I joined Facebook in 2009. Wow, what a rush to reconnect with people I had not seen (or admittedly, even THOUGHT about) for years! I saw pictures of my friends' kids, laughed at all the "really cool" people in high school that were now obese and balding (oops, did I really just type that?) and "met" a huge amount of people through the tangled, immense web of networking. Some I now know personally, some I have met here and there on rides, some I have no idea what the tone of their voice sounds like as they exist only in emails and messages, but, undeniably, my life is different (better??) due to the ability to connect and share.
Somewhere, however, between now and then, the internet became a daily thing due to the social nature of my usage. It was no longer a tool to sumbit my homework, get leture notes, bank online and the million other uses to make life easier and more convenient, it was becoming a daily habit because it was fun to see what everyone was doing, great to share stories, pictures and begin to connect and meet with people of like minds through forums, Facebook, etc. I started a blog to share my writing and my new love of mountain biking. I remember shyly reaching out to Ergon's Jeff Kerkove asking him to be my "Facebook Friend" (knowing him only from race results and news articles) so I could bomb him with questions about racing. This whole social media thing was still new and exciting, but I remember in the back of my mind, I felt a lingering uneasiness for how much of my time it was sucking away and the fact that it was not "real." It was, still, the internet. A computer screen. A picture, not a face. Typed words, not articulated words. Emoticons and exclamation points, not human emotion--the most beautiful thing about us.
And that was just the beginning. Today, absolutely everything is on Facebook. When I honestly think of the time I have spent (actually, wasted) online, looking at the same people posting 43 pictures each time they ride their bike, eat a meal, walk in the snow or run up a hill, well, I truthfully just shake my head. Why? How? When did being online become a way of life, instead of a tool? Am I really that bored? Is it just a habit? Do I need to be constantly stimulated, informed and connected? Why do I find myself thinking about posts, discussions and pictures way too much when I am not logged in? Has this substitute for vocal conversation and human interaction changed the way I think and interact socially in a positive or negative way?
This struggle for me is not something new or recent. As a very sensitive (yes, sometimes overly) soul, I have given a huge amount of thought to this subject, written previous blogs, spent hours observing the change in social relations (my own and others) and honestly, just never felt totally at ease with the increasing amount of time I spent in a "world" that has never seemed real to me. Maybe its my personality, my sensitivity or my social needs, but I found myself WANTING to wonder what my friends were doing, WISHING I could hear the story of the weekend, adventure, ride or run with my ears, not through a text or the Facebook photo album.
Then, about a year ago, I read this:
http://davidrainoshek.com/2013/06/how-facebook-fb-is-altering-your-mind-2/
and this:
http://blog.positscience.com/2013/07/12/3-ways-facebook-is-like-a-drug-that-can-permanently-change-your-brain/
I do suggest that you come back with some time and focus and give them some thought. From a scientific perspective as well as an emotional and observational standpoint, they both have a lot to say. And I must admit, they were a refreshing read, helping me validate (for lack of a better term) and better clarify my thoughts and feelings.
So what did I do? When I moved into a new, basement apartment, I chose to leave the internet connection behind. Ironically, my cell phone (the old school flip phone) gets zero service beyond the ability to receive texts when I walk down the stairs to the front door, so I lovingly dubbed it "The Dungeon of Disconnectivity."
I needed a respite from feeling constantly "on call." I seriously desired being disconnected in a place other than the mountains. I needed a sanctuary where I could focus and not be distracted by a message notification or this annoying urge to look and see if anyone had called or texted in case something was wrong or I was needed somewhere. I could feel myself creating this false sense of worry if I was not connected.....Uhhhhh, WTF (not "what" but "where") did this come from? I needed to stop losing my precious evening hours staring at a screen doing nothing (and, ironically, being totally bored with it). I needed to do the damn dishes, attack the pile of laundry, unpack my books and do the rest of the chores that were always neglected in favor of finding new music, lurking around on 14ers.com or bikepacking.net, watching stupid youtube videos or scrolling mindlessly through the facebook world.
Enough was enough. Time for some time away to let my brain learn to live in the physical world---wow, like it should!
The first few days were (credit to my roommate) "maddening." When a nightly habit is suddenly gone, I found myself pacing around a bit, wondering what to do with my nervous energy. I started with the dishes. Then my laundry. Then my to-do list that I never actually did.
Nice.
I liked the way it felt to go to bed with things being done instead of thinking about how they needed to get done when I woke up. Ridiculously simple, yes, but it only hammered home the reality of how much time the internet sucked away from my life. And how much of a distraction it had become.
A little over two months later, there is still no connection. Yes, it is annoying in that I can't google a quick recipe or look at routes to run or ride. No, the instant convenience is not present anymore, but I will gladly sacrifice it for all the positive benefits I am experiencing. Chores are getting done, productivity, and efficiency are back. I am less distracted, perfectly ok with a healthy boredom and I don't feel the need to be connected all the time.
And, I am not alone. A growing awareness is out there represented in these reads: (read them! really!)
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/10/28/131028fa_fact_morozov
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/22/fashion/step-away-from-the-phone.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0
So my goal (which I don't always meet, but have vastly improved) of structured, planned usage has hugely helped me to begin using the internet again for what it is in my life--a valuable tool.
Yes, merely a tool.
A method for making things better and easier and to connect and share to enhance relationships in real life--NOT an attempt to stave off boredom, a constant distraction/obligation or a substitute for human interaction.
Welcome, life. Welcome back. You are too precious, amazing and beautiful to be lived online. You don't need to be enhanced through image editing or embellished with witty selfies and posts that cry for attention. I am sad that I kind of lost sight of the real you when I was handed this really cool tool, but I am so thankful that you are laid out before me again, in all your tangible splendor....
Friday, January 10, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
How Low Can I Go?
I must admit I have been keeping a very keen eye on the weather in International Falls, MN. "The Icebox of the Nation" is the starting line for this year's Arrowhead 135 and as we have all been well (over)-informed there is a massive cold blast invading the midwest. The temperatures are rising a bit now, and if the race were this week, I could not ask for better conditions. Between 0 and 10F is my wish and I have to admit, that although rooms are reserved and my support people are ready to help drive and pick me up from Fortune Bay, I found myself setting -15F as my lower limit to race. I am confident at temps above that, but seeing the windchill last week made me just laugh. My gear needs a serious upgrade to keep me alive at -44F (windchill factored in). And we all know that is not financially possible in less than three weeks....
So, I pound away in the gym, on trails and on the trainer, silently hoping the forecast warms just a bit, posing to myself the question I would rather pedal away than answer: If I see -20F's forecast for Jan 27-28, what is Plan B?
How low can you go?
*A bit of a different style in my blog will probably stick around for a bit. Time constraints and my self-imposed Project: Disconnect (no internet in my house since November 1, only scheduled, productive coffee shop wifi-pirating) have dictated a temporary change to shorter, and a hopefully more frequent series of posts. Look for the PD blog. Good things since disconnecting a bit!
So, I pound away in the gym, on trails and on the trainer, silently hoping the forecast warms just a bit, posing to myself the question I would rather pedal away than answer: If I see -20F's forecast for Jan 27-28, what is Plan B?
How low can you go?
*A bit of a different style in my blog will probably stick around for a bit. Time constraints and my self-imposed Project: Disconnect (no internet in my house since November 1, only scheduled, productive coffee shop wifi-pirating) have dictated a temporary change to shorter, and a hopefully more frequent series of posts. Look for the PD blog. Good things since disconnecting a bit!
Monday, January 6, 2014
Helluva Life
To wrap up 2013, I had a long, introspective, analytical post working in my head for two weeks. I had a good summary of the ups, downs, twists, turns and changes of the past twelve months, a very heartfelt thesis tying them altogether and an ending to express gratitude for all the blessings in my life and spark inspiration for the huge 2014 that lies ahead.
But one moment (ok, two moments) in the last five days of 2013, spent in the San Juan mountains undoubedtly trumped any blog analysis I could ever hope to muster:
1) Racing down the middle of Durango,Colorado on the handlebars of my Surly Pugsley...
2) Greeting 2014 almost exactly 24 hours later by dancing down the middle of Silverton, Colorado, snow lightly falling and "Amarillo By Morning" playing in the frigid mountain air...
Both have a back story that would fill a book, both exemplify my personality, my passions, my heart. Both contain an underlying summary of the past year I was plannig to dumb-down with the English language in this post.
Instead, however, I choose to keep that inside for now and end with this:
They both included what I prayed would return to my life again, and for this my gratitude knows no limits.
But one moment (ok, two moments) in the last five days of 2013, spent in the San Juan mountains undoubedtly trumped any blog analysis I could ever hope to muster:
1) Racing down the middle of Durango,Colorado on the handlebars of my Surly Pugsley...
2) Greeting 2014 almost exactly 24 hours later by dancing down the middle of Silverton, Colorado, snow lightly falling and "Amarillo By Morning" playing in the frigid mountain air...
Both have a back story that would fill a book, both exemplify my personality, my passions, my heart. Both contain an underlying summary of the past year I was plannig to dumb-down with the English language in this post.
Instead, however, I choose to keep that inside for now and end with this:
They both included what I prayed would return to my life again, and for this my gratitude knows no limits.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Pushing Back the Dark
Winter Solstice.
After today the light increases and the darkness lessens for the next six months.
Light from the sun is an incredibly motivating force. It's presence or absence, along with the ambient temperature it creates is a (sometimes overwhelmingly) major part of daily conversations, the news and there are many apps to monitor it by the hour.
The light contained within a person is ten-fold more powerful. Case in point....Think of that person who is always radiating positive energy and encouragement, the one who first thinks of others and is confident enough to selflessly reach out and share that light with those around them---what is more motivating and powerful?
As the days get longer and the adventures of the summer near, I ask myself, what if I made more effort to share some light with those around me? To make time to vocally encourage their efforts, appreciate their very presence in my life and understand their differences? What if I extend kindness instead of sarcasm or avoidance to those who seriously annoy me? What if I continue to reject the increasing narcissism of our selfie-culture and make my world about serving others? What if I made it known to those I love, just how much I do and just how much I want them to be happy and free with nothing expected in return?
Maybe I am getting wiser with each trip I take around the sun, (a noble goal anyway), maybe I am becoming more capable of expressing what lives in my heart, or maybe I just look around at a world that needs days like tomorrow--days where there is more light than dark.
Give some extra light to that person in your life you see everyday, that person you don't know, that person you want to yell at, that person who is hiding their hurt, that person who you need to find again, that person who [insert your own thought here].
Reach out this Christmas. Be bold. Speak life, speak love. Hug him/her. Smile genuinely. Touch human skin, instead of your phone's screen. Help someone find/chase/achieve their dreams. Give some beautiful flowers to someone beautiful in your life--male or female. Stop and soak in some Christmas magic on Wednesday or challenge yourself to find it again.
Nuture, grow and share the increasing light we are given tomorrow....
Push back the dark!
 |
| "If you are kind to helpless things, you don't need a Wishing Tree to make things come true" -William Faulkner |
Monday, December 16, 2013
Riddlebox 2013 Winter Ultra
Who goes to South Dakota to race a fatbike?
Or....really, who goes to South Dakota?
Honestly, I never thought I would make Sioux Falls, SD a destination for pedal time on the Pugs, but this weekend proved the waaaaaaaay overused cliche (up there with the words "major stokage," "sufferfest" and "pain cave") "NEVER SAY NEVER" to be, once again, applicable to my world.
So when I found myself in Rapid City the night before for work (who also picks up the tab for gas) and there was a fatty race five hours away, really, there was never a question as to whether my beautiful bucket of junk and I were going to spend some time rolling on flatlander territory. The entry was cheap and since my life's manifesto can be found on a Taco Bell sauce packet that also serves as the wallpaper of my fancy flip phone,
I was in. I knew that lack of any good sleep would make it a long day, but when my bud, Kevin, and I rolled into a chill, little Irish Pub in Sioux Falls, the morning looked bright and we were greeted by awesome people and a killer breakfast. Techs went through all the racers' bikes (uhhhh, did I fall asleep and am still dreaming? This happens at races? Wow.) and after a short, prerace meeting, we were rolling on flatlander turf.
My brain did not grasp the fact that it was not asked to climb some God-awful incline within the first 1000 feet of the race. My legs were spinning my 32x20 setup like mad. I described the first 17 miles of the race in a text with a reference to a hamster inside a wheel. I spun my heart out to cling to fourth and fifth place. There was a washed out bridge section that provided a short hike a bike through the snow and then it was back to hamsterville. I was warned of the upcoming double-track slog and soon it came into sight. I could see the leaders pushing up and I was in fourth place at the bottom. I am pretty sure the trail running bug I acquired helped me here because after about 15-20 minutes of HAB, I found myself out front on the descent. This was a new experience for me, as I have never led a race outright. All the boys were behind me still on the hill. I looked back, thinking surely I had taken a wrong turn. I caught a glimpse of Adam just cresting the hill as I made a sharp left and began spinning away on pancake roads. Adam caught and passsed me on a snowy bridge and we chatted away through some curves.
After a hard right turn, I heard the words:
"And this is where I won't see you again until the end."
Yeah right, I thought to myself. A mile and a half of climbing lie ahead and I knew my time in the front was done. But, true to my nature, I wasn't handing anything to anyone so I gave the Pugs his head, kicked him in the belly and climbed up South Dakota "hills" to the finish at Calico Lakes Winery. I saw a huge red flag and didn't realize it was the end of the race until I saw the sign saying "Welcome Fat Bikers! You Rock!" I looked back and didn't see anyone, turned left and pedaled up to the front door.
A few pictures and a few minutes later, Adam came cruising in. We drank wine, ate cheese and crackers and waited for the rest of the racers to finish before being shuttled back to Sioux Falls and a killer spread of sliders and artichoke dip at the pub.
Overall, I cannot say enough good things about the excellent organization, hospitality and high quality people that put on this race. Nothing like this have I ever seen at any race. I have paid far more for far less and the folks from Two Wheeler Dealer in Sioux Falls set a great examle of how to put on a race. What's even more amazing is they had thirty days to put this together.
Wow, guys, just WOW!
Bravo, bravo, bravo! I am so full of gratitude for your efforts and friendliness. The inagural Riddlebox Winter Ultra was fantastic from an organizational standpoint. Being from Colorado, I am admittedly spoiled rotten as to the quality of riding, but somewhere out there I began to respect the network of flat roads and those who devote hours of their existence on them. I heard rumblings of a much longer race next year and if you are looking for one--get your fat bike to South Dakota in 2014!
The big highlight of the race, however, was Kevin, who stepped onto the men's podium for the first time!!! A heart like his for people, the outdoors, adventure and just recently, fatbikes, should not go unnoticed. YES, KEVIN!! Great job, my friend.
Tons more pictures and results can be found HERE.
And so the adventure continues.....
Or....really, who goes to South Dakota?
Honestly, I never thought I would make Sioux Falls, SD a destination for pedal time on the Pugs, but this weekend proved the waaaaaaaay overused cliche (up there with the words "major stokage," "sufferfest" and "pain cave") "NEVER SAY NEVER" to be, once again, applicable to my world.
So when I found myself in Rapid City the night before for work (who also picks up the tab for gas) and there was a fatty race five hours away, really, there was never a question as to whether my beautiful bucket of junk and I were going to spend some time rolling on flatlander territory. The entry was cheap and since my life's manifesto can be found on a Taco Bell sauce packet that also serves as the wallpaper of my fancy flip phone,
I was in. I knew that lack of any good sleep would make it a long day, but when my bud, Kevin, and I rolled into a chill, little Irish Pub in Sioux Falls, the morning looked bright and we were greeted by awesome people and a killer breakfast. Techs went through all the racers' bikes (uhhhh, did I fall asleep and am still dreaming? This happens at races? Wow.) and after a short, prerace meeting, we were rolling on flatlander turf.
 |
 |
| Starting line of the 27 miler! |
My brain did not grasp the fact that it was not asked to climb some God-awful incline within the first 1000 feet of the race. My legs were spinning my 32x20 setup like mad. I described the first 17 miles of the race in a text with a reference to a hamster inside a wheel. I spun my heart out to cling to fourth and fifth place. There was a washed out bridge section that provided a short hike a bike through the snow and then it was back to hamsterville. I was warned of the upcoming double-track slog and soon it came into sight. I could see the leaders pushing up and I was in fourth place at the bottom. I am pretty sure the trail running bug I acquired helped me here because after about 15-20 minutes of HAB, I found myself out front on the descent. This was a new experience for me, as I have never led a race outright. All the boys were behind me still on the hill. I looked back, thinking surely I had taken a wrong turn. I caught a glimpse of Adam just cresting the hill as I made a sharp left and began spinning away on pancake roads. Adam caught and passsed me on a snowy bridge and we chatted away through some curves.
After a hard right turn, I heard the words:
"And this is where I won't see you again until the end."
Yeah right, I thought to myself. A mile and a half of climbing lie ahead and I knew my time in the front was done. But, true to my nature, I wasn't handing anything to anyone so I gave the Pugs his head, kicked him in the belly and climbed up South Dakota "hills" to the finish at Calico Lakes Winery. I saw a huge red flag and didn't realize it was the end of the race until I saw the sign saying "Welcome Fat Bikers! You Rock!" I looked back and didn't see anyone, turned left and pedaled up to the front door.
A few pictures and a few minutes later, Adam came cruising in. We drank wine, ate cheese and crackers and waited for the rest of the racers to finish before being shuttled back to Sioux Falls and a killer spread of sliders and artichoke dip at the pub.
Overall, I cannot say enough good things about the excellent organization, hospitality and high quality people that put on this race. Nothing like this have I ever seen at any race. I have paid far more for far less and the folks from Two Wheeler Dealer in Sioux Falls set a great examle of how to put on a race. What's even more amazing is they had thirty days to put this together.
Wow, guys, just WOW!
Bravo, bravo, bravo! I am so full of gratitude for your efforts and friendliness. The inagural Riddlebox Winter Ultra was fantastic from an organizational standpoint. Being from Colorado, I am admittedly spoiled rotten as to the quality of riding, but somewhere out there I began to respect the network of flat roads and those who devote hours of their existence on them. I heard rumblings of a much longer race next year and if you are looking for one--get your fat bike to South Dakota in 2014!
The big highlight of the race, however, was Kevin, who stepped onto the men's podium for the first time!!! A heart like his for people, the outdoors, adventure and just recently, fatbikes, should not go unnoticed. YES, KEVIN!! Great job, my friend.
 |
| Kevin, Adam and Kamp |
 |
| Matt in the background, me, Kevin |
 |
| The 69 mile winner and best beard winner, Greg! |
Tons more pictures and results can be found HERE.
And so the adventure continues.....
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
R2R2R Turkey Trot
"It's like doing two 14ers backwards"
-Steve Chambers
The last time I set foot on the South Kaibab trail was April 2012. I had an Osprey pack I paid $15 for off of Craigslist harnessed to my skinny carcass. Attached ever so craftily to said backpack was my trusty two-wheeled steed, disassembled and settled in for a 22 mile ride. For those who are, at this moment, scratching the old noggin and wrinkling your brow in wonderment as to what the hell I am talking about, click HERE.
I distinctly recall (enough to analyze in previously written blogs) being a bit overcome with fleeting twinges of fear as I slowly began to descend, handlebars hitting me in the hamstrings for the first few strides. Fear gave way to excitement and anticipation as usual, the handlebars found a new place to ride, and away I went, plunging into the Big Ditch for the first time in my life with a silly grin on my sunkissed face....
Fast forward now, if you will, to last Thursday (aka Thanksgiving here in the United States) and my two feet were in the exact location again. They were now sporting my magical, bright blue Brooks Cascadia running shoes instead of my old, beat-to-hell running shoes I had pulled out of a package addressed to myself that was waiting at the post office in Grand Canyon Village back in 2012. This time, my old nemesis, Fear, was nowhere to be seen. It was way too early in the morning for that lazy bastard to be up and he didn't make the long trip from Colorado this time anyway. My legs were fresh and my back supported only a tiny pack with food and very few other essentials I felt needed a ride to the north rim and back. To my left was Steve, fidgeting with his pack and peering over the rim into the darkness of the early morning. There we stood, ready to cross this canyon not once, but twice, before the sun set into the west.
My first step was actually a skip, and like a 5 year-old, so were the next three or four. Lights aglow, southbound we commenced toward the muddy Colorado River. Rocks, ruts and steps under our feet, we descended on into the darkness. Ooh Ahh Point came in no time, Skeleton Point, down, around, down, down, around. There was no real test of physical exertion in our descent, just keeping vertical at a medium rate of speed in the dark. My longest run ever, prior to the 42 that stretched out ahead of us, was 15 miles, so I was maybe a bit conservative in the beginning, but after about 1:20 we were standing in the middle of a huge suspension bridge listening to the Colorado roar below us.
Phantom Ranch was a mere stone's throw away and soon we were standing at the split of the Bright Angel and South Kaibab trails. I could feel the descent in my calves, but we were both pretty energized and feeling strong. A quick drink and we were off to Cottonwood campground. The sun had not yet peeked over the rim and we came up quickly on a guy packing some gear overhead.The usual "good mornings" "great day out heres" were politely exchanged and away we ran deeper into the canyon. The trail was flat and wide and wound through a slot canyon that sent both of our Garmins into a tailspin. Our hopes for accurate data were lost, but we would not realize this until a bit later as we compared mileage.
We closed in on Ribbon Falls junction and "the stupid" hill that took us far above the trail split and then directly back down just as daylight decided to make her appearance.
We made good time to Cottonwood Campground and were at the Caretaker's Cabin just before Roaring Springs in no time. Missing the obvious spigot, we turned on the hose at the cabin and I soaked my gloves which were sitting on the porch in the line of fire from the leaky faucet. Not overly happy because the temperature was still just cool enough for cold fingers, I made due as we began the 5.5 mile power hike to the north rim.
The trail through here was stunning. We actually made great time and even took a few minutes to stop and take some pictures....
We spent probably ten minutes trying to eat food that did not look the least bit appealing and just enjoying the Arizona snow and sun at the same time. Both of us were chomping at the bit, ready to start descending. We were on pace to hit 12 hours, so we began slip-sliding down the ice and snow that covered the trail for the first half mile after the turn. We continued on and really before we realized it, were looking down at the Caretaker Cabin again. Nature called and I sent Steve on ahead, knowing he probably would appreciate a quicker pace, with the agreement to meet back at the obvious spigot to fill our water bottles at the bottom of the descent. As a baby trail-runner, descending quickly is still a challenge and the final mile to the bottom was a slight bit of hell. I felt slow and choppy and every step was jarring. It wasn't miserable but I was glad to run seven FLAT, fast miles back to Phantom Ranch. We were able to make up some time and as we neared the Colorado River again.
These miles put me into a trance. One I know and crave and love from the seat of a bike, but had only once felt while running...
Steve set a 10-11 minute pace, and I zoned in on his heels. I felt absolutely nothing. No pain, no fatigue, not even the rocks beneath my feet. My shoes seemingly hovered above the earth and I found myself touching that surreal, unexplainable euphoric realm for the second time ever while trail running. The first came while descending San Luis Peak earlier this fall. There, like here, I hovered above the trail. My thoughts were not thoughts but part of the air, the trail, the rocks, the moment. Time meant nothing. Logically, I knew it was passing, yet it seemed to stop and let us touch that untouchable feeling, be in that unfathomable moment. It was as though the fibers that held this moment together opened up and swallowed us for seven miles....
Ummmm, yeah....something like that.
Hell, maybe it was just a glitch in the matrix, who knows? Whatever it was, it sure as hell spat me back out into reality at the steel suspension bridge and my calves began screaming obscenities at me.
Our original plan was to ascend Bright Angel trail which is 2 miles longer, but we knew we would not meet the 12 hour goal by going this way, so we made an on the fly decision to reascend South Kaibab and give 12 hours an honest try.
We crossed the suspension bridge for the second time at about 2:15pm and began the long power-hike back to the south rim.
We lost an hour ascending the last 6 miles. My legs just didn't work as quickly as my brain was commanding. Steve was a switchback or two ahead of me and I came around the corner to find him sitting here waiting for me:
Steve: 15 minutes and we are done
Me (muttering in delirium): No way! We won't be to the south rim for another 30 minutes...
Ten minutes later, (which Steve later told me is what he was thinking when he said 15) we were kissing the South Kaibab trailhead and neither of us had any memory of the pain of the last hour.
We did it.
We crossed the BIGGEST DITCH in the world twice on Thanksgiving Day 2013. I held up 3 fingers to represent touching 3 rims in 13 hours!
-Steve Chambers
 |
| The Caretaker's Cabin "bragboard" |
The last time I set foot on the South Kaibab trail was April 2012. I had an Osprey pack I paid $15 for off of Craigslist harnessed to my skinny carcass. Attached ever so craftily to said backpack was my trusty two-wheeled steed, disassembled and settled in for a 22 mile ride. For those who are, at this moment, scratching the old noggin and wrinkling your brow in wonderment as to what the hell I am talking about, click HERE.
I distinctly recall (enough to analyze in previously written blogs) being a bit overcome with fleeting twinges of fear as I slowly began to descend, handlebars hitting me in the hamstrings for the first few strides. Fear gave way to excitement and anticipation as usual, the handlebars found a new place to ride, and away I went, plunging into the Big Ditch for the first time in my life with a silly grin on my sunkissed face....
Fast forward now, if you will, to last Thursday (aka Thanksgiving here in the United States) and my two feet were in the exact location again. They were now sporting my magical, bright blue Brooks Cascadia running shoes instead of my old, beat-to-hell running shoes I had pulled out of a package addressed to myself that was waiting at the post office in Grand Canyon Village back in 2012. This time, my old nemesis, Fear, was nowhere to be seen. It was way too early in the morning for that lazy bastard to be up and he didn't make the long trip from Colorado this time anyway. My legs were fresh and my back supported only a tiny pack with food and very few other essentials I felt needed a ride to the north rim and back. To my left was Steve, fidgeting with his pack and peering over the rim into the darkness of the early morning. There we stood, ready to cross this canyon not once, but twice, before the sun set into the west.
My first step was actually a skip, and like a 5 year-old, so were the next three or four. Lights aglow, southbound we commenced toward the muddy Colorado River. Rocks, ruts and steps under our feet, we descended on into the darkness. Ooh Ahh Point came in no time, Skeleton Point, down, around, down, down, around. There was no real test of physical exertion in our descent, just keeping vertical at a medium rate of speed in the dark. My longest run ever, prior to the 42 that stretched out ahead of us, was 15 miles, so I was maybe a bit conservative in the beginning, but after about 1:20 we were standing in the middle of a huge suspension bridge listening to the Colorado roar below us.
Phantom Ranch was a mere stone's throw away and soon we were standing at the split of the Bright Angel and South Kaibab trails. I could feel the descent in my calves, but we were both pretty energized and feeling strong. A quick drink and we were off to Cottonwood campground. The sun had not yet peeked over the rim and we came up quickly on a guy packing some gear overhead.The usual "good mornings" "great day out heres" were politely exchanged and away we ran deeper into the canyon. The trail was flat and wide and wound through a slot canyon that sent both of our Garmins into a tailspin. Our hopes for accurate data were lost, but we would not realize this until a bit later as we compared mileage.
We closed in on Ribbon Falls junction and "the stupid" hill that took us far above the trail split and then directly back down just as daylight decided to make her appearance.
 |
| Daylight creeping up on us... |
 |
| Smiles at sunrise... |
 |
| Steve going up North Kaibab |
 |
| The brilliant AZ sun... |
 |
| Supai Tunnel ~1.8 miles from the north rim |
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| Snow on the trail...it was like entering a different world as we started up from Supai Tunnel |
 |
| This sign brought back memories.... |
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| The "halfway" homestrech.... |
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| Grub time on the north rim... |
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| The halfway point! |
 |
| Uhhhhhh......so this one time back in April.. |
These miles put me into a trance. One I know and crave and love from the seat of a bike, but had only once felt while running...
Steve set a 10-11 minute pace, and I zoned in on his heels. I felt absolutely nothing. No pain, no fatigue, not even the rocks beneath my feet. My shoes seemingly hovered above the earth and I found myself touching that surreal, unexplainable euphoric realm for the second time ever while trail running. The first came while descending San Luis Peak earlier this fall. There, like here, I hovered above the trail. My thoughts were not thoughts but part of the air, the trail, the rocks, the moment. Time meant nothing. Logically, I knew it was passing, yet it seemed to stop and let us touch that untouchable feeling, be in that unfathomable moment. It was as though the fibers that held this moment together opened up and swallowed us for seven miles....
Ummmm, yeah....something like that.
Hell, maybe it was just a glitch in the matrix, who knows? Whatever it was, it sure as hell spat me back out into reality at the steel suspension bridge and my calves began screaming obscenities at me.
Our original plan was to ascend Bright Angel trail which is 2 miles longer, but we knew we would not meet the 12 hour goal by going this way, so we made an on the fly decision to reascend South Kaibab and give 12 hours an honest try.
We crossed the suspension bridge for the second time at about 2:15pm and began the long power-hike back to the south rim.
 |
| Up...just keep going UP! |
 |
| Skeleton Point-the site of my all out hunger/fatigue induced staggering. |
Steve: 15 minutes and we are done
Me (muttering in delirium): No way! We won't be to the south rim for another 30 minutes...
 |
| The final countdown.... |
Ten minutes later, (which Steve later told me is what he was thinking when he said 15) we were kissing the South Kaibab trailhead and neither of us had any memory of the pain of the last hour.
We did it.
We crossed the BIGGEST DITCH in the world twice on Thanksgiving Day 2013. I held up 3 fingers to represent touching 3 rims in 13 hours!
 |
| BAM!!! |
A couple more pictures...just because:
 |
| A look inside Steve's pack at camp the night before.... |
 |
| Black Friday at the Kanab Ranger Station. We hoped to reward ourselves with a hike on The Wave but our lottery number for a permit was not called. |
Saturday, November 2, 2013
With A Most Humble Heart...
A year ago today, I was on my bike ripping through some switchbacks somewhere singing along with my ipod at the top of my lungs. My entire body, soul and heart were smiling at the fact that my last shift pouring drinks was 24 hours prior. It gave me a colossal surge of energy, strength and happiness to finally beat the living shit out of that heavy, annoying and crippling monkey that had been hanging on to my shoulders and camping out on my back for so many years. I had finally won the inner battle, realizing absolutely NO amount of quick cash I could make was worth the toll this job was taking on my mind, relationships, overall wellness and energy level.
I knew I was going to suffer financially, but after the 2013 Arrowhead, my bicycle racing fund was as empty as my heart when I dropped the race after 80ish miles due to time constraints and snow.
From there, things got pretty dark in my life. I was back in Denver working for peanuts, kidding myself into believing there was a way to race. When it became evident that there really was no extra money to do so and the racing team I was a part of turned to shit, I grabbed the lightest, fastest road bike I could from the demo fleet at the shop which I was working and put miles and miles of pavement behind me. I pedaled out my hatred of city living, frustrations stemming from finances, dull relationships and the nothingness of the everyday grind in which I was drowning.
The biggie I could not pedal away, however, was that there was to be no bikepacking for me in 2013. No epic trips across Arizona, no score-settling with the Colorado Trail and no Tour Divide adventures to savor. Nope. I was out.
That sent me into a tailspin deep within. Deeper and deeper into a hole. A big, ugly, black hole....
From the bottom of that hole, my life consisted of constantly tear-stained cheeks, hollow eyes and a fake smile that hid the battle I fought with self-confidence, self worth and motivation. I had no real goals, purpose or motivation. A vicious circle of negativity clouded my thoughts and I was, in a word, a mess. I would look back through pictures of all the amazing people, adventures, mountains, trails, races and scenery that I had known and instead of cherishing the times, I would feel this sense of fear that they were to never come again.
Yeah, pretty dark in my old heart last winter....
But hope and optimism still resided inside. I honestly don't think I am the type of personality that will ever lose them completely. In the darkest of dark and the toughest of tough I have always felt a radiant light burning bright in my chest. Never have I truly believed all hope is lost. I hold the eduring belief that times always get bettter, no matter how hard it is to see in the moment. I clung to this and prayed a lot and continued to flounder along through the motions.
Then, as spring came around, I found horses again. If you follow my incessant ramblings on this blog, you will remember a few posts about my polo farm adventures.
Slowly, I made some changes in my life, some AMAZING people extended their hands to pick me up off my face and the Jillfire is roaring again. I work a job that brings in a little more than peanuts and is structured so I can take time off for racing. I work long hours, but I have a huge goal that drives me out of bed every morning at 4am.
The goal?
This
And now the hard part of this blog.....asking.
*Long, deep, 9-count inhale*
*Slow, even, exhale*
It has taken me over a month to post this although it takes up a great deal of my daily thoughts:
It is with a most humble approach that I have added a donation button to the top, right side-bar of this blog. If it is in your heart to help me see my dream become a reality and follow this blog and my writing as I live it, although I will never find any words in any language to express my deep and genuine gratitude for your kindness, know that you helped make my absolutely epic journey possible....
I knew I was going to suffer financially, but after the 2013 Arrowhead, my bicycle racing fund was as empty as my heart when I dropped the race after 80ish miles due to time constraints and snow.
From there, things got pretty dark in my life. I was back in Denver working for peanuts, kidding myself into believing there was a way to race. When it became evident that there really was no extra money to do so and the racing team I was a part of turned to shit, I grabbed the lightest, fastest road bike I could from the demo fleet at the shop which I was working and put miles and miles of pavement behind me. I pedaled out my hatred of city living, frustrations stemming from finances, dull relationships and the nothingness of the everyday grind in which I was drowning.
The biggie I could not pedal away, however, was that there was to be no bikepacking for me in 2013. No epic trips across Arizona, no score-settling with the Colorado Trail and no Tour Divide adventures to savor. Nope. I was out.
That sent me into a tailspin deep within. Deeper and deeper into a hole. A big, ugly, black hole....
From the bottom of that hole, my life consisted of constantly tear-stained cheeks, hollow eyes and a fake smile that hid the battle I fought with self-confidence, self worth and motivation. I had no real goals, purpose or motivation. A vicious circle of negativity clouded my thoughts and I was, in a word, a mess. I would look back through pictures of all the amazing people, adventures, mountains, trails, races and scenery that I had known and instead of cherishing the times, I would feel this sense of fear that they were to never come again.
Yeah, pretty dark in my old heart last winter....
But hope and optimism still resided inside. I honestly don't think I am the type of personality that will ever lose them completely. In the darkest of dark and the toughest of tough I have always felt a radiant light burning bright in my chest. Never have I truly believed all hope is lost. I hold the eduring belief that times always get bettter, no matter how hard it is to see in the moment. I clung to this and prayed a lot and continued to flounder along through the motions.
Then, as spring came around, I found horses again. If you follow my incessant ramblings on this blog, you will remember a few posts about my polo farm adventures.
Slowly, I made some changes in my life, some AMAZING people extended their hands to pick me up off my face and the Jillfire is roaring again. I work a job that brings in a little more than peanuts and is structured so I can take time off for racing. I work long hours, but I have a huge goal that drives me out of bed every morning at 4am.
The goal?
This
And now the hard part of this blog.....asking.
*Long, deep, 9-count inhale*
*Slow, even, exhale*
It has taken me over a month to post this although it takes up a great deal of my daily thoughts:
It is with a most humble approach that I have added a donation button to the top, right side-bar of this blog. If it is in your heart to help me see my dream become a reality and follow this blog and my writing as I live it, although I will never find any words in any language to express my deep and genuine gratitude for your kindness, know that you helped make my absolutely epic journey possible....
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