Rolling the dice and losing big but kinda winning.

What a cacophony of sensations today. Nausea to depression to
disbelief to utter heartache to somber reflection to glimmering hope.
I was supposed to race the final mountain stage of the Mt Hood Cycling
Classic late this morning but my body derailed that despite my attempt
at perseverance. I woke at 5AM feeling like my head was well below my
body, heavy and disoriented. At 7AM I rolled out of bed in a stumbling
funk with an awful stomach. I couldn't eat. I loaded my bike, mixed
some stout bottles for calories during the race anticipating not
eating solid food. I climbed in the car and drove to the gas station,
I was woozy from that and reluctantly accepted that I had no business
in a peloton, especially not one descending mountain roads. I called
Brendon, we chatted, and I drove back to the house, still woozy, now
depressed, and curled up in bed until 2PM. My heart aches as much now
as it did then. I think about all the time devoted to preparing for
this weekend, physically, mentally, emotionally, and am somewhat lost.
It is tragic that I'm already planning on riding tomorrow.
Whenever hardship finds us we so readily seek compromise. I would
trade the next week of riding to have raced today, for example. But
deal-making is rarely favorable for the contract signer, just as odds
are never in the gambler's favor. I could have won today, but the odds
of crashing, or flatting, or so many other possibilities are so much
higher. Sometimes I wish I had read the Marvel 'What If' comics just
to see who the odds favored; maybe it is foolish to seek alternative
chains of events.

One day racing a bike. Just one day. 70 miles. I'm not getting paid.
This is a hobby. Everyone gets sick, we're all human. I have rolled
these thoughts all day long, over and over and over. And I also know
that I'm still fit, there are plenty more races, and 'cross season is
a long ways off. So there. I can find peace reminding myself there are
happy trails ahead, and so much love from so many people who matter
more than all the bike races. Thanks y'all.

i should

i should write more.

i should write more here.

i should write more here often.

or i shouldn't.

no, i should.

i could.

could.

abstractions aside, i'm avoiding class for a few more minutes and contemplating all that has passed in the last nine months or so. hardly a whirlwind, but tumultuous nonetheless. without saying anything at all i'm saying a lot.

yellowstone and wyoming broke me. literally. i had to cut short my tour and hitch a ride back to oregon, bike in tow, achilles sore and behaving infamously, as another tendon is now. this time it's the knee. after a short recovery last summer i took up 'cross racing again and had a good run of it. magically after the racing was over and i wasn't training and didn't need to be riding as much my knee blew up. every ache and subtle nuance of my body was shaken from the epicenter that is the right femoral epicondyle. i don't even ride a bike now. it's silly. truly. silly.

may is knocking, may is knockin'

she wears a summer dress beneath her slicker,

bare toes within her wellies, i see it.

The spin in Yellowstone

7/24/09 This is so overdue

Nonetheless.

The road to Yellowstone is a series of rises and falls, not many, just a few, taking you from of the Grand Tetons and you know it. Over your left shoulder those craggy mottled teeth loom no more as an endless field of lodgepole pines creep to road's edge and out of a mountain hollow the ramp into Yellowstone's middle begins. I had no idea what to expect from Yellowstone, I knew about Old Faithful and herds of buffalo and elk, moose, bear, and tourists. But I couldn't recall any photographs of mountains or lakes, rivers or rocks. Geysers and wildlife. Tourists. It was a long ride into the park and the campground so I bee-lined it for there. The campground was full but I learned that they have hiker/biker group sites and that they don't turn the self-propelled set away. That night I shared my site with two guys who were 18 and 19 riding the Great Divide mountain bike route, though they went off-route and headed for the national parks and said they were having more fun as a result. The next day was a big one so I got an early-ish start and headed for West Thumb where there are lakeside thermal pools. I arrived while the air was still quite cool and the steam was rising from the pools all around as though there were pots of water scattered about and boiling in the ground whose steam rose over the lake, the blue sky and morning sun's yellow light as the backdrop curtain.

W. Thumb

I left my bike and cruised the boardwalks, near the bottom through the rising steam I made out the silhouettes of grazing elk having disregarded the 'stay on boardwalk' signs. Tourists. I kept my distance and carried on in amazement at the uniqueness of it all. Heading back to my bike I weaved my way through a bus-load of people and cameras, I heard, 'oooooh, I want to see the deeeer,' finished in a high-pitched exclamation. On my way to Old Faithful I passed a group of people taking pictures of a buffalo grazing at a turnoff near a stop sign and getting a little too close, I had to snap two photos, one of the animal and one a little zoomed out, animal and people. Old Faithful is impressive to say the least. I wonder what it must be like to see freshly tapped oil spurting out of the ground. Then it was on to the Grand Prismatic pool, the Fountain Paint Pots, and some continental divide crossings.

Grand Prismatic. Postcards with aerial shots are easy to come by and quite spectacular.

This was turning out to be a long, long, long day. And I had miles to go including a west to east crossing of the central part of the park at the very end. As I turned east I looked around me and was scouring the horizon trying to gauge the miles to come, begging for x-ray vision to see through the lodgepoles, but I relaxed and ate the remainder of the cookies I'd left Wilson with when I saw nothing ominous. Oh, I was rushed as dark skies were finally overtaking the distant mountains they had threatened to do all day. Then came the sign that read "7% 4 miles" or something like it. I cringed and looked to the road ahead and nowhere but. I only saw a small hump and a left hand bend so guessed it meant I was in for a descent. I was. After the climb. I carried on pedaling up gradual roads and just as the road turned slightly more skyward a pair of bikers on a tandem came down in a tuck battling the wind that was only slightly aiding my ascent. I crested what you might call a false summit to see a grey/white streak running straight up to the top of the next ridge through the forest; the optimist in me likens rock-like breaks in the forest to interesting geologic formations. The steep ascent I'd been warned about was a straight shot up to the top. Long, straight climbs feel like they're never going to end much like judging distances to shores from the middle of a like while swimming is crazy-making so it's best to just put your head down and keep moving forward. I eventually hit Canyon campground and didn't have the steam to do some waterfall sight-seeing, only enough for a shower, gigantic dish of ice cream, some ramen, some peanuts, and a nap. I got up to chat with a few Oregonians camping nearby as I'd been invited for a splash of wine by the fire sometime in the fading light if the storm would break. The storm broke and I was treated to some camp-stew, wine, chocolate, and good fireside conversation. It froze that night. I didn't want to spend another cold night in my "35F" sleeping bag so experimented with an emergency blanket as a way to retain my heat, it worked and I slept great but had a damp sleeping bag in the morning. Another cold one at about 8000 Feet. I made my breakfast and sandwiches, broke camp, put most of my clothes on, and headed south to check out the grand canyon of the Yellowstone. I was afraid that with the heavy fog I wouldn't get to see the waterfalls, let alone the canyon. On my way I passed a buffalo lying beside a tree steaming in the first light of the day, surrounded in a greyness while the condensation sparkled and the steam glowed. Nobody else was around and I left it as alone as I found it. Just as I arrived at the canyon to see the Lower Falls the fog was beginning to lift from the canyon so that I could make out the white cascade of water and see its churned up snaking below, the steep, yellow canyon walls and deep green of the trees above, grey masses of fog climbing into the white clouds parted just barely for the light blue sky of the day ahead to show itself. It was a stunning sight I felt lucky I was there then, for moments alone even at the viewpoints.

I then turned north once more, passed through Canyon, and headed to Dunraven pass, another climb...at the top there was a crowd of people and two rangers. I stopped with them and turned my eyes towards the hillside clearing like everyone else. A grizzly was up there and had just ducked into some trees. A few moments later out popped a furry brown thing about 150 yards above, it wandered about, rooted around in the ground, muzzling into it, turning this was and that way, clambering back and forth, digging, ambling. I watched for a time, snapped a few photos, and eventually left the bear and the people behind. Later that day I bumped into one of the rangers and she told me the bear did come down and cross the road eventually but even then I didn't feel a sense of sadness or disappointment for not having stayed; watching wildlife up close crossing a road to me is far less important than watching wildlife from afar being wildlife. I carried on to Mammoth Hot Springs and the park's north entrance at Gardner MT. Mammoth Hot Springs is pretty neat too. Not a lot of water when I was there but curiously stark and austere where dry or yellow, red, orange, and brown where water trickles and flows.

No camera tricks necessary, black and white juxtaposed with those colors of life.

I ate more ice cream and asked folks about the road ahead and with a fast and twisty descent said goodbye to the park and hello to Montana. Another storm was brewing and I followed the Yellowstone river and road north, all the while pedaling against the oncoming wind. As the day dragged on the twinge of pain I had felt in my achilles as I was hiking the stairs at Mammoth returned and became a regular concern.

The road ahead of me as I left Yellowstone behind.

In the end I had to get a room at Chico Hot Springs Resort. I was unhappy to have to shell out the $48 for a night at the time but it turns out I got a great deal at a pretty swanky place. I soaked in the hot mineral pool, dried my gear, rested, and in the morning decided to take an easier day after three long ones. My achilles felt ok at first, then not so ok, and when I hit Clyde Park I said I was done for the day, maybe two, even three. Then I bumped into another traveler, an older guy with a bike sitting on a bucket with a sign that read "89N". He and his bike were heading for Minnesota and I decided a little distance from him couldn't hurt so I carried on for another 8 miles to little Wilsall MT.

How majestic the Tetons truly are.

Last year we only ever managed to see the bottom third of this
stunning mountain range. This year is not last. Somehow they sprout
from nothing as if unawares that all too familiar and ever present
force of nature that keeps us grounded. From their jagged and
foreboding rawness echoes a luring song, sung by alpine sirens, that
resonates still. I want to go back.

If you know me well,

you know that I could never resist this.

The Jackson Hole

7/12/09 WY last

I often look at the blank box empty of words and don't really know
what to say, where to begin, wonder what I could write that could
capture whatever has been happening. And it happens most all of the
time.

I left Wilson WY for the Tetons, Yellowstone, and beyond almost a week
ago. The days have each been eventful in their own right. 24 hours, 24
hours, 24 hours, the consistent.

The day I dropped into the Bridger-Teton natnl forest a question I had
been rolling around in my thoughts for months felt more answered than
ever before. Posed in a movie I love, I Heart Huckabees, "how am I not
myself?" Its jus one of those notions I tossed around for some time
and crossing over into the mountains and forests after traveling the
sage strewn range for days I topped 'the rim' and reckoned with that
question. The answer could perhaps be verbalized but in reality is
more an unstated understanding, not necessarily a sensation, not even
an emotion, but a calm a peace an ease. An awareness of self. Jigsaw
pieces. So I descended to Hoback Junction and pedaled into Jackson,
tracked down Ronnie-Jean and Kyle, and carried on to their new place
in Wilson just a few miles away.

I don't really know how best to describe where they live, it's a cabin/
house outside Wilson with a view of the Tetons to the north and Teton
pass to the west, they're on 2 acres with an irrigation ditch running
along their property which makes for prime swiming for Kenzie the
malamut pup. One of the first things I noticed was the rhubarb growing
just off the porch. They didn't know what it was and I decided to make
a pie. I wasn't sure if I would stay an extra day but when Kyle told
me that the next day both he and Ronnie would be off and they were
going to a hootenanny my mind was made up to stick around. That first
nigt we all crowded into their kitchen and drank some local Snake
River beer, cooked a cottage pie, a rhubarb pie, and a bunch of fresh
corn which always makes me happy. They're from Maine and being around
them made me long all the more for my good friends out there in the
northeast. All of them.

My 'rest' day was filled with breakfast at Nora's in Wilson, a trip to
the post office in Jackson, a round of disc golf at Teton Village, a
supper of leftovers and more corn, the hootenanny, and all rounded off
with a moose sighting on the drive home. Oh, I got a coupon for free
cookies at the grocery store earlier in the day, too! Sitting at the
hoot' was perfect. Watching so many musicians come out to share with
each other while folks from all over were there just to be there in
the fading light on a cool summer evening in the mountains was
warming. Thoroughly. I was so happy to be there yet so sad to know
that the following morning I was going to get up just after the sun
and pack my bags, eat some oatmeal, drink one last cup of coffee with
Ronnie-Jean and Kyle, and set off on my journey once again.

The open range

7/6/09 Update This

Yesterday I hit Jackson around lunchtime but let me digress. Four days
ago I left Maybell heading for dirt roads, open range, canyons, and
the Wyoming border. I suppose you would say I was having a slow day? I
don't really know, it was one of those days where the pedals never
seem to turn easy, I'll just blame it on the wind though am unable to
recall which direction it was a'blowin. Along the north side of
Dinosaur Natnl. Monument I passed canyons and a few ranches dotting
the otherwise empty landscape before turning due north onto the 10N
road to begin my dirt road odyssey through Irish Canyon. It is so
named for the three Irishmen who robbed a Rock Springs saloon and made
for the north end of the canyon to consume the loot. If ever there was
going to ne a day to see snakes that was it, it was hot and dry and I
was alone with my thoughts and the pungent sage, but I only saw the
tail of what I presume was a small bull snake as it slithered away as
I was turning my bike around after snapping a picture. After four or
five hours of riding I hit the WY border and pavement so carried on
with another 55 miles to go to Rock Springs. I climbed, I descended, I
climbed, I descended, I ate and drank, and kept a vigilant eye on the
dark clouds that had been hanging over the western skies all day. With
about 90 miles under my belt and 30 still to go the dark sky overtook
me and began pelting me with raindrops as heavy as bumble-bees,
putting on a concert of rumbles, and occasionally flashing lightning
in the distance. Shortly after I decided to pick up my pace and head
for shelter at what looked like a ranch about a half mile ahead,
someone in a truck that had just passed me but turned around, asked me
if I wanted a ride because of the storm. I accepted. That particular
storm wasn't terrible but it did continue to storm on and off all
evening. So, Gary and I headed to Rock Springs, he drove me to a KOA
then upon arriving said I could just shower at his place and he'd take
me to a place I could camp for free, and after my shower he said I
could just stay there and sleep in the back of their camper van in the
driveway. As it turned out Thursday was Gary's Friday and I wonder if
he picked me up and kept me around for company because the rest of his
family seemed rather preoccupied with their own goings on, oh I doubt
it.

Having ridden close to 260 miles in three days I was determined to
make Friday easier and shorter so only went as far as the tiny
crossroads town of Farson, about 40 miles from Rock Springs. You
wouldn't think it a small town by the amount of business the
mercantile/ice cream parlor does, it was steady all day long and
deservedly so. I was most definitely a happy patron renewing my
fondness for strawberry cheesecake ice cream. It was an otherwise
uneventful day of sitting, napping, and sitting, with the occasional
intermission for a rainshower. The following day was the 4th of July
and the town was abuzz with talk of the Farson rodeo. For a moment I
thought about sticking around but decided to push on north.