale rock on this descent, taking in the little secrets of this place that i have been taught and found on my own. knowing when to look forward, and when to look back. broken top looms, jagged and pale without it's snowy coat. tumalo mountain offers the same. the sound of whooping and rotor rub breaks the trance and i run ahead to a spot to step aside for a few two wheelers who want to talk and ask for directions. i wasn't in the mood for tour guide, but i helped anyway. moving off, i followed the skidmarks of the tourist bikers through all of the turns, totally overcooked and tried not be judgemental and sad about it. the spell of the experience having been broken, i trotted back to the truck and headed in. all good. happy to be back. morning yearning quenched.

Incell

2010-08-26T03:45:00.000-07:00

intergalactic vibes. storytime from the past. my grandfather always had a tight flow. i could listen to that dude for hours. i can't talk to him anymore, so i played some recordings i made last fall prior to his passing this past january. he certainly saved the best stories for last. those which were untold were never asked about. the southern way has evolved from passing along spoken word, family history and tradition into grizzled silence and sheltered privacy.

shaking this nocturnal existence slowly. it is nice to see the sunrise without the fog of sleep in my body.

saw a baby fox this morning. couldn't have been more than 8 inches tall, tail already bushy and thick. small face, like a kitten. tall ears. trying in vain to catch chipmunks. he'll learn. he was curious about me. i could see him sniffing the air, going through his generational catalog of instincts to figure out which category this biped falls in to. he finally found his answer and trotted off slowly to sit in the grass until i was out of sight. i heard him returning to his killing fields in an attempt to catch a trophy to show his momma.

i thought about those instincts while listening to my grandpa's words this evening. i wonder how much we shared. what he was like at my age in ways that he didn't talk about. did he have trouble sleeping. did he enjoy coffee and silence. i know he was a prodigious reader and his attention to detail on anything he built with his hands was second to none. i hear his words coming out of my mouth. sometimes, in ways no different than reciting a good line from a movie i liked, except his words are mine now...

war

2010-08-19T22:57:00.000-07:00

despite what the column to the right says, i am actually perusing several texts at once. it's a habit i've always had in order to keep from blowing through books to quickly. i do like a good re-read, but this makes me slow down and really take more from the story being told.

i woke up last night, 2 am. total unrest in play. cracked the ceremonial bullet of ninkasi and tee tee and i settled into my chair. she's as used to this routine as i am. she knows when she follows me downstairs, waits by the chair for me to return from the kitchen and either steer us out to the back porch or head towards the comforts of the reading chair. no sooner is the book cracked that she settles into my lap. i think there is comfort in the routine for both of us. it comes from almost 14 years together. it's her way of "being there". she's doing what she knows she can do when armies of demons are at play within me.

the great unrest comes from a bevy of places. none of which are super important, but keep me engaged on my desires and dreams. i know shit's not right when i come up with a grand scheme one day, the completely flip it the next and replace it with something else. total unrest. i've been a junkie since my last journey. there has been no silver lining in the physical injuries at all. the spiritual and emotional are all connected. i've learned that.

partaking in the text of the evening, i came across a passage that spoke volumes to me and stopped me cold.

"I still remembered how to negotiate the long, horrible process of physical collapse. It starts with pain, of course, but the pain is at the edge of what I thought of as a deep, dark valley. At the bottom of the valley is true incapacitation, but it might take hours to get down there, working your way through strata of misery and dissociation until your muscles simply stop obeying and your mind can't even be trusted to give commands that make sense. The most valuable thing I knew from my running experience was that when you start hurting you're not even close to the bottom of the valley, and that if you don't panic at the first agonies there's much, much more of yourself to give." --sebastian junger, war.

and with that...i remembered and realized.
tonight i bet i sleep like a baby.

tao of tyler

2010-08-16T23:52:00.000-07:00

franti

2010-08-10T11:44:00.000-07:00

(photo by bobby czzzzzzzzzzzz)

i don't think those fellows knew what hit them when the locals decided to take over the kickoff of the bachelor party. thankfully the groom was huckleberry.

hope

2010-05-20T12:44:00.000-07:00

on a day of rain. hope shows up in my snail mail box.

congratulations you two.

floyd

2010-05-20T09:33:00.000-07:00

**disclaimer. opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. including me, on both counts**

external. fame. fortune. accomplishment. expectation. all of this is part of our culture. doing whatever you have to do to be good at something, no matter what the cost. falling in line with the status quo, just to even the playing field. the goal of most rules are initially set to even up competition and make it fair. take competition and add money to it, fame and external accomplishment and suddenly you have folks who will bring greed into the picture.

the thing about his latest revelations. is he the jose canseco of cycling?

floyd went from someone whom had never even won a stage in a grand tour to suddenly winning the inaugural tour of california, tour of georgia, paris nice and tour de france in the first 6 months after lance retired from cycling. he had a front row seat with which to watch lance grow into the enigma and superstar that he continues to be today. he trained with him. he rode with him. he saw the single minded focus that years of methodical preparation which led to winning a single race every summer. lance didn't dominate all season long. landis did. landis knew there was a short window of opportunity to claim the throne within the cycling world, and he was certainly willing to do whatever to accomplish it. well, he did. it was certainly no secret and pretty obvious to those who have been around the sport for a long time. mission quickly accomplished, and as quickly as he rose, he fell.

cheating. when money and fame are involved will always be a part of the culture of any sport. barry bonds doped because he was jealous of mcgwire and sosa. marion jones doped because she didn't want to be an epic marketing failure like dan and dave were a few years prior.

is there doping in the pro tour? sure. it may even be that all of them are cheating on some level just to be able to ride on an even playing field. it may be that some teams are totally clean and have to fight to keep sponsors and gain exposure every year because they are losing races to cheaters. in all cases, within all sports, it overshadows those who play the games of their sports without cheating. the fine line between medicinal enhancement for injured athletes and using doping products to cheat is certainy very close. i will never forget seeing the first 5 rows of the pro field at sea otter all take huge puffs from an inhaler when they called out 30 seconds to go before the start. all of them seemingly suffering from asthma or allergies, etc. really? in full view, nobody asked questions.

the flip side to this is that floyd has been riding for 30K this year. he's broke. he can't afford to pay the 90K a year it takes to maintain a proper doping program on all levels. so he's "clearing his conscious" simply because he can't afford to dope anymore. he can't afford to level the playing field and he's been black balled by most of the pro tour teams because they can't risk not being invited to events for having a doper on their roster. with a few exceptions, most of them don't make it back to the pro tour. maybe that same ego that prompted him to cheat in the first place is now spurring this conscious cleaning. i wonder how much his agent is asking for interviews, articles, etc. i read this morning that espn paid 100K for the rights to break the story. what's next? vanity fair? oprah? the timing is sure curious given that the only stage race we have here in the united states is going on right now and landis is not taking part this year.

sadly. it may be that most or all of what he is saying is true. just like jose canseco a few years ago. but like he has admitted, he doesn't have documentation or evidence to back it up. it's going to be his word against "theirs". how can you know so much and not have any proof. if he ran his own doping program with phonak, you would think he would at least be able to provide evidence and proof of his own doping. he seems reluctant to do that unless he can take others down with him. does this sound like someone who is doing it to clear his conscious? or does it sound like someone who's ego just simply can't shout down the demons in his head. who knows. i guess we'll see.

either way. sport suffers. there are no winners in this deal. never have been. i'll part with this question to consider. notice how floyd only listed current, active american riders as people he claimed also doped. yet, he say's that the statute of limitations are part of why his conscious is so overwhelmed. no mention of tyler, who was also on that us postal and phonak team. also, no mention of his foreign team mates on either squad. makes you wonder what is really behind all of this.

**late edit: turns out he has accused his foreign team mates. here is a reported transcript of his emails that he sent out.

quiet dog

2010-03-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

sunrise. the rhythm of windshield wipers parting rain. coffee and an abandoned trail head. the lashing on of threads with elements and duration in mind. checking to make sure the fuel for the day was on hand, plus spares for mishaps. the click and whirl around, checking air pressure and brakes and then a short, sharp descent and the sluggishness of judging speed into that first tight turn on a wet sunday. slick, wet wooden bridges with raw cut wood and sawdust from a recent resurrection. the mix of mossy growth, snow patches and lichen trying to figure out which season we are actually in. having a loon answer back the howl of my wet, snow clogged discs hoping for love and companionship from the steel beneath me. almond butter, banana and honey sandwiches while cold water falls from tree branches right down the back of my neck. steam rising off of wool. being impressed with how versatile musa pants are, yet again. acknowledging the lack of full commitment trying to clean a tech section in jagged lava knowing the water logged surface could turn on me and how different that mindset is in winter versus the confident dry of summer. dam controlled overflow beds awaiting that spring run off and how these trails will disappear for a few weeks while mother natures work is moved towards the ocean. being impressed with how ride able snow can be, but humbled by a slick, parallel root that keeps me focused. being grateful for having an entire trail system seemingly all to myself. understanding the confidence that comes from retracing your steps back to where you came from and taking stock in the ironic psychology in that experience. expression on a trail, an not having it hurt...in that way. the glassiness of a snow tempered mountain lake not quite cold enough to stay frozen, yet looks so still. the awkwardness of changing out of wet into dry clothes while the rain continues to fall. loading up a bike and hoping the speed and rain will make it cleaner than it is now on the drive home. remembering when you used to be able to do rides like this without having to have the car involved and missing that...yet again. sunset and the same rhythm of those windshield wipers. hank williams on the radio. dry, wool socks,heated seats and drowsy eyes.

wisdom

2010-03-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

(jedi section of alpine trail. 68 degree day in march @ 4700 ft. looking up while waiting...i live here)

old words. i think the beauty of good advice is in it's timelessness. it's never dated if the mind and the spirit are ready to "hear" it and follow it. there is a lesson in finding myself back in this place once again. some cycles should never be repeated, but then again, comeback is a word in our vocabulary. you have to know where you have come from to know where you are going.

I'm ready when you are. You don't have to impress me. I want to help you get from where you are to where you want to go. We'll schedule a program to get you there. You don't have to come to me fit, but it is best if we're healthy. I can't judge how much something is bothering you or whether it is progressing at a reasonable or acceptable rate. The best thing is to make sure you're feeling alright without repercussions or remnants of the previous trouble.

When you're healthy, the work will be able to pile up quickly and we'll be alright. We can go from unfit to fit with solid and well planned training. We can't go from injured to healthy with a training program. Point is you have to be healthy before we worry about getting fit. So, take your time to get healthy. When you're healthy we'll get moving toward getting fit.

As an ultra runner (if you want to be a good one and have a long career) then you have to show patience. To perform your best and to maintain your health and longevity, you have to be smart about what you're doing and also methodical. There are lots of guys who over race who will never reach their potential. There are lots of mileage guys who are more centered on the numbers than the performance. Being patient and having a good plan will outdo those other styles. You only have to answer to yourself. Stay away from blogs and reading crap about how hard and how much people are training. Most of it is crap. What is best for you is what is planned to be best for you.

We'll start when you say. Glad you're seemingly putting some healthy time behind you. You may not be where you want to be, but I always say "You gotta start somewhere".

word.

itch

2010-03-03T00:14:00.000-08:00

a few more sunny days than rainy days. blooms and buds. grass needs mowing. there is a smell on my morning commute that tells me the change is here. i find myself walking outside to sit in the sun instead of staying focused on tasks indoors. equally, i find myself enjoying the humid fog of night, riding around after everyone is asleep.

i'm getting signs from all around me in the things i read, the folks i talk with. music streaming. links being forwarded. chance encounters that all point towards this inner itch. first workouts on the bark taking ginger steps, remembering the memories of the journey past taken. had turkeys in my backyard a few mornings back...the cat just staring, unable to comprehend the presence.

thinking about mt. tam in july. north umpqua in may. colorado in august. friendships, fires and nights under the stars. sharing pints in pubs i've not yet sat. vista's, views and dust from other states being banged out of my trail shoes or wiped off the visor on my helmet. sharing the physical and spiritual connection with the itch that comes with spring. sweet tides...

pass hunting

2010-02-17T13:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-12T13:48:00.000-08:00

"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

2010-02-10T00:15:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-03T09:32:00.000-08:00

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.

hurdle mills

2010-01-23T01:19:00.000-08:00

i don't think i've been back here in the last 4 years when there wasn't something hanging over this place. my memories make me prejudice to, and judgemental of, my history here. when i see it now. i see decay in all forms and very little sustainability. it's not just related to the objects, either.

i don't live here. i'm not following in the footsteps of my dad's family and the 231 years of history they have here. it's just not my place. the old country store i used to get mountain dew out of the glass bottle for $50 cents is now gone. the pool has been filled in with concrete and there is a storage building built over it so more junk can be hoarded and left unused, wasting in the darkness. the fields lay unplowed, growing nothing but resentment in it's soil. early 19th century farm houses are abandoned and have porches falling in on themselves.

i remember sneaking upstairs in the house my father was born in and peeling newspaper off the inside of the attic ceiling that was used as insulation back in the war and reading the headlines and news from the mid forties...

the stearmans and airtractors, or what's left of them, lay rotting in decay. grass grown up through the holes in the fuselage where my grand daddy used to sit while he sprayed all the fields in this county and more. this same stearman where, as an 11 year old, he told me to hold the stick while he ate his bologna and mayo sandwich mixed with motor oil from the rotary piston engine...

i'm not that old. it doesn't seem like it was that long ago. what happened here? my memories are raw and still feel fresh, but eyes show me something else.

is this what's happening to america?

it's like this place just outgrew itself and nobody stayed. folks are growing old and dying, but none of the children have any interest in this place. no cable tv here. it's "an hour ta town". tobacco farming died, as it should have, but nobody wanted to farm anything else. industry left soon after. people stopped working hard and working together. now, it's a modern day ghost town. those who remain are the fortunate few who can still afford to pay the taxes or those who are too scared to leave because it's the only place they have ever known.

i've noticed the field behind the old church is overrun with headstones, but the pews are emptier when the preacher gets up to speak. they'll be adding another permanent resident to the field on sunday, and that's what brings me back here...

what happens now?

measuring

2010-01-12T16:12:00.000-08:00

since the fracture, my running had been limited to spurts of progression. i was keeping it flat. allowing the tissue around the heel to reform and get used to rigors of running. i hadn't been to my trails on foot. i was scared of the instability and i had been advised against rushing back into the singletrack. today, after hitting a few other markers and milestones. the sun was out on a rare eugene winter day. i decided it was time.

i was nervous. virginity nervous. curiosity about how it was going to turn out. i had decided against working in some possible alternatives or bail outs. the mind was positive and forward thinking. the mind of the injured athlete is hypersensitive and full of demons. we step gingerly awaiting that twinge or ache to return and the ebb builds with every pain free step.

the rewards (if you can call them that) for time away from something you have spent a great deal of time on, is that you get to see things anew. discovering the grass beat down by the changing of the season. a new bridge completed by volunteers. trail work enhancing an overused area. even new construction in an area you have passed a thousand times and never noticed before until you saw the landscape reshaped by clearing and earth moving. in some ways, it's a re-dedication of sorts to your spirit. allows you to reappraise that which you usually take for granted from periods of overexposure.

it wasn't my longest run, but it was the best one of the year. i am sure those sharing the trail with me wondered what the fuck i was smiling at...i am not going to apologize. if i could share with them the last 6 months, maybe they would understand. maybe not.

it's good to be moving forward.

cartagena

2010-01-05T11:34:00.000-08:00

eat like your poor and smile often. respect the local beer and enjoy the freshly caught pescado whenever you can. run shirtless and sockless and don't set an alarm. making friends with folks who don't speak your language, but don't seem to mind that you don't speak theirs, either. realize that juan valdez has become the starbucks of colombia and avoid at all costs. accept a piece of tin foil as the "lid" for your coffee cup. look both ways because they aren't looking for you. smack yourself to see if you have died and gone to donkey heaven. go to parties that feature african dance and mariachi's. hugs. wisdom. guidance and knowledge. history of battles won and lost. 3 wheeled, pedaled, coaster brake'd rolling businesses that will sell you lunch cooked right in between the wheel wells. love. fireworks. good scotch and a new year. lucha libre with a moustache and a tuxedo...yep.

yin / yang

2009-12-20T12:42:00.000-08:00

this weather is killing our snow.

november showed me weekends on the sticks, a black friday in the cascade cement. december has shown me weekends on two wheels playing in the dirt. we live in strange times, indeed. tradition is taking a hit as well. the annual epic solstice run i love so dearly in north carolina was derailed by a freakish snow storm that shut down the smokies...cold mountain giving us a glimpse of how she got her name so many years ago.

heading to the woods yesterday. conversation with a local ski patroller was tinged with nervous pandering about the conditions of his mountain. the sound of his studded tires seemed strange on a 58 degree day, but considering we had lows in the single digits last week, not completely out of place. gearing up, i was over packed on clothing, and only wore single layers. fenders for the mud. thin wool instead of thick wool. fresh new carbon squishy for a fresh new rider. tempered cold steel on my part paying proper homage to crom. tubeless tracking on the peanut butter mud. long, moist dirt roads that snake up the side of mountains. sweating in the shade. enjoying the vitamin d pouring through the trees. loving the effort, almost like an indian fall. i know mother nature didn't set this day for me, but it's hard not to feel singled out and appreciative. gathering to banter at road crossings and intersections, the conversation keeps us out there longer. i don't think anyone is in any hurry to be done. trying to extend the day a little longer without cooling off too much. finally flying into descents catching grouse huddled in sunny spots, not bothering to flush as our tires go zipping by. a glimpse of the flow while on one of the longer sections where i easily found my lines and the balance of speed and terrain. finishing up feeling greedy that it couldn't go on longer, but knowing when enough is enough. saturation is not always the way, balance.

kind of like our weather. balance. there is a message in everything around us. are you listening?

unabridged

2009-10-05T12:00:00.000-07:00

warning. it's long. you should probably snack up. i wrote this more as a reference to me for future runs, so it's filled with lots of details that may not read very smoothly. i apologize in advance for any bleeding eyes, bonking or saddle sores. this is my 2009 Western States 100 race report

the buzz started as a low ebb...a little more pep amongst the group in our final, traditional track workout. then, final "cultural experiences" at the YMCA sauna. meetings with crew members and trips to the store to stock up on supplies. i relished and enjoyed all of it. the ebb grew at a pre-race gathering at dano's where our departures were punctuated with knuckles and the words "see you in squaw" driving home a further sense of reality. packing the car and final preparations. over packing and over thinking. it wasn't agony waiting to leave, but an acknowledged part of the process.

making that drive was extra special. hitting the traditional stop in ashland to see friends and pay homage to the cougar and the soul patch. a beautiful drive through lassen, some random oregon plates with cars stuffed with eerily similar gear to mine, i finally found myself checking into my cabin in alpine meadows resort on a cold, clear night in lake tahoe. the buzz was everywhere. my envelope with the map of my cabin had a note on it from a friend and fellow competitor. this was exciting stuff, and the excitement was everywhere. pre-race i wanted to soak everything in. catching up with friends. hugs exchanged. names to faces. goodie bags, medical studies. old traditions of the weigh in and blood pressure check, new traditions like the mug shot for the online tracking. hundreds of very ripped, excited and beautiful runners were littering squaw valley with enthusiasm. it was a nice scene to be a part of. dinner with friends at the sunsweet house that night was a social occasion. i had to bling the black on my toes, thanks to lc's wife. oregon beer was shared. lasagna, salad, dessert was prepared by crew members. downstairs we'd sneak away to catch glimpses of the track meet on tv. it was great to be amongst friends. i walked home and made final preparations. filling bottles, checking and double checking. watched a tribute to michael jackson, then spent 90 fitful minutes sleeping before my body woke me up 41 seconds before my alarm was scheduled to go off.

the next 45 minutes were a series of whirls and clicks. coffee, food, deuces. short drive to squaw, get the number, get the chip, change the clothes, head outside...wait a minute. it's only 4:30. i've got 30 minutes.

siiri was awesome. we sat outside in the calm and watched the nervous ballet of jumps, squats, loud talking and body glide application. folks making friends. a guy putting on a new pair of shoes that he had never worn before because he had forgotten his shoes back in truckee and could go back to get them. wow. (i double checked my feet to make sure i wasn't sitting there in my flops.) i sipped my coffee, warm in my wool and took in the scene. with 10 minutes to go, i picked up my gear, walked to the line and said my hello's. i wish you could see the smiles on every ones faces.

i will never forget those 10 minutes for as long as i live because i truly believe i have never experienced so much happiness and excitement. hugs, photos and soon it's 3 minutes to go. it was going to happen, we were going to have to go through with it. 10 seconds to go, the whole crowd is counting down in unison and with a blast, we're off.

my first impression is of how blinding camera flashes are. my second impression is of how quickly the trail goes upward. i finally clear the humanity and we start climbing and i'm alternating walking and jogging.

i had divided my race up into 4 parts. squaw to robinson was the high country, and the only part of the race course i had never spent any time on in preparation. i'm following the mass up this mountain when all of the sudden in see people wild eyed and running back towards me. i hear a very familiar voice yelling "wrong way" and turn around just in time to see lb and bili leading the western states 100. if there was any tension in the air, it was broken with that move. i see the favorites go zooming by like it's a 10K road race. most of them taking themselves way too serious. i fall into a rhythm and watch the sunrise reveal the mountains to me. man, this is awesome. i use jizzle wizzles booming voice as a beacon from behind me and start to slowly make my way up to lb and bili. andy and i run a bit with graham cooper before i see an open area and i catch up with krissy, nikki, and jenn running with the men of oregon. i meet neil olsen and slf on the climb, we exchange good morning and i can't stop looking around at the views. the double track turns to single track and after a sharp pitch upward, we have a steady ascent to the escarpment. i summit with lb and he remind me and victor ballesteros to turn around and take in the view. well worth it, for sure. with that, the noise of the climb is done and instantly we are on single track and heading gently downward. i easily fall into a rhythm with lb and soon we are caught by the thunderous descent of the one, a jizzle wizzle. i make a comment about knowing that foot slap anywhere and we all smile and comment about how rad it is that we are doing this! jizzle wizzle takes advantage of the downhills and it's the last time i will see him until the awards ceremony the next day. the morning is still cool and the single track carves into the granite chief wilderness. i'm excited to see dave and beth van winklin drinking coffee and camped out just as friends of the race. no aid station, just fans of the event. lb and i run together and soon we were catching folks who were settling into their own race rhythm. patagonia teammate mark godale was first, making a shoe adjustment, then we caught up to michael wardian and krissy moehl. mike seemed curious to know about what pace we were running and i had no good data to give him. we talked about the 100k he had just run and soon i felt myself being lulled into a rhythm that was not going to be maintained. i stopped for a pee and let lb catch up with me and we settled back in. wardian soon disappeared out of sight. my mindset for this section was based on the advice lb had given me where he said he ran as if he was "holding back the entire time". it was easy to keep this in mind.

coming into the first aid station at lyon ridge, i handed off my bottles to a volunteer and quickly raided the buffet line. i was hungry. payday bar, watermelon, pb and j sandwich, some pretzels, and a chug of gu20 to wash the sandwich down and soon lb and i were walking up the hill out of the aid station. it was great to have someone there who is not only a mentor, but a training partner. i could tell he was equally as vested in my race as he was his own when he started holding me accountable for what i ate at the last aid station. it was good for me, as i have had a habit in the past of glossing over the food and hurrying out. 100 miles is a different story, though. take the time. from lyon's ridge, we started really opening up and descending a bit. elephants trunk, cougar rock and views of french meadows reservoir were just stunning. i felt eye level with snow capped peaks and we skirted the ridge fairly easily. i was already starting to catch people again. lb and i soon found ourselves in a group including lon freeman and victor ballesteros. through most of the high country, i would pass victor on the descents, he would motor past me on the climbs. lb stopped to take a bathroom break just outside of red star and i was on my own. i was mindful to eat, drink and really enjoy the views. my body felt great despite the increasing presence of the sun and i knew soon it was going to be getting hot. coming into red star, i drained both my bottles and caught three more runners on the descent and we arrived together. a volunteer named steve took my bottles and told me he would meet me at the end of the table in 30 seconds. gu20 and water, i made another sweep through the table inhaling solids and steve was there. i heard others calling for drop bags and caught a glimpse of lb as i was checking out of the aid station. there is a short single track section out of the campground through the trees and from there we got our first big exposure of the day. victor soon caught up with me again and we resumed our journey towards duncan canyon. this section, i really got to see what the fires did to this area. lots of burnt out mountain sides, exposure and really rocky, dusty trails. despite this, it was easy to settle into the nice flow. the mountain air was clean. flowers were blooming. the sky was clear. it seemed no different than just a beautiful day for a trail run. a horseshoe climb on the trail let me see who was in front of me and behind me. i was able to catch a glimpse of lb, graham, alan abbs, tracy moore and tony d'allesio not far behind while jenn shelton, wardian and special k were just up ahead. it wasn't long before we caught jenn, she seemed stoked to be out here and was doing okay. in the prerace briefing, mark falcone had talked about this 3 mile section in duncan canyon that had been improved with a trail machine, and while i ran through the shale rock and twisty single track, i kept expecting to come up it. catching up to victor again, he gave me the trail and soon i was in this ankle deep, dusty, loamy single track that seemed to just pour down the mountain. checking my watch, i knew this was probably the descent to the duncan canyon aid station. i have fallen in love with descending since moving out west, so i really flew into this section. it wasn't long before i started noticing the air was dusty which meant that runners were not far ahead. a mile or out of the aid station i latched on to the train of krissy moehl and sean meissner.

(photo by gtach)
i started to ask to pass, but remembered that the temps were rising and we still had a lot of running left to do on this day. we chatted and descended and soon caught a glimpse of glenn tachiyama, camera in hand, which meant that the aid station couldn't be far away. a quick bottle exchange with meghan's husband, brian, and i was at the buffet eating another small sandwich and watermelon. i checked out and caught one runner almost immediately. soon, i came upon another runner. it wasn't until she stopped and let me by that i realized with was nikki kimball. i ran most of the gentle climbs and soon started on the downhill section towards duncan creek. up ahead i see a familiar gate and within minutes lewdogg and i are doing our best impersonations of david caruso and his absurd acting voice. we hit duncan creek together and end up ankle deep in the water after trying some nifty rock hopping that went horribly wrong. screw it, i scooped up a handful of water and splashed myself and soon was running up the switchbacks out of the creek towards the summit and robinson flat aid station. victor soon made up time on me on the climbs and graham cooper was not far behind him. i let victor go and settled into a nice pace. i caught dan barger first, then marco olmo, michael wardian was next, not feeling too good and out of water. i soon spotted brian robinson and jean pommier and caught them just as i was coming into robinson flat. i don't have words for a what a scene this place is. i was 2 minutes ahead of my projected split of 10:20 to robinson when i stepped on the scale. i was trying to focus, but taking in the enthusiasm of the place. i heard my name called a thousand times when i finally recognized the voice i was looking for. my crew chief, friend and pacer, john ticer, was there and with clarity amongst the throngs let me know he was set up in the shade just beyond the crowd. i passed through and soon found myself surrounded my oregonians. the exchange of bottles, specific food and supplements was quick was precise, a chug of ice cold ultragen and i was walking towards that little wooden bridge, sandwich in hand and ticer with me. he was giving me some final instructions on what to expect on the climb ahead and a strategy to get there. i fell in behind marco olmo and victor who had passed me while in the aid station and soon heard michael wardian catching up. the walk/run up little bald, tropical john directing traffic back onto the trail and soon we were treated to the expanse of views as the trail starts descending towards dusty corners. full exposure here, i could instantly feel the heat starting to rise for the first time. it was great to be back. i remembered the views from training on the course and it was just as beautiful today. it was great to be on familiar ground. i soon caught victor, and we did our usual exchange, wardian stayed with me when we passed another runner, from australia, and soon we were alone.

(photo courtesy of www.ws100.com)

the single track opens up to double track and wardian pulled up for a conversation. it was good to have company and mike is an easy guy to run with. we talked about the race, the heat, some strategy for staying cool and within a short time, found ourselves taking the turn off the dirt onto the singletrack for millers defeat. the sign at the trailhead indicated that it was another 0.8 miles to the aid station and the new location was ideal. shade, great volunteers and lots of enthusiasm. i got ice in both bottles for the first time today and used the cold buckets of water to squeeze cold water over my head and neck. it cooled me instantly and it was then i realized how hot it was getting. i noticed hiroki sitting in a chair with ice on his ankle. i wished him good luck, thanked the aid station workers and checked out in step with mike. the trail soon heads downhill and mike and i found ourselves moving fairly well. we soon came upon a foreign runner in 3/4 tights, a long sleeved shirt, and hat. he looked hot, i spoke when we passed him, but he said nothing in return. the first part of the descent we were moving well when the urge to pee came up. i slowed to my squiggly pee shuffle while mike pushed on. in minutes, i was descending into dusty corners and was greeted by a large crowd of oregonians. brian was there again with bottles, but i declined having lost my taste for sports drink for the moment. i was craving ice water, so i stuck with that. i used the buckets and spray of water again, and was soon checking out of dusty corners and looking forward to pucker point section. mike was gone. i got to the intersection at pucker point and was surprised to see it unmanned. the singletrack was great as it gave me a chance to use some different muscles after running on dirt roads/double track for the last hour or so. i love this section from training on it, but man, was it getting hot. i started seeing runners ahead of me and found myself in the company of josh brimhall first, then brian morrison, then finally, david james. i was sad for all of these guys because i knew they expected to do well and if i was passing them here, the race was not going as they had planned. i checked into last chance 7 minutes ahead of goal split and caught a glimpse of wardian leaving the aid station. i was starting to loose weight, 3 pounds down in that last section, but i was still hungry and eating so i figured it was just sweat and effort. i continued to enjoy the cold watermelon and other foods and soon was checking out of last chance. i caught glimpse of an eerie sign on the side of the trail. something about the quads being evil and they must be punished. dan o signed mom and dad. huh, i wonder if they are talking about tapeworm? just like that, i saw blue shorts and voila, tapeworm appeared. he was laboring and working out some salt/hydration issues but his spirit seemed good, so i pressed on past the rusted mining equipment, picking up speed i knew what was coming and looked forward to it. making the turn onto the singletrack just before pacific slab, i let the brakes off for the first time today and really flowed the descent down to the swinging bridge. i felt good. nimble. quads were well in check. i saw mike wardian taking a break and eating about halfway down and said hello and expected to see him again. i hit the swinging bridge in an strange silence, crossed over and caught back up to lon freeman as we both got to the spring at the bottom of devils thumb together. i filled both bottles, dunked my visor and poured water over my head and started my ascent drenched like a drowned rat. i could hear ticers words in my head about climbing with enough effort to stay moving well, but not so hard that it drives my temperature up. the climbing felt easy and soon i heard and saw dano and lon ascending right behind me. i was stoked at how good my legs felt at this point, but was noticing i was sweating a lot. i didn't feel hot, but rather was moving a lot of liquid. i drained both bottles on the climb and popped out to a large, loud greeting at devils thumb. my watch said i ascended in just under 35 minutes, so i was stoked.

on the scale again, down about 4 pounds total now, i went over to the buckets to cool off with cold water. while i was bent over, the best aid station food ever popped up in front of my face in the form of a popsicle. man, this tasted good. bottles filled with ice, i drank cold mountain dew, ate some and took off out of the aid station thanking everybody. i was fired up. i moved well for about 200 yards and when i started the short downhill out of the thumb, my stomach just emptied it's contents. whoa. where did this come from? i thought i had eaten too much, maybe it was the cold popsicle, who knows. don't panic. i sipped ice water and it stayed down, then i popped an s-cap to balance out my sodium in my stomach and was soon moving again down to the pump. it felt weird running by here without stopping, but i knew what lay ahead. i was able to drink my water still and my stomach had been settled since the vomiting, so tried a gel right at deadwood and it lasted about 45 seconds on the first part of the downhill before it came back up. i knew something was wrong. i repeated the water, then s-cap on the stomach and it held. this canyon was tough. it was hot and even though i was moving well and still running fast, my mind was on my stomach. i let out a little whoop when i splashed past the pipe, which many consider to be the unofficial halfway point of the race. i had been running for just under 9 hours and physically, my legs were continuing to respond and feel great. the further i fell down the mountain, the hotter it got. i was using one bottle to sip, one bottle for dousing and it didn't seem like any relief was in sight. a felt a slight breeze and even noticed that the wind was warm. yep, this is the heat everyone talks about. i rolled across the bridge to the el dorado aid station and noticed that most of the staff was down in the creek cooling off. my bottles were filled with ice, questions were asked of me about how many people i had seen dropped out at devils thumb, and that was when i found out i was in 16th place. i started climbing up to michigan bluff in silence. i remember someone at the aid station asking me if i knew the way and i had to smile. i didn't hear any noise coming from the aid station as i started making my way up the climb. i was hot again as soon as i started moving and within 5 minutes everything i had eaten at the aid station was by the side of the trail. my stomach was cramping badly, now and my back was starting to hurt from not standing on level ground while puking. i know, sounds silly, but trust me. it makes a difference. i was moving, but heating up, and i kept slowing down to try to keep my core in check. i was able to repeat the water sip, s-cap formula to keep something in my body, my stomach still hurt and my energy was fading fast. i was surprised to hear a my name called and see mr. dan o right behind me. he looked great. he had recovered and was moving well. he offered up good wishes and kept pressing on. i was excited for him. seeing him revived gave me hope that i could solve my problems and get back going again. i started seeing folks near the top of the climb, despite the exposure i was happy to have those two canyons behind me and also excited to get to the aid station.

(photo courtesy of pete zinsli)

i knew ticer and siiri would be there, but also carol hewitt, who is an amazing host and friend to us oregonians. she's like family and i was excited for her to share in my day. i weighed in 6 pounds under and we started talking about my issues. i was wisked off to my chair for my planned stop for the day. new socks and shoes, sandwich, ultragen, fresh bottles. the cold, wet towel on my head was like flicking sweat on hot rocks in the sauna. i swear i heard it sizzle. soon, medical was at my side trying to get me to drink broth and flat soda. he kept trying to ask me questions while my crew was getting me my stuff and taking care of me. i felt rushed. hurried. the 4 minutes passed, then another and was up and walking down the road out of michigan bluff. i got some food down and started running and it wasn't long before the contents were evacuated again. crap. this is no good. psychologically, this was the first time today i was dealing with a down mentally. in my mind, michigan bluff was going to fix it, and i was having a hard time dealing with not having any calories. you can finish a 100 without food, right? i resumed my sipping of water, s-cap formula and even that wouldn't stay down at this point. i continued up and down the road, shifting from exposed doubletrack to singletrack, i started descending past paragon mine and noticed my dexterity and decision making was going away. my legs just didn't want to respond. i almost had to come to complete stops to make turns in the trail and the sun wouldn't leave me alone. i strategized that i should pick up the pace so i could get down to the creek and shade faster. i continued to puke all along this section until i arrived at volcano creek. lon freeman, who had passed me while i was in michigan bluff, was crossing the creek. i got in, sat down, layed back only for a second, and then got out and started walking again. i could barely put one foot in front of the other. i was in real trouble. both of my bottles were empty. i could barely move. i was a mile from the bath road aid station and it was hot. then, to my horror, a train of folks started coming past me. lon freeman, again. bev abbs and mike wardian. victor ballesteros, tony d'allesio. it was like that dream where you feel like your running in mud and everyone is passing you. except this was real and i was walking, not running. i noticed my heart beating rapidly in my chest and i was having to stop and catch my breath on the final climb up to the bath road aid station. ticer was there and he looked really concerned. tommy nielson was there also, calling out for his runner and offering encouragement. he engaged me, asked my name, where i was from. then he asked me if i had seen a rat? i thought he was messing with me till he pointed to the back of his shirt with a smile. he told me that i still had lots of time, get things worked out and he'd see me in auburn. truthfully, at that moment, auburn seemed like it was still 100 miles away. i saw members of lb's crew there waiting on him as he wasn't far behind and everyone was trying to help me. cold water to cool me, ice towel, i needed to get out of this aid station. i was becoming comfortable and my demons were playing havoc with my mind. i told ticer i needed to get out of there and he helped me stand up and start walking. my bottles were full of ice and water and we started the long, slow hike up bath road. my race day plan had called for me to run this section, now i had broken my immediate goals down to getting from one turn in the road to the next. my heart rate was still too high, and i had to stop several times to catch my breath. i barely noticed crews coming down the roads toward other runners or runners passing me on the road up. i was rock bottom on that climb. speaking of roch, he and krissy passed me and slowed to offer encouragement just before we got to foresthill. i was determined not to walk into foresthill, so i started to shuffle knowing another aid station was just ahead. the crowds were thick but i couldn't hear much more than the sound of my pulse pounding in my head. my ears felt like they had cotton in them and my jaw ached. i saw volunteers waving me over to the scales and the first words out of the womans mouth were that my lips were white. i stepped on the scale. 132. my starting weight was 141. before i could even process what this meant, ticer was back at my side. he had gotten siiri to set up a chair in the shade with some ice and they were waiting for me. he guided me to this spot where i sat down and they went about the task of cooling me off. wet towels of ice, were draped all over me. ice water. ice chips. i felt like i was being asked a lot of questions, but it was just folks around me talking. i couldn't hear or think straight. my patagonia teammates, rod bien and julie fingar came over and helped to get me put back together. i saw so many faces intent on helping me resolve my issues. all of them so positive. my core temp was 104 and my stomach had shut down. most of the blood used in digestion was being used to try to cool my body in the skins surface, so everything i ate came back up. as i cooled off, i was able to eat some plain rice and saltene crackers. drink more water and ice, and eventually, some really watered down gu20. after 45 minutes, i was actually getting chilled, so ticer had me re-weigh myself. i was now 135 and headed in the right direction. i felt like i could move and wanted to get going again. rod got me a plastic baggie filled with rice to take with me. siiri filled both my bottles, put s-caps and powergels in my waist pack and i started walking, then running gently down the road out of foresthill. i had been down for 52 minutes after a 1:40 split from michigan bluff to foresthill. ticer follows me to the singletrack, and i am on my own. mentally, it's an instant boost from the staggering walk and fog i was in an hour prior. i'm back in the game and it feels good. i do a diagnostic and realize that while my stomach still rumbles, my legs feel great.

dropping out of foresthill, the exposed sections of the top of cal street pass quickly and i am on the singletrack that i know so well. in my head, i had broken down cal street into a series of sections and i went back to my race plan. i started catching other runners and pacers immediatly. i kept with drinking water and dousing in this section and arrived at cal 1 to get my bottles filled. i looked at my watch and saw 29 minutes since i had left foresthill...whoa. okay, i guess i'm feeling better than i thought, but i better chill out a bit. i took my baggie of rice for the climb just past cal 1 and ate a couple of spoonfuls before putting that away, i got over the top and continued to descend. my legs felt like we were still in the first part of the race. i just couldn't believe it. i hadn't had much to eat the last few hours and my body was continuing to respond. i held back because i knew i still had a long way to go, but spiritually, it reinforced to me that i was "going to auburn". i kept catching runners, passing the australian, chris wight, graham who was still moving well on a broken leg, jean pommier and his son? and matt lavine. the shaft was great to run down, i know cal 2 was only minutes away and another section down in my run to the river. my stomach acted up a bit on the descent, but kept everything down and soon i could see white christmas light and people cheering. i entered cal 2 alone and stopped to take out my rice and get my bottles refilled. the volunteers here were awesome! very helpful, you could tell this wasn't their first dance and they expected a certain emotional/physical runner coming into the station. bottles filled, soon the other runners were trickling into cal 2. it was strange to be in the aid station with 3 other runners, and as i was checking out, one more was checking in. i wanted to get going again while my legs still felt good. the descent out of cal 2 if probably one of my favorite sections on the western states trail. i relaxed and really opened up and the legs were responding once again. it was also the first time i really noticed that the temperature was dropping and sun was going down. i put the carrot out there that i still wanted a daylight river crossing and that was motivation the rest of the way. coming to the 6 minute hill was a reality check. this climb is hard. you are over 70 miles into this deal when you hit this and it's just hard. i relaxed and climbed, drinking water and taking an s-cap and could feel emotional high of cal street starting to wear off a bit. for some reason the climb seemed longer than i remembered and had a few more turns than i remembered, but the end finally came. pulling into cal 3 i was expecting far worse than what i saw. younger volunteers. ice. lots of enthusiasm, white lights and lots of smiles. it was a great boost. this brunette there was doing of good job of passing out little white lies by telling me how great i looked. i saw one runner on a cot there getting worked over verbally by his pacer. whew, bad scene. i still wanted that daylight river crossing, so i got out quickly and was soon carving along the hillside leading down to the dirt roads along the river. i was excited to catch another runner and his pacer quickly. when they stepped aside, i noticed it was tuk. jed was pretty conservative on his chances the day before. he had been injured and was hoping adrenaline would take him to auburn. he had been in good shape, but was dealing with injury. here he was 72 miles into this deal and still moving. we spoke a few words and i moved on. descending down to the grassy section which is probably one of my least favorite sections on the course, i was surprised to fine open, cut back singletrack. someone had been through here with a weed eater or something. it was the first time i had actually been able to see the dirt underneath the weeds in all my training runs on this section. wow, this course was fast today. what a treat. i noticed that the creek beds were dry and moving was still easy. i could tell the sunlight was starting to get low everytime i hit a shaded area and my pace would increase. i caught alan abbs and his pacer just before the dirt roads. he was still moving. still doing the headband proud. hitting the dirt roads, now. i knew what to expect. i hiked the climbs and was able to run most of the descents, but i could tell my lack of calories was affecting my flats. the drive was waning. up ahead, i saw a figure in blue moving back against the grain of the course. i know that running form anywhere. it was my pacer, john ticer, coming to meet me. a quick update on who was in front of me. i told him about my wish for a daylight crossing and we went about checking in on my body and what i was able to eat and drink. i knew a couple of more rises and falls and we would be there. i could see the cable on my descent into the aid station and the sun was still up. whoop! section 3 was almost down for me, and now it would be the home stretch. my split on cal street was eerily close to what i had planned on run for my race split and that was very, very encouraging. stepping onto the scale, i was alarmed to see 134 for my weight.huh? i had been eating and drinking the whole time. i stepped on the scale next to it, and it read 136.

medical was concerned. i told them about foresthill and how i had actually maintained weight for this last section, but they were not convinced. i was escorted to the buffet and told to eat. i was handed some salty broth and watermelon while my bottles were filled. i sipped the broth and knew as soon as it hit my stomach that it was a bad idea. i told ticer, lets go and started walking towards the check out. 5 feet from freedom, despite my hand being over my mouth, the contents were coming back up. CRAP! i was escorted back to medical and put on a cot. i could hear Ed Willson howling my name from across the river. i saw the sun going down and my hope for a daylight crossing fading. i got the usual from medical. the aid station personel were great. suggesting things to try, bringing me saltenes and some "plain" stuff to put on my stomach. one guy filtered the rice out of the chicken soup hoping that would help. i never got his name, but he was really positive and helpful. if you read this, you know who you are, thank you. i felt bad for my pacer. i sat there trying to eat watching runner and runner come through the aid station. everyone i had passed on cal street, plus many more. darkness. my stomach was still in the same shape it had been when i got there, every time the doctor came over, he was saying "ten more minutes". finally, at an hour. i was through. nothing was getting better. i had run 16 miles with my stomach feeling like this, and then sat for another hour. i was getting out of there. plus, that runner and pacer from cal 3 had shown up. his pacer was making me angry. i looked at ticer and he just knew what i was thinking. i grabbed my bottles, walked out of medical and check out of the aid station.

ticer had a plan for me. we crossed the river slowly, getting the legs going again. the water felt great. i saw chris and darla waiting for their runner on the rivers edge and was stoked to see bilirubin and t-bag crossing just in front of me. in making my escape, i hadn't noticed them coming into the river. it was great to see them. bili's nephew, aric was helpful in that he provided us with a headlamp for the climb out. we started walking up the road to green gate and the feeling of wanting to run was returning. mentally, i reloaded a plan to get to the finish. about halfway up the hill i noticed this green and blonde flash coming down the hill at a fast pace. siiri had heard i was in medical from meghan and her pacer, so now she was coming to find me. she knew we didn't have headlamps and was coming to wait by the river. you could tell she didn't expect to see us, but was relieved to see me up and moving. she and ticer had a plan for me and were very positive. we got to green gate and it was a mini partay. bili checking in with his crew. ticer and i getting geared up to run. i talked to bili about running to auburn together, but when time came for me to leave, i needed to go. i was able drink down some ultragen again and it felt like it was going to stay. siiri loaded up my waist pack with s-caps, some clif bars she had broken up into small bites and a real treat. beef jerky. i tore off a piece before leaving the aid station and just let it sit in my mouth. the meaty salt taste was good. i have never been a "dipper" but i'd imagine this is kinda what it's like. checking out of green gate, i was able to break into a run for the first time in 90 plus minutes. i told ticer i wanted to lead this section and that i was going to run until i needed to walk. like before, we started catching runners again. friends from ashland, for the 2nd time. one very skinny 50 plus year old runner from ashland who was still moving. i hadn't seen rob cain since the escarpment and was excited to see him handling such a tough day. heading into the night, it seemed like there were lights ahead of us all the time. i was on familiar ground and felt like i was moving well. it felt great to run and i was getting an energy boost from the taste of the jerky. my legs felt good for having gone 80 plus miles at this point and i was surprised at how the body is able to respond. i like racing. it was important for me mentally to have those runners in front of me. i tapped back into my visualization and soon could hear the generators of ALT echoing through the valley. lights ahead , i caught up with eric johnson and his pacer, mark hartell. mark made a comment about seeing me in foresthill and how it was amazing to see me running now. i got a boost from it and john and i got onto the scale just ahead of those guys at the aid station. john had asked me about what i was planning on eating when i got here, so when medical freaked out again on my weight, i had a plan. i told them about my two holds, and found that i was maintaining my weight just fine. i found the boiled potatos on the table and ate under the watchful eye. i saw the doctor on his walkey talkey radio to the checkout to watch for vomiting. i smiled at him. "not this time...". bottles filled with ice water and watered down gu20, i left the aid station chewing my 3rd salty potato. i told ticer i wanted to walk until we got to the creek crossing we used at way too cool, then it was going to be time to run. this worked well, the potato's stayed down and settled and we started running. picking up where we left off, i felt invigorated. my stomach was coming back. i didn't feel the but pains anymore and for the first time since just before devils thumb, i actually had to pee. i tore off some more jerky and set about running to browns bar. the number of runners on this section was a lot smaller than heading to ALT, so i worked on sections. i still seemed to be moving well, though making sharp turns were proving to be difficult. i was focusing in on "running on eggshells". staying lite and rhythmic despite the undulation. finally, lights ahead of us, ben berkowitz and his pacer for a 2nd time. these kids were in such a good mood. i knew ben had hoped for a faster race, but it was good to see younger racers making lemonade out of lemons. the section to browns bar is deceiving, you run into these pockets and at night, you can see lights, but they might be a half mile ahead of you. ticer and i saw one set of lights, then seemed to run away from them, rather than towards them. my mind and body still positive, i started seeking those red lights on browns bar. i heard flashes of music carrying through the valley, using my watch to gauge my fluid intake, i knew we were getting close and i was intent on catching those lights we had seen. there were crickets in this section that sounded like helicopter rotors, so i played in my mind that i was running away from a medivac. soon, i heard the whooping and hollering and flew into the gradual downhill towards the bridge to browns bar. i saw a set of lights leaving the aid station, moving well, and came up the hill to see my favorite australians enjoying some soup and drinks. "you again, mate?" chris wights pacer was a hoot. he asked if my slow twin and i were doing a relay because one of us could run and the other was good at sitting. i nibbled some more boiled potatos while my gu20 and water was refilled. ticer also suggested i try the soup. it was hot, but good to eat. i ate about half of it and checked out just behind the aussies. they playfully stepped aside and said they'd hoped to see my twin again soon sitting at hwy 49. i knew i had seen lights when we were getting into browns bar, and i wanted to continue to chase. ticer and i swapped the lead in this section. i could run, but turning and dexterity were a little clapped out due to tight hips. this section was also a lot rougher and rockier than i remembered. i kept kicking rocks. i slowed my roll some to preserve. i still had 10 miles of running and knew that was still a long way to go. i was surprised to see the creeks dry but i knew with every creek bed i ran through, i was getting closer to the river. the trail seemed to get steeper as we descended. man, i was thankful for my training partners and the quality quad work we had done. my quads felt great and did the job of getting me to the river intact. i have never been so happy to see smooth ground. hitting the quarry road, the route continues to descend. i prompted ticer to get me off this road as quickly as possible so he took the lead. i had to ask him to walk once, but for the most part, we ran the flats, gentle ups, and hiked the steeper hills. i finally saw a set of lights and passed two very cheery canadians, gary robbins and his pacer. i read that he had hoped to run well, so it really embodies the spirit of this event to see him so positive towards other runners at this point in the evening. It didn't take long to see another set of lights. i passed silently and quickly and kept asking ticer on every uphill if we were at the trail yet. finally, the lights showed us the way and were on the way to hwy 49. i was able to run most of the lower sections. it actually felt better than walking, but soon the technical, rocky sections of the trail slowed me to a hike after one near miss too many. at this point, the mind was sending the signals, but the muscles weren't getting all of them. i knew this section from training pretty well, but it was my first time on it at night. the going seemed a lot slower than i remembered, but i felt like i was still moving forward. i started the mental games of running to trail signs, trees and gate posts. i also imagined the reflectors on the back of ticers shoes were lightning bugs that i used to see on my night runs in the north carolina mountains and that calmed me somewhat.

i started hearing car noise and knew we were close and started picking up my run/walks. the grade slackened some and i was able to find a nice running rhythm and could hear OD yelling for his runner. This told me that Meghan was just ahead. The trail opened up and while everyone was paying attention to Meghan getting into the aid station, ticer and i slipped in behind them. i needed water, potato's again and felt like drinking a cup of mountain dew with ice. my bottles were filled quickly and i was anxious to get out of there. with ticer showing me the way, i was stunned to a halt by what i saw sitting in the chair on the way out. oh man, dan o. he was seated, headlamp still on and pointed up at the sky. his pacer, matt and wife, courtney were massaging his legs underneath the blanket that covered him. he had that thousand yard stare. he looked at me, recognized me and told me was done...that look told me he spoke the truth. i could feel the tears starting to well up inside me, so i had to turn and get going. i saw meghan coming over to dan as we were leaving. i think she was just as shocked as i was. i tried to shake off the emotion and refocus. ticer and i were in the same frame of mind with regards to dan. we acknowledged it and i planned to run hard to the finish for both of us. i could hear meghan and her pacer behind us early in the climb out of hwy 49, but soon the noise faded. ticer and i ran the flats and hiked strong on the climbs. i could feel my legs getting stronger. coming up to the open field, we formed a plan again. ticer would get me to the downhills, then i would take over and set the tempo so i didn't have to deal with dust from his steps. total veteran leadership right here. john had truly thought of everything. i could see the bat signal lights coming from downtown auburn and i wondered if that was the school. i could smell the barn, but knew from bonking on a training run here a few months prior that i still had to take care of business with my body. heading downhill, the quads again responded. picking up the pace, i started seeing lights ahead of me. i passed alan abbs and his pacer, again just before what jizzle wizzle refers to and the 15 minute turn. i looked at my watch and knew that if i kept moving well, that's how long it would take me to get to no hands. this section really contours to the road and i could hear crew filled cars and fans whooping and hollering as they made their way towards the school on hwy 49. i knew siiri was meeting me at no hands, and i really wanted to surprise her. she had yet to see me in this race moving well. every time she was having to deal with a needy, hot, clapped out runner and i wanted her to see strength and happiness at this point in the race. ticer warned me about the trickiness of the descent leading down to no hands, it kinda sneaks up on you. you catch yourself looking at the lights and big screened tv instead of the trail. i resisted the urge and picked my way into the aid station. the look on siiri's face was awesome! she had changed into what i call her "ill style" outfit on knee high red striped socks, patagonia shirt and shorts. the aid station captain was like "i doesn't look like your going to have to wait as long as you thought..." the smile on her face was a huge boost, she was excited. i hugged her, she told me she'd see me at the school and with bottles filled again, i started my walk across the bridge still chewing my food.

(photo courtesy of esther holman)
i passed the thornley puke throne without contributing to it myself and broke into a run. i asked ticer to find me some lights and soon the noise of the aid station left me alone to the silence of the trail and the american river. above me, cars continued to honk and holler. i was thinking that maybe someone was moving well behind me and i needed to get moving. i didn't look back, i just ran. i found that moving from double track to singletrack, my hips were still not liking twists and turns. i was still able to descend just fine, but my pace was slowing. i was tired, for sure. i mentally broke this section down into 3 parts and spent time focusing on a plan to get through those parts until i hit the pavement at robie point. ticer could tell i was slowing and prompted me to stay focused and keep moving. the course was well marked here and i could tell we were still making good time. breaking this section down really helps when your fatigued. this was a jizzle wizzle trick and it was helping me. soon, after a twisty climb, the trail opened up to double track and i could see the bat signal lights overhead. i saw a headlamp running down the road towards us and asking me what i wanted. was i at robie point already? i saw little phalic shaped lights glowing in the middle of the dirt road and got a chuckle out those. my cup of ice water was brought down to me and i downed it as i neared the gate. i didn't want to linger in this very dark aid station. this may sound strange, but the pavement felt really, really good. i found power in hiking up this section past the horse trailer. i lamented to john that it had taken me so long to get here, that the parties had already ended or everyone had passed out. i moved along knowing a party awaited me at the school and with one mile to go, i came around a corner and was rewarded with a very animated party still going on at the mile to go sign. they knew everyones name and were screaming congratulations! it brought such a smile to my face. i broke into a run up the last little grade to the top and then opened up when the grade turned flat and down through the neighborhoods in auburn. i looked up and saw 5 people walking up the road. it was hard to tell if they were spectators or runners. i asked john, do you think they are runners? he said he didn't know. i told him i wanted to find out and picked up the pace. as i drew closer, i saw headlamps, running shorts and tired, hunched over walking. i didn't wanted the pass to be decisive so i went right through the middle of them and found myself eye level with the white bridge. making the turn and heading down i could see the stadium lit up brightly. i wanted to howl and celebrate, but not yet. moving down the road, it felt great to be running fast. ticer warned me of the transition and step down to the track and i picked my way through the gate and into the lights i could hear someone being announced as a finisher ahead of me and i kept the pace up.

it was so rewarding to be on this track about to accomplish my dream of running the western states 100. i came off the curve, thanked ticer and he let me cross on my own. lots of cheering and noise, i was surprised that it was over just like that! Twiet was still awake, handing out handshakes and medals. it was an honor to get mine from him.

In the end, i couldn't have done this alone. i needed my competitors, my training partners, my crew, the thousands of volunteers who did trail work and helped out on race day. I celebrate this finish with all of you.

gear list
top: patagonia prototype team singlet, cap 1/2 blend.
shorts: patagonia long haul runners.
socks: patagonia ultra endurance ped socks.
visor: first endurance headsweats.
sunglasses: rudy project zyon team issue impact x clear/photocromic
shoes: adidas adizero xt

hydration and nutrition: combination ultimate direction hand helds with nathan bottles. nathan elite race waist pack, green apple and plain powergel, s caps, first endurance ultragen, beef jerky, clif bars, salted boiled potatos and avocado, ham, cheese sandwiches.

black and white

2009-10-03T22:11:00.000-07:00

maybe just a little more. maybe that pain won't be there tomorrow. maybe i'll load up ibuprofen or arnica and it'll pass. anything to give me a chance to run tomorrow. massage it. ice it. load it again, hurt it, then rest it before you abuse it a little more.

the mri machine pinged in my ears. the ooohing and aaaahing from the radiologist. i told myself she was watching the x games on espn and not looking at my images, playing one final game with myself.

i was wrong.

clarity, now. it's not a heel bruise. it's not plantar fasciitis. baxters nerve? nuh uh. i showed up for the follow up prepared. i drove the car instead of riding my bike. i think subconsciously i knew it was worse than i'd imagined. i was ready for das boot. i was ready for the needle. i was not ready to pick and choose which color of fiberglass cast they would be encasing my leg in.

i'm more than a few hours into this. i've ground to a halt. i still keep expecting to wake up and go for a run, pain free. i expect to go ride my bike and not have it hurt after a 3 mile commute. i expect to be able to equally stand on both legs and not unweight the right side. well, that day is coming, but the reality is i am awake...now. no more grey area. it's clear, in black and white.

my season was short. 14 weeks. razors edge the entire time. i got to fulfill a dream and take a journey that exceeded my imagination. i ran on borrowed time. it explains the achilles issues, the plantar, the calf tightness, soleus tightness that have kept me from consistency and distanced me from my flow. now, forced rest. rebuilding. a new journey.

no tears. no anger. relief.

truth

2009-09-17T00:10:00.000-07:00

rose lived on the south side of town

until her landlord showed up with two hundred dollar bills
a notice of eviction on the other hand
now she don't live there no more,
and everyone thinks he drowned,

i pulled into mecklenburg on them trains
into a station that got flooded when they opened up the dam
and broke their connections to the railway lines
so they could blast into the quarry,
and for every load of granite,
we got a ton of worry

one night at the diner over eggs,
over easy she showed me the length of her legs,
but that gold plated cross on her neck, it was real
and you don't get that kind of money from pushing meal

i should've told him that you were the one for me,
but i lied, but i lied,
to most any drifter whose looking for work is too weird
i met Percy and i married her in July
but if only to be closer to you, caroline

percy and i moved down the street
until we lost two pretty girls
one was seven and one was three
alderman and caroline owned the house right up the hill
where we laid those babies down
so they could still see our house

suspicion got the best of old alderman haint
he owned an auto parts store off the interstate
but the lord took him home in july
and then rose spilled the beans on the day that he died

i should've told him that you were the one for me
but i lied, but i lied
tied up to concrete at the bottom of the quarry
with a tattoo on his heart that spelled out "caroline"
he was silent but his rosary
drifted into the custody
of a sheriff that was just deputized

and i was down at the banquet hall
when two guys came up, pretty angry and drunk
and i'm still here at the banquet hall
at the banquet hall
where the gun went off, in the carolina rain
in the carolina rain, in the carolina rain
oh, caroline

--ryan adams

tight

2009-08-12T22:14:00.000-07:00

The things we laid do not amount to much
made of abandoned wood, loose stones and such

the heat we had the last few weeks accelerated our season. blueberries came and went quickly and this years haul only amounted to 14 lbs. the trails have been buffed out and beautiful. the respective crews yank at me from various directions. every weekend a choice has to be made and one group ends up disappointed...or is it i who's disappointed? i have a hundred trail rides i want to do and a thousands trail miles still to run. i feel both pulls equally.

the ghetto ride is a willamette valley tradition. the email list monitored by the czar of a local dirt ride shop makes sure the your offroad skills allow you to come along. it's frequently edited and folks are deleted off of it all the time. i've managed to stay on the list despite my infrequent attendance. the warning at the start of the ghetto ride is: if you get dropped and don't know where you are, turn around the go back the way you came. it starts late and is a "no light" ride meant for the hammerheads who have full time jobs. late start and we race what sunlight we have to get as much in as we can in the light allotted. back light on the trail is usually the culprit, but we do what we can. i got some scoffing from a few folks who didn't know me when i pulled in. the few who did were glad to see me. diamond dave came over with a handshake and wanted hear about States. The gravel road start to warm up on remind me of the thursday nighter out of sycamore cycles in pisgah. you spin your tits off from the shop to the stables, short regroup, then start climbing. the bend hammerheads were off the front on carbon hardtails early on the climb. i settled in with a bro, matty, who'd shared some trail time with me last fall who was also on the single speed 29'er and we picked our way up the gravel and found a nice rhythm. cadence and torque are your friend for sure. i was surprised at how quickly guys were popping up ahead. matty divulged that this shit happens every time when the bendites come over and with every curve in the road we worked our way up. got a shocked look from diamond dave and whoop from decker when we came around the last curve that dead ends into the singletrack. we were now 7 deep and ready to hit it. i hit the trail last and followed. i watched some guy, ben, ghost ride his carbon scalpel because of a flat tire. some folks take the ghetto too seriously. decker and diamond dave were soon out of sight and matty and i continued to find lines that complimented the rigid rides. big wheels continue to rule in my world. topping out on the hardesty summit, the views of the pending sunset were starting to form. we had 35-40 minutes tops. descending off of hardesty to eula ridge is full on. i could hear brakes screaming up ahead and the skid marks in the turns showed me that diamond dave was showing off for our visitor from bend, (a former us champ at the super d, he reminded us after the ride) i was as pinned as i have ever been, and managed to take it a step further. inches away from big disaster and keeping speed the whole time. right turn on south willamette and it's singletrack and good climbing back to the cars. the last minutes in the dying light were spent putting the swamper on the rack and opening my beer. the czar was there seeing who adhered to the "no light" rule and lambasted anyone who misjudged their riding time and were out after dark. i felt fortunate to get in just under the time check. matty informed me that was the furthest they had been in awhile for the ghetto and that this was a good day. right on.

email waiting for me when i got home was from the czar. inviting me back next week. i declined. felt too rushed. a little too fast and a little too elitist. i think i'll come back in a few days and do the same ride. stop and pick some thimbleberries. have a snack on hardesty and take a few photos. more my style.

bittersweet symphony

2009-07-21T02:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-07T00:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-04T22:37:00.000-07:00

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.

completion

2009-06-29T13:11:00.000-07:00

2:18 am, sunday june 28th. auburn, california.

lots of emotion right now. this has been such an epic for me on many levels far beyond the physical. i'll have more words when the time comes. what a day!

4

2009-06-22T22:27:00.000-07:00

15

2009-06-12T00:13:00.000-07:00

one of them kinda nights. morrissey on vinyl. grainy. warm tea with a beer chaser.

looking at my garden and how healthy everything seems to be growing. they look so small in the little flats when we start them, then they just explode. id love to claim lotsa love, but it's ironic what a little neglect can do. it's truly my little garden.

just like the countdown to the journey is in affect, the tour divide is all set to take off from banff to antelope wells. if ever there was another race i'd love to enter...this just might be the one. the divide trail on two wheels...no brainer. that said, i can't imagine what sort of gruesome twosome might develop in the nether regions with that much time in the saddle.

david husselhoff has made an impression. band of horses at the mac, september 1st...book it. my yonder mountain carolina brethren, i hope you take advantage of your chance to see them at the peel on the 16th of this month. beg, borrow and steal those tickets. you will not be sorry. word is, subcommandante is working the door and has prepared himself by washing his headband.

on another note. heat prep for states has included some extended sessions in the sauna. i have a membership to a swanky athletic club here in town where all the olympians go. since i'm not an olympian, i don't. i did one session in the sauna there. walked in on 6 dudes sitting in silence, sweating. i'm cool with this. i accidentally let one slip out on burrito wednesday and they all got up en masse and departed despite my "excuse me". shit happens. so, anyway. upon suggestion from tapeworm and lord balls i have been plunking down 7 bucks a session for the cultural experience that is known as the eugene ymca. 3 sessions and we already have nicknames for most of the characters on board. ludes. burn notice. shogun. the "y" is truly come on, come all and believe me, it's like sitting at the bus station and people watching for 2 hours. you get it all. i think someone in our group looks like doctor phil because fuckers come through the door and start with the life stories unsolicited like you've never seen before. i can tell you all about ludes and his branchchainaminos, speedballing while fighting fires in northern california and taking steroids and hgh while wearing a nicorette patch on the roof of his mouth to curb his craving for cigarettes. wanna cut costs? for less than a cost of a cup of coffee and a scone, you can get more entertainment than anything you could possibly find on cable. just go sit in the sweat lodge known as your sauna at your local ymca. hopefully your entertainment is up to par.

night shift

2009-05-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

out on the path for my midnight run. smelled him before i saw him. saw the plastic bowl with the raccoon standing, pensive, over the bowl, eating. saw the two other coons and the male and female mallards, waiting. saw the bread crumbs ejected from the underside of the bridge towards the ducks. i stopped dead in my tracks so not to disturb what i was seeing. too late, the coons spooked into the tunnels of rhodo and the projector and protector emerged. jake is his name. homeless. these raccoons are the 3rd generation that he "has raised". the ducks showed up last year and have never left. they meet here every evening. how he gets his bag of bread and his cat chow he feeds his raccoons, i don't know. he told me all about his 3 raccoons, like a proud papa. offered to show me where he buried their grandmother. he tells me of how he his dad and mom couldn't hold his family together, so it's important to him that he holds this one. he's been sober for 3 years. jobless and homeless for 5 of those. he needs me to know that his sobriety is because these guys rely on him. i ask him about what would happen if he left, and he assures me he never will. they need each other. them for food, him for companionship and for a reason to live. i am floored at how calmly and with truth he said this. i shook his hand, gladly. clipped on my headlamp and bid goodnight and finished my run so things could return to balance in jakes and the animals world. i haven't been able to shake the compassion i saw. the night shift.

buddha belly

2009-05-27T00:42:00.000-07:00

remix of a party not yet attended. kalifornication is in full affect. i have road rage. i used the little bottle of conditioner that the hotel provides. i found the radio stations to be two parts country, two parts hispanic, two parts christian, 4 parts hip-hop/top 40 with the emphasis on the boom, boom, boom. take 5 songs, rinse, repeat. the air stinks here, but it's dry and allergy free. the canyons are close, it's 91 degrees and i'm still drinking coffee.

let it be said that the best mexican food i have ever consumed was purchased out of a small camper that looks like something mickey rourke would cook meth in. let is also be said that i have yet to spend more than 5 bucks on any of this food. i don't know how it's done, but i'm gettin while the gettin's good.

caught a slight glimpse of my potential future. the old skool who's who of states long past were camped out in carol's yard in michigan bluff pouring margarita's and gu2o on saturday during the robinson to the river classic with a few bro's. sunday i got the chill in their lazy presence comparing yoga poses, injuries and beer consumption all while watching someone with a tapeworm lasso-ing lizards.

the avett brothers fuckin layed it down at the mcdonald theatre this past week. i'm pretty sure i attended the first show they ever charged admission for close to 10 years ago. i am also pretty sure i was one of the few who were actually still there at the end of the show. when a blue grass group covers a pseudo punk version of cypress hill's "i wanna get high"...your gonna clear the rotary club out fairly quickly. in the cackalak, you don't fuck with folks's blue grass. i've been a fan ever since. put that in your can of dip and chew it.

there's more, but i'll stop here.

flow (43)

2009-05-15T00:35:00.000-07:00

picked up the dusty whips and took a deep sniff. dust, manzanita and feet. i like it. reluctance to throw them back on until my return south, but the dust on my fingers and wiped on my shorts were just too much to deny. there is silence in a late night run. my watchband was still a little sweaty from the earlier run with lewdogg and craig, but who cares about a little dampness. took a minute despite the short break to smooth out and find the rhythm. the bark welcomed me. beady eyed raccoons and kitty cats out looking to supplement their cat chow with large pounces and anxious crouches. the demons drudged up earlier and i had to put them down. this run is for *me* and for no other reason. you feel the flow on the bark. when your going good, you glide. when your recovering, it feels like running through a hamster cage. the cadence was much different when i hit the pavement for the first street crossing. flow. rhythm. under the street light with the first season's gypsy moths fluttering around the orb waiting for death from above. i hear a door shut and see a lighter flicker, then the smoke. passing car illuminates the eyes of the deer. they let me pass in the darkness close, frozen and waiting for the slightest deviation from the path they have come to trust. if you keep your flow, they will keep theirs. it's unspoken between man and beast. most of these deer have seen me before and know my path. they know they are safe. darkness on gae and supergae. through the mini-park with two high schoolers trying to decide which base to land on without getting seen. youth and lust. the daydreams begin and just like that i'm back home for the 3rd shower of the day. beer with a water chaser. compression socks and kitties sleeping on my lap. the awesome midnight run.

kamp v 3.0

2009-05-06T14:49:00.000-07:00

the temple of toughening. kamp v 3.0. shorter stint this year, but the integrity of quality was maintained. word has gotten out and many now choose to join the phenomena known as "oregonians" and our training runs. the only thing that seemed to be missing this year was the heat and ajw's drooling. we had the most ripped 50 year old on the face of the planet join us for all 8 days and left kamp fitter, but still unable to burp and his iq was diminished by 14 points. word is he did manage to pack on a solid one pound increase in muscle mass while he was down there. this may have been the biggest accomplishment to come out of kamp.

this year served a solid purpose for me. i had some points where i had some rough training runs in the past. no demons in play this year and i saw some ridiculous splits for some sections. perceived speed helps. kinda like mountain bikers riding moto in the offseason to get better reaction. i left stronger. hungry, ready for more. i'll get my wish in a few weeks. for now, we have 52 days...

57

2009-04-30T23:21:00.000-07:00

"we live in strange times, this generation of swine..."
--dr. hunter s. thompson

words have jumbled around in my head, but have not flowed from my fingers onto this keyboard. i'm on a journey that takes me high and low and i have to regenerate. i'm no borg drone. seeking the heat like a missle, i have taken one of my many trips to cali in preparation. mt. diablo in clayton sits like an aroused nipple in the middle of the bay area. it's trying to be assimilated by walnut creek, but hold development and bay so humanity can have a place to play. i covered 29 miles of this beautiful place on foot, including a couple of trips to the summit. flora and fauna in bloom. manzanita. fields of poppies and angel moths seeking cowshit to sit on. i stood elbow to elbow with folks who have run states and done well, and i promptly showed them a clean pair of heels most of the day. felt good to leave there with a little confidence and a dinner including some of the finest crushed grapes that the valley could provide waiting for me in napa.

on a side note. i saw david lynch sitting by the mineral pools while soaking at the calistoga mineral springs the morning after. i was easing my sore quads into the heated pool and threw the only other occupant a gentle neck pop before settling in. some cougar came in and made a fuss about how difficult it was for her to "keep her top on when it gets wet" and i realized that the show was not for me, but rather for the silver fox seated behind me...and that would be david lynch. looking through black and white polaroid photos of questionable origin and content. well. questionable for most folks, certainly not me and certainly not david. so it goes...

horace

2009-04-13T01:35:00.000-07:00

i grew up along way from here
i slept with the lights on for fifteen years
and sabbath kept me home on friday nights
and daddy sang me rodgers
just to make everything alright
my town wasn't even on the map
you could pass right through it in twenty seconds flat
but the south was like the whole world to me
it wasn't easy to stay but it was harder to leave

yeah I was a south bound child
yeah I had a small town life
but I turned out alright in the north
livin' that southern kind of life

old friends and bibles filled the house
no room for money and no money anyhow
deprived was something we always heard
but to me and my brother it was just another word

I use to think the north was the end
cause people go there and they don't come back again
but my father's father was a man of the seed
he lived a southern life two blocks away from me

yeah I was a south bound child
yeah I had a small town life
but I turned out alright in the north
livin' that southern kind of life

--kasey chambers
"southern kind of life"

rumble

2009-04-08T00:29:00.000-07:00

(photo by gtach)

arm warmers. herds of elk. coffee and heated seats. hugs. frost. bullhorns. dirt roads. chalk lines. yellow ribbons. jelly beans. twisty trails. ice patches. grunt loops. gravel climbs. metolius-windigo. hoof prints. sisters. jefferson. 3 fingered jack. clear skies. tachiyama. rubber track. blood blisters. raw hamburgers. shirtless. sunshine. lazy spring laughter. vida cafe. malted milkshakes, blt's and a breast milk inquiry. the best beer of the year...

8's

2009-03-31T23:46:00.000-07:00

deeps thoughts and cold beer.

the ebb is building. chatter is increasing and workouts and huntin are being attended with quicker steps and larger crowds. fact is, fitness is finding us without discrimination. whether joined up or solo, our little group is getting it done. kongathon, quad bitch, mckenzie. they all mean affirmations and larger numbers that add up to a quiet confidence that helps us to believe we are capable of going beyond where we have been. mostly, it just feels good to be on the path.

moment of clarity came while flowing back down the mckenzie river trail. i popped out onto buck bridge and found a large group of my mountain biking friends in the middle of a regrouping. slaps and neck pops for the bro's, knuckles for the douchebags, smiles for the ladies, chin scratches for the pooches. i realized that not a single pang of jealousy was coursing through me at the thought of missing that trail ride with them, and i love mountain biking. i was wet. cold. tired...and absolutely loving it. splashing through puddles and swooping turns. gliding up hills and moving with the flow of the trail. i share the mountain biking. this is my own. this time. this flow. i thought it fitting when i halted at the end of the trailhead to a break in the clouds. warm, bright sun and steamy asphalt. the scene reflected my mood and my spirit. not even the smile reflected back at me from the puddle can capture the words.

oh, and the steel you see above? more on that, later.

99

2009-03-21T06:38:00.000-07:00

i knew i was in springfield when the clapped out camaro narrowly missed me by a whisker and i felt the cigarette butt hit my shoulder and fall to the wet pavement with a hiss. two wheels get very little love on this side once you cross under i-5, i contemplated throwing the car a double bird, but that would be as cliche as their juvenile act. i went ahead and did it anyway, then executed a well timed drop into a park to get to the spot. i was on extended lunch time hookie to meet with a couple of bro's about a project. backside gate entrance, bypass of the old guard dog who doesn't have much to say anymore and i lean the whip up against the shop space with the others. mid day coffee, steel tubing, geometry, dropouts, voodoo donuts and punk rock on vinyl make up the next hour of talking. all while standing trying to find a comfortable place to lean in a space filled with lathes, mills and presses. to say the crowd was knicker rich would be an understatement. it was like you had to be cut off just past the knees just to get into the clubhouse. there is some good stuff shaking out and the vibe was very good when i dipped back out the gate and back to the friendly confines of tracktown usa.

late edit: (98) tomorrow lewdogg, ticer and i are embarking on my first spring epic long run of the training season. last year for me, it was the triple bitch, this year it comes a month later in the form of a path mostly travelled before on two wheels. what a pleasure it is to be able to do this, much less be excited about the possibility of doing it. the barn is empty and i still have lots of hay to lay in.

loud

2009-03-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

evidence of a rebellious youth spent. unlike so many other things in this place, the paint does not seemed to have faded over time.

i realized today that i miss far more than just the trails of the south. sweet tea, pulled pork, fried ocra, black eyed peas, collards in vinegar and, of course, hushpuppies...

pause (108)

2009-03-11T11:31:00.000-07:00

coffee, blue grass and dash lights. loaded the whip under the cover of darkness with a plan to catch some fresh pow pow up at the pass. shriek of the kettle for the chemicals caused a sleepy head raising from the kitty, other than that, escaped with the bombshell in tow. sleet first, then snow before we even got to the res. quiet tones and careful driving. making early tracks on the roads as the sun started to rise showed me we would be one of the first. blew through two towns not yet awake and i knew it was on. up the lift i managed to start my day off by snagging my jacket on the lift chair during dismount. i got low scores for the crash landing, but went on undeterred. the float of freshies on the new board took a moment to get used to, but soon it settled in. Got in a solid few hours before others helped the slopes get tracked out. found several pockets to carve shin deep and then boosted out onto the groomers for some high speed quad tenderizing. sun and snow flurries the entire day, another gift from mother nature on our little hill.

Post Mountain found me in town for continuation of a beautiful sunny winter day. Temp was 38 but not a cloud in sight. shoes and funny hats for a run around town with friends both local and afar. gentle banter and footfalls. "what if's" and "what the fucks". it's amazing to me how easy a couple of hours can pass on foot.

128

2009-02-19T00:44:00.000-08:00

the highs and lows of the hopeful.

a good workout, a positive result and step up in fitness leaves us high. fatigue, waking up with a sore achilles and feeling like you are always starting over leaves us with the lows. all the while, hopeful. 128 days to western states and all of the above are present. i've taken steps to manage the lows. well, to help the sore achilles, anyway. the injured athlete is so fully dedicated to researching and doing anything and everything possible to heal as quickly as possible. funny how sometimes we choose to ignore this same dedication when the ball is rolling well.

so it goes...

i've been reading a lot of rick bass lately. i suppose it's more "catching up" on what he's written since colter. i find the pace and tenor of his writing soothing. i used to read him a lot while living through wet winters in the mountains of north carolina. it always seemed like the right time to read him while sitting close to a wood stove, sipping coffee. i've been missing those carolina mountains a good bit. i suppose once a place gets into your blood it never really leaves you. maybe reading him again is kind of like reaching out a bit and grasping a place by it's fingertips, just to hold on a little longer...

144

2009-02-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

costa rica was much needed. i'll have more words on the trip later. now, it's all about the enjoyment of getting prepared to take the journey .

the double

2009-02-02T09:06:00.000-08:00

jizzle wizzle is, for all intensive purposes, in hardrock.

there is some debate as to whether or not to do the western states/hardrock double. i say, let inspiration be your guide.

raw data

2009-02-01T20:39:00.000-08:00

***

2009-01-15T00:44:00.000-08:00

80's music and vintage whips. trying to clear the fog in my head and focus while hearing terri nunn bleed her lyrics in my ear.

"I remember searching for the perfect words
I was hoping you might change your mind
I remember a soldier sleeping next to me
riding on the Metro"

spinning cold legs and breathing deep. i try to see eyeliner. i try to see patent leather. shaking it off, i instead focus on the path home. something is stirring deep inside me.

we have to make hard decisions every day, which brings us closer to one or the other of these ways of responding, and it’s worth a moment, i think, to reflect on the nature of the way we respond to the world.

the wise therefore rule by emptying heads and stuffing bellies, by weakening ambitions and strengthening bones. if people lack knowledge and desire, the intellectuals will not try to interfere. If nothing evil is done, all will be well.

180

2008-12-29T00:19:00.000-08:00

and with that, the FCM is switched on. it's the start of a week, so 2009 is here. last year, i had a series of false starts and it was the second week in february before the focus was clicked in. not so, this year. the field is deeper and my goals are evolving. i think about it on a daily basis and have had to push back the guilt of not being "dialed in" up to this point. maybe it's just unfinished business as my mind and body know better. wait. slowly squeeze the trigger. it's not time just yet.

time spent tonight in the company of veterans and my pacer stoked the fire. why wait? i've already been dreaming about it.

sure was nice to close the shop up on christmas and enjoy the outdoors. snowshoes with the bombshell and friends were of the highest quality. beautiful day outside. clean mountain air and sunshine at 5,000 feet. i found myself with my tongue out trying to taste the day. lots of smiles and quality time spent in good conversation. slept well that evening. the rains are here now and it might be a few weeks before we see snow like that in our mountains. rain makes those fluffy clouds of powder feel like muddy mortar real quick. i'll wait it out.

happy holidays

2008-12-25T22:48:00.000-08:00

haunts and gifts

2008-12-24T11:24:00.000-08:00

sitting here sipping on the goat. (yep, i'm off the wagon) replaying the evening in my head. last words last night before i fell asleep were pronounced aloud. "today was a good day". i love it here in eugene. no place is perfect and my younger years i was always had a serious case of wanderlust. i tried to protect the beautiful places from outside "invaders" and was jealous of sharing them. this happened to me in brevard and it was emotional for me to "lose" my home as i had known it. truth is, i was always looking to leave. i did. several times.

here in eugene. i was on the other side of the fence. i had the funny accent i didn't know i had and strange license plates. i came here a stranger and was accepted and embraced despite my own personal shit. this town has almost 90,000 more folks in it than we had in brevard, yet this feels like more of a close knit community. reminds me of living in europe when i was younger. the nooks and cranny places. the awesome veggie restaurants. the breakfast joints. the coffee houses. the markets. bike paths. homes. trails. it was all opened up and i was invited to join and be a part of it. makes me feel ashamed at the animosity i held towards every out of state license plate and i cussed at in brevard.

discover the community around you. walk into a place you have never walked into before and say hello to a fresh face. take a path less travelled and see what opens up to you. eat at a restaurant you have never tried before. maybe start small and just order something different on the menu of your usual place. make a new friend outside of your circle. take a different way into work. maybe ride or take the bus instead of driving. community is a gift. share yourself.

earth

2008-12-22T23:33:00.000-08:00

enjoying a moment with tee tee. i felt her paws. very smooth and soft, not at all hard or tough. she runs around inside and goes outside without shoes all the time. i wonder how come she has never had plantar fasciitis or achilles tendonitis?

grey ghost

2008-11-09T01:28:00.000-08:00

"wakey, wakey. eggs and bakey..."
--sidewinder

three deep today with the artist formerly known as the millennium falcon, now known as calvin cankles. you see, calvin has been perfecting the art of getting faded on that red knot since his return from the "wintering" down under. granted, his "wintering" was two fucking weeks, but who's counting.

so me on foot, cankles and pimpbot on wheels. we didn't exactly set out to do this, but there was some confusion in the communication. me in the finest prototype gucci sponsorship can buy, and the other two with curious looks and no plan. calvin cankles yelled at pimpbot about me not bringing my whip because that's the way the pecking order goes in these parts, and with that, we set off. me leading the climbs in a big way, and then running like a scalded dog to try in vain to avoid being caught on the descents. snow capped pop out's with a virgin layer of inch to two inch powder that did little more that irritate the lugs on the wmd's . it was a beautiful day that was only afforded to those who dared to ascend above the foggy cloud line. somewhere around the two hour mark while taking a gel and awaiting calvin cankles, pimpbot decided that he wanted to try and run back to the car. this is where wearing similar shoe sizes and lid circumferences come into play. off come the inov-8's, on go the shimano's. pimpbot takes off down the hill careening like a dart without feathers and shortly cankles arrives...irritated and confused at the swapped circumstance. "did you kill the little fucker and steal his bike?" no, says i. he's trying to expand his horizons. with that, the full squishy yeti belonging to pimpbot and i managed to chain slap our way down the mountain narrowly missing several trees, and one confused virgin trail runner to bring to a conclusion our adventure on this fine sunday. recollection doesn't seem to come out in typed prose, but i'll keep at this. if for no other reason that to update you on the various name's we come up with for todd, the artist formerly known as the millennium falcon.

terra cotta

2008-11-02T11:43:00.000-08:00

frost

2008-10-14T00:51:00.000-07:00

broke out the base layers and gloves today. out the door with a frosty exhale and observed my neighbor scraping ice off his windshield. started off tight, but smoothed out before making the right hand turn onto the bark. i wait all year for the trail to feel like this. soft, but responsive. it's like finding the perfect "feel" for a shoe. i could run this shit barefoot. the bark is tamped down and crunches with every step. observed the metro walking his small dog. saw the steam rising from the yellow circle where small dog had been. lots of windshield scrapers. found myself stepping to the rhythm of the scraping. yes. it was one of those moments where you knew it wouldn't happen had you been running with someone else. footfall changed from scrunchy to crunchy as i hopped across the road and up the singletrack. mud frozen like the horrified faces of punched boxers. here in town, leaves still green. turned in on themselves, confused. found the core warming with the climb but the temperature dipped. reached up to adjust the knit cap on my head and gloved hands returned with frosty fingertips. sought the summit of the butte and found the cloudline and the thickest frost yet. out with the tongue to catch the first snowflakes of the season, here at 2085 feet. here and only here, for under 2K it's all wet precip. laughed out loud at my little coup and shot down backside of the butte careening and crashing the entire way. the wmd's barely hooking up and my quads screaming "what the fuck..." i finally found my way back to ridgeline as the buzz of it all started to wear off. this is my signal to turn for home. don't linger too long. keep it real and keep it fresh. it's not training yet, it's just running.

i love sitting in the kitchen with the kettle working up a scream and that feeling you have when you are thawing slightly. it's almost itchy feeling. wu wei

dora lives!

2008-10-06T23:14:00.000-07:00

in comparison, my sabbatical from the blog can be attributed to living rather than existing. i've been at the core of it. i have heard much, be listened to little. the days of sun and clear weather are fading. the waves on the coast are rising and the dirt high up is beckoning to be enjoyed before the beautiful white powder falls. why we wait till the end to cram it all in escapes me. i understand in a demented way that this is part of balance. like a bear gorging itself before it's winter sleep. it's just what we do.

wednesday of this past week brought a soulful and evolved former local of lives past as tift sashayed into town. she walked out, surveyed the 45 or so of us in gathered to see her. beckoned everyone up front and sat down and played her heart out. stunning. i think everyone in the building left that night a fan of her if they were not already. three days later and i am two rows back from wednesday as chris thile and edgar meyer landed upon the scene for a very unique show. i have seen chris writhing on stage at merlefest covering britney spears toxic to the horrified looks of central carolina bluegrass fans. to see him on the mandolin playing bach with edgar and looking so polished shows just how diverse this cat is. he plays many rolls, very, very well.

hope everyone is well...

the illusion of progress

2008-09-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

relaunch was subtle. cleaned all the "old" away. washed and gave away all the worn shoes of the spring and summer. stared at a bare rack with a single pair of trainers now in place. placed a small goal on the horizon to keep some focus upon.

managed to motivate before the sun peaked over the butte this morning. it was light out, but i couldn't see the bulb just yet. sat out on the back porch watching tee tee eat grass, sipping coffee and listening to the smooth rhythm of g love's blues music causing the head to bob and the motivation to awaken.

took to the bark for an hour. spent the first 20 minutes feeling out how weird it was to run again and do a "damage assessment". turns out i'm still in pretty good shape and the flow returned quite easily. back to the car for some long, deep stretching. ducks quacking at the pond, sprinklers watering the beautiful grass, river flowing by.

i didn't miss running. this was what i missed. this is why i started back up.

exocet

2008-09-05T00:53:00.000-07:00

clinging to an ideal here.

read words that hit awfully close to home. i mentioned a broken heart in my only thoughts on the subject, but the feeling lingered and finally ground me to a halt at the end of july. my running clothes have sat clean and folded in the drawer, except for a few night runs where sleep escaped me, i have not partaken in awhile. you can call it many things. i was asked recently if i was just "burnt out" and knew instantly that was not it. it was an emotional heart break that eventually crept into my mind and my spirit and manifested itself physically. i have felt it before and fought it...this time, i recognized it. acknowledged it. it's lingered a bit and seems to be ready to move on. if there are a 12 steps to this process, i don't know which number i am on, but it's healing is taking shape.

moving along.

rode with carl out of town yesterday on his round trip return to the east. he managed to get from boise to the coast, then segway back here for a day at crater lake before departing via the willamette valley scenic bikeway. his plans were going to put him through the columbia river gorge before heading southeast. godspeed, minister of the moustache. it was good having you here.

fall signals football for most. for me, it's a rededication to the local music scene. celebration of my berf on erf comes with a mic check one, two, three

filtered

2008-08-11T23:49:00.000-07:00

floating through a late evening run. streets are calm as taking to the neighborhoods to visit humanity through filtered eyes. strode past houses with flickering tv's and open windows bellowing the music of the olympics. cheers, jeers and know it all announcers. looking up at moths dancing in the streetlights. the moon is making a comeback and starting to share illumination. fled the scene and took to the silence of the trails. clipped on the headlamp and startled the deer feeding on the berries near the trailhead. sought to erupt out atop the butte and take in the scene. rewarded. calmed the mind and the breathe and flew into my descent. emerged in the town, again to hear the updates of men's gymnastics from the open windows of houses seeking fresh air. passed a house cat pouncing on imaginary movements in the grass. found the street where i reside and shut it down. went into a stretch and saw the patterns forming on the concrete from the sweat dripping off the chin. tried to draw a little chicken, but it ended up headless. kitty in the window, watching.

fire and metal

2008-08-08T23:57:00.000-07:00

it's sat in various stages of assembly for close to 11 months. i went into the first tubeset with impatience thinking that my one previous frame build under a very watchful eye could easily be duplicated. i was wrong. i realized very quickly i had had a lot of help and that help was not around to do it for me this time around. so it sat. machined, milled and ready. waiting. into the jig went various repairs of old steeds. cracks. dropout conversions. more brass and higher heat. more to clean up, but when it was clean they were starting to get smoothe and beautiful.

working with fire and metal has had me into the catacombs of hells bells and hematoma's. it's a very small part of what i do, but when the chance comes up i leap towards it. more than a few times this year fire and metal have sent me out the backdoors of the shop on two feet to soothe my inner demons and reclaim rhythm because the cursing and wrangling at either my impatience or ineptitude were taking a toll. that has all since passed.

i dusted off the box where it has sat. time to take the lines and numbers on the sheet and transform them into a ride. fire and metal.

chaos theory

2008-08-08T01:49:00.000-07:00

the concussion of beats keeps the walk smooth and steady. the way too heavy door blocks me from pissing 3 seconds sooner. hardlegs in the bathroom smoking. opening act is killing it and the gatorade and beer are asking to be set free from my body. the night ride over here was cooler than usual. goosebumps from weather instead of...felt the satisfaction in killing my lines in the sprinkler slalom and showed up dry while my ride mates cussed at wet chests and helmets. rolled out on the phuket bukket so i wasn't concerned about it's presence in the bike rack once i came out. paused to recall the faces pressed against the glass as i hopped the median and manualed through an intersection to beat a stop light and turning bus. i remember when i couldn't hold a wheelie for shit. headliners hit the stage and the willamette amber starts to fog the senses. broke out of the scene because i couldn't take it and headed for the paths. i needed to ride and sit. found a high jump pit and just collapsed. checked out the stars and quelled the anxiety that had built up. cell phone blowing up with texts and calls. "where the fuck are you, dude?". i'm going home and starting anew tomorrow. my body and mind has seen enough.

motherlode

2008-08-06T23:13:00.000-07:00

the location is a poorly kept secret that is protected by the effort it takes to get to. no parking lots. no parkway leading to the entrance. no farmers market vendors. no signage. the word is passed along like a treasure map's secret.

choosing to take the journey leaves you on hallowed ground. these bushes were planted here by dreamers a long time ago in a century where gold and a fresh start were on the mind of many. the harshness of the area took or drove off all but the berry bushes. they remain and thrive. running on foot, you travel lightly, eat your fill and thump trail in return. you could hike, but the round trip would require an overnight stay. two wheels seems to be the best option. first attempt, the contents were loaded into the pack and were mostly mashed blueberry juice by the time i got off the mountain. the trail is that harsh and you are not idle in the saddle. i returned this time with an idea. two of the largest, empty water bottles i could squeeze into my frame plus two more bottles in my back jersey pockets.

voila!

monkey

2008-07-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

wow. when old, cheap steel goes. it goes.

the monkey had it's last day of fat tires and offroad riding. the mood the last 30 minutes of my ride today was kinda when you know an old friend is suffering. i felt that way today. the monkey is just not what it used to be and though it heads to the woods as excited as a pup waiting to head out for a run in the woods. today was the last day.

i have known this was coming. i got a nice indy fab forkus for it last year to try to revitalize it a bit. i have always felt that karate monkeys should never have suspension forks on them. they just don't look right. the indy fab did a good job, but the front end was only a short lived fix. the whip was tired and on long rides it seemed to just "submit" and loose all responsiveness. i ordered the hunter. i never expected to have the monkey be the primary this season, but delays in delivery of the hunter forced it's hand.

i have a plan for the monkey. the original fork is going back on it. 700x38 kenda slick tires. the 6 inch rotor is going back on the front. i have a cross crank with a single 39 tooth ring and i think that the monkey will be an excellent winter commuter. 39x16 will get you up and down everything in eugene. disc brakes will keep the performance consistent.

...memories from our first ride. it's been fun.

all dressed up with nowhere to go...

2008-06-26T01:10:00.000-07:00

sweat and beer don't ease the ache. the heart hurts. it will pass.

i left the car loaded. i'm not ready to deal with that yet.

a night run put things into perspective for me. it would be selfish to consider running a race when there are folks who are being evacuated from their homes due to the wildfires. silly to ask over tasked firefighters to battle a blaze so a recreational sporting event can take place. i support the boards decision. it was the right thing to do.

what is lost? money spent on material supports and entry fee. what was gained? i trained with vision and hope this past 6 months and truly took a journey. it was the essence of what i used to blog about in the trailrunning lifestyle. i sit here writing this in the best shape i have ever been in. mentally. spiritually. physically.

emotionally? well. i already told you my heart was a little broken. this too, shall pass.

keep in mind that nobody loves this race more than the western states board, volunteers and race committee. they exhausted every feasible means to safely put this event on. in the end, they looked out for the runners they way they would look out for us on race day. they made a decision in our best interest. 34 times this race started as scheduled. races like hardrock, angeles crest and wasatch have been around for much shorter periods of time and have already had to cancel at least once. 34 years is a pretty good track record.

there will be other races. there will be another western states. i will always consider this one my first.

so it goes...

decision

2008-06-25T20:38:00.000-07:00

this just showed up in my inbox as i was about to depart for squaw...

Dear Western States Runners,

It is with deep regret that we announce today that the 35th running of the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run has been cancelled, due to the unprecedented amount of wildfires that have struck northern California in recent days and the health risks that have been associated with these wildfires. The Board of Trustees of the Western States Endurance Run has consulted with many of our local and state race partners, including the U.S. Forest Service and the Placer County Air Pollution Control District, in coming to this decision. We apologize to our runners for any inconvenience this decision has created.

The race’s organizers are currently working on a revised schedule of runner activities for Thursday and Friday in Squaw Valley, and these details will be made available soon. Although there will be no race for the first time in our 35-year history, we still wish to make this experience as meaningful as possible for our runners. Activities will include annual events such as runner check-in for goodie bag pickup on Friday morning, the pre-race briefing and raffle on Friday afternoon, the showing of Western States documentaries on Friday night, and a special gathering of runners commemorating the race’s start on Saturday.

Since the beginning of more than 840 wildfires statewide, 312 wildfires in northern California and more than 3,200 lightning strikes in the Tahoe National Forest alone on June 21, the race’s organizers have worked closely with a variety local, county and state agencies in determining the best course of action for our race. It has become apparent that given our race’s paramount concern – the safety or our runners – holding this year’s race would pose too great a risk to our runners, to our aid station personnel and to our volunteers. Given the close proximity of at least two fires that are within two miles of our race course and a critical access road, as well as the deteriorating air quality stretching from our start in Squaw Valley to Auburn, Calif., the board has determined that cancellation, rather than postponement or the use of an alternative course, represents the safest and most prudent decision for our 2008 event.

Our decision was based on three factors:

1) Proximity of the fire to the race course, which has the potential to impact the safety of runners, aid station personnel and volunteers at any point during the race.

Fire projections indicate that the Westville Fire has the potential to reach the Foresthill Divide Road by the weekend; in addition, the Peavine Fire could reach Last Chance and Mosquito Ridge Road, possibly compromising access in and out of these areas. In a statement, Jan Cutts, District Ranger for the American River Ranger District, said, “In addition to the potential direct impact by the fires, (the race’s cancellation) is based on safety concerns surrounding the increased number of vehicles on the road and congestion associated with the Run. We see hundreds of vehicles on the Foresthill Divide Road and Mosquito Ridge Road for this event each year. That’s just too many additional vehicles when we’ve got fire-fighting equipment and personnel using the same roads for fire suppression operations. … Safety is our overriding concern and we felt we could not provide a safe environment for this year’s Run because of the unprecedented fire activity in the area.”

2. Air quality deterioration.

Placer County Air Pollution Control District officials have issued an air-quality advisory. Air quality specialists with Placer County are advising individuals to reduce their exposure to the unhealthy air, and that includes vigorous outdoor activities. Medical representatives from the Western States Board have consulted with several physicians regarding their expert opinion on running a 100-mile trail race through rugged country through such unhealthy air; the consensus has been that such an activity would not be recommended, with the potential for serious health risks – even for the most highly trained of athletes. As a point of reference, a high level of pollution is 35 micrograms of material; in Auburn on Wednesday the level was 10 times that amount, according to figures from Placer County. In addition, Placer County Air Pollution Control District officials have characterized the air conditions as extremely hazardous and the worst recordings the area has had in more than 10 years.

In a statement, the Placer County Public Health Officer, Air Pollution Control Officer and Director of the Office of Emergency Services, all concurred with the decision to cancel this year’s run:

“The current situation in Northern California with respect to poor air quality and active fire danger is unprecedented. Within Placer County there are three active fires burning in the American River watershed, two of which have potential to impact the Western States Trail directly. These fires, as well as ones burning outside of the American River watershed to the west and north are creating unhealthy smoke concentrations throughout the foothills. This has necessitated county public health officials to issue advisories recommending a curtailment of voluntary outdoor activities that include strenuous physical exertion. These recommendations include reducing exposure to smoke.” Added Tom Christofk, Placer County Air Pollution Officer: “The widespread smoke throughout Northern California is forecasted to remain as long as the wildfires continue to burn and the weather conditions do not substantially change. The poor air quality conditions being experienced in Placer County are expected to persist through the weekend and impact elevations from the valley to Tahoe. High particulate matter concentrations affect respiratory and cardiovascular systems negatively, and I concur with the decision to cancel the Run from a public health perspective as we have been issuing health advisories recommending the limiting of outdoor physical exercise until conditions improve.”

3. Safety of our runners.

For 35 years, the Western States 100 has been predicated on our runner’s safety. As stewards of the race, the Western States Board has always recognized that running 100 miles over snow, through high elevations, into infernal canyons and through the dark of night can pose great challenges for even the most skilled of runners. Couple the challenging nature of our run with the existing combination of close proximity of wildfire, potential volatile fire activity that could cut off key access points to the course as well as some of the most unhealthy air the region has seen this decade, and the decision was made in recognition of our preeminent goal – the safety of our runners.

For all of you, today’s news is disappointing. Since the lottery was held in December, you have trained with remarkable diligence and focus to get to this day. You have dreamed big and made countless personal sacrifices to prepare for one of the greatest days any trail runner can ever have. As a group, the Western States Board would like to commend you for your dedication and devotion not only to the preparation that is required for our race, but to the community of trail runners of which we are all a part. You are members of a special group, one that relishes challenge, constantly strives to improve the limits of what is believed possible, and seeks the special kindred spirits of others who revel in the beauty of our sport. We have been honored to have your name as part of our race’s start list this year.

We would be remiss if we did not publicly thank the men and women of the American River Ranger District, particularly Jan Cutts and Ed Moore, for their consultation and constant flow of updated information regarding this very challenging fire situation. The City of Auburn, City Manager Bob Richardson, and officials from Placer County, in particular Tom Christofk, Placer County Air Pollution Control Officer, and Dr. Richard Burton, Placer County Public Health Officer, have also been invaluable sources of information and advisement. Thanks to all of these trail partners.

In the coming days, we will announce details regarding entries for next year’s race, which will be determined in a fair and equitable manner. It should be noted that per our race rules, all race entries are non-refundable.

Thank you again for your participation and interest in the Western States 100. We hope that we will see you in 2009.

Sincerely,

Tim Twietmeyer
Western States Board President
Greg Soderlund
Race Director

carlin

2008-06-23T00:40:00.000-07:00

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers,
Wider freeways , but narrower viewpoints.
We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families,
More conveniences, but less time.
We have more degrees but less sense,
More knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems,
More medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.
We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life.
We’ve added years to life not life to years.
We’ve been all the way to the moon and back,
But have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor.
We conquered outer space but not inner space.
We’ve done larger things, but not better things.
We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.
We’ve conquered the atom, but not our prejudice.
We write more, but learn less.
We plan more, but accomplish less.
We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait.
We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever,
But we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion,
Big men and small character,
Steep profits and shallow relationships.
These are the days of two incomes but more divorce,
Fancier houses, but broken homes.
These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.
It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom.
A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete…
Remember; spend some time with your loved ones,
Because they are not going to be around forever.
Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe,
Because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.
Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you,
Because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent.
Remember, to say, “I love you” to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.
Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.
Give time to love, give time to speak!
And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
But by the moments that take our breath away.
--george carlin, march 2008

farewell to a legend...RIP

blood, sweat and...dirt

2008-06-14T21:05:00.000-07:00

these are some gaunt dudes.

smiles and salty shirts. 50 miles from robinson flat to the rucky chucky river crossing on the states course with m4. beautiful day with lots of heat, downhills and this served as the last tune up for the journey. we even started at robinson at the time when we expected to be through there so we could simulate the course "in the moment". bugs, sun exposure. temperature fluctuations at the bottom of the canyons...this run had it all except the crews and well stocked aid stations. ajw was awesome with the guidance and sharing of his experiences in his 5 years of racing here. he's been 8th, 2nd, 6th and 4th his last four times out so not only does he know how to race this, he knows how to race it well.

taper time.

tuba gooding jr.

2008-06-06T01:13:00.000-07:00

misfires and miscommunication. this shot turns up on my email not long after the feet have warmed back up and the hot chocolate is deep within the belly. the falcon was incognito and deep within the spectacle battling armpit and a terrible contact buzz from marley's opening act. i was chilled out on the hillside with the bombshell, burrito and beer. dick 3000 family was a DNS due to child...so it goes.

falcon says his new favorite is tuba gooding jr. "when was the last time you saw a fucking tuba at a hip hop show!!"

indeed. the show itself was typical of the legendary roots crew. in a word: stunning. can you believe the ride home last night was done with temps in the 40's? I saw my breath and was two jackets deep and still cold. where am i?

good to see the youths out handling valet bicycle parking. wry smiles and neck pops. late nights and hustle when the gates vomited out their contents following the conclusion. probably the safest place you can store your bike in eugene when this crew is on the scene.

45

2008-05-14T16:01:00.000-07:00

yes. 45 days and finally the heat has arrived.

back porch. feet clean and exposed while a dark, sweaty layer of dark bark and dirt covers my ankles and calves like knee high socks. sweaty top draped over the back of the chair. pint in hand. headband on the concrete with the sweat pooling underneath it. weapons lay untied and drying in the sun. face red from effort. chest white from being an oregonian. (....6:14, 6:14, 6:11....) the splits from the tempo run tell the story (....6:11, 6:08, 6:08....) the heat is here and it's going to take some time to deal with. (....6:07, 6:06, 6:06....) i think i need to be working the sauna into the weekly plan (...6:06, 6:04, 6:04....) arms show the tan that only a farmer can appreciate. (....6:04, 6:02, 6:02....) the pint tastes good. quart of ice water sweating on the table nearby is waiting. (...6:01, 5:59, 5:56....) every day the confidence takes a step forward. i have never had a positive result in the heat. (....5:54, 5:48....) then again. i have never prepared like this, either.

45 days.

donkey

2008-05-06T23:58:00.000-07:00

v 2.0

2008-05-06T00:09:00.000-07:00

stolen from a dream state...

paying the piper comes to the tune of 101 miles in 4 days.
words mean nothing.
there are other blogs to read if you want to hear about it.

germany

2008-04-25T23:29:00.000-07:00

a time of cotton t shirts, soccer practice, blue oyster kult and being an officers kid in a foreign land. we lived off base because my mother would have none of being trapped behind a military gate guarded by machine guns and sand bags. a wall separate communism and freedom only 150 klicks from where i lived. my dad had little time to spend at home. one thing he did often was come home and run the old country roads outside of our little german town. if i wanted to hang out with him, i had to run as well. this was how it started. not as "exercise" but a chance to spend some time with my father and really try to earn a little notice. it was on these runs that my dad first treated me as someone other than his son. talking about running and the history of the german country side we ran through was his chance to teach me as someone other than his child. it was like he was narrating. he wasn't fast, but his endurance was never a question.

we had one tv channel available that broadcast in english. armed force network (afn). one night my dad wakes me up around 1 am and brings me into the living room. the tv is on and he has popped popcorn. "son, this is the boston marathon". it was there while watching greg meyer run away from everyone that i learned the story of phidipiddes and the battle of marathon. 10 year olds don't get to share much time like this, so it was special. it was also the first time i can remember ever being up past midnight. (in a household where 20:30 sharp was bedtime for kids every night, this was a big deal. it was like getting away with something, with permission from the general himself. ) i grew up, grew rebellious. he grew more stern. the runs together stopped.

i've run boston before. this year held strong meaning for me. emotions are very strong right now as i look back and remember...

rumble

2008-04-14T23:36:00.000-07:00

(photo by gtach)

gliding the metolius with three beautiful sisters in my wake. the rumble was not really on my radar considering the recent workload but i wanted to see how the body would react with the cumulative fatigue of the journey compounded. that, plus, there were temps in the 80's forecasted for sunday. i am behind on my heat training. the valley was still availed to snow and hail this very week. states is a summer race, so why not stimulate.

good crowd. fast dudes. pace was hot from the beginning despite my attempts to get in front and slow it down a few times. finally let the group go. pushed after the "grunt" section to try to bridge back up to the separated leaders despite protests from my legs. came upon a long dirt road and had my spirit broken by the reality of their lead. took care of the body and throttled back. found my legs again late and pushed hard the last 30 minutes to stop the bleeding and hit the line 4th for the 34 mile, snow shortened version of this oregon classic. rod ran strong the whole day and kept jonny kick flip in check so he could take second. the gucci crew represented well with 3 in the top 7 and two aid station captains on course. good to catch up with folks. twinkies and swine at the finish. ran into maureen, a former asheville resident who resides in p'town. got stories of copper canyon from jen and billy. killed the legs. spread my arms out and ran up the burms on the turns. good fun, my peoples.

black pharoah

2008-04-02T09:43:00.000-07:00

dispatch from the troop historian...

i live too near the slaughterhouse.
what do you expect? silver blood
like chattertons? the dankness of my hours
allowed no practiced foresight.
i hear the branches snap and break
like ravens in a quarrel,
and see my mother in her coffin
not moving
quietly not moving
as i light a cigarette
or drink a glass of water
or do anything ignominous.
what do you want?
that i should feel
deceived?

(the green of the weeds in
the sun
is all we have
it's all we really have.)

i say let the monkeys dance,
let the monkeys dance
in the light of god.
i live too near the
slaughterhouse
and am ill
with thriving.

slipper lip

2008-04-02T00:27:00.000-07:00

liquid movements fill my mind and my motion. engaging the diaphragm during deep breathing while laying, quivering on a musty yoga mat. following the tunnel of LED through a solo night run of urban proportions. hopping highway barriers. careening down rocky banks. squishing atop moist bark while only a single goose amongst a flock raises her head and watches you glide past. feeling freshly pumped up slicks rolling silent and fast on a bike path abandoned by the sleeping masses. a tail wind for the return trip. loopy pumping of the path past the river and sweeping turns taken at speed. sweat mixed with the fragrant aftermath of the arc welder. random epiphany; "loving people is not about controlling them. that's not what it's about" as if i needed to have that said aloud to know it rang true. quick stop at the jiffy mart for some late night banter and a bullet of ninkasi. stayed long enough for dew to bead up on everything but my leather saddle. shoved off for home with deep sleep in mind. final satisfaction found in not setting my alarm clock before clicking off the lamp. there is no sleep you can look forward to more than that sleep.

96

2008-03-23T23:46:00.000-07:00

lovesick, broke and driftin.

i'm having dreams where i am running on the course now. visions of kamp, post-cool training runs of the past. these are coming to me without invitation now. silent dreams. very vivid. the kind you wake up from and actually try to go back to sleep so you can can go back to that place you were just dreaming about. i'm in love with this journey. the lifestyle. the training. it's hard to stay focused on anything else. 96 more days. kamp v 2.0 cometh in one month. more ammo for the dream world...