The Hillbilly Hippies ski Basin Mountain

   Indeed, this happened several months ago in the spring, but cut me some slack--I got a new job (or 2), have an actual commute that I'm still getting used to, and am scrambling to try and fit in as much play time as possible. Being busy kind of stinks, it makes summer go by way too fast!

Basin Mountain in the early morning light, the East Couloir visible to the left side of the peak

   Kit and I had been planning all along to go down to Bishop for Mule Days over Memorial weekend, bringing dirt bikes and skis and not much of a plan aside from doing both of those things at some point figuring it out as we went along. Arriving at the Poleta Canyon OHV staging area on Friday night in the dark, we hoped to wake up and scrutinize the expansive view of the eastern Sierra from across the Owens Valley and see where decent skiing might be found. I looked through binoculars while eating breakfast the next morning, scanning Mt. Locke & Humphreys; Mt. Tom looked a little burned out and too far to hike to snow. What about Basin? Looks like the East Couloir has decent coverage and the snow doesn't start too far from the access road. We've talked about that one quite a lot and been magnetized by its commanding presence on the Bishop skyline, and it even sounded like a great idea to use dirt bikes for the approach.

Kit checking out Mt. Humphreys and the Wahoo Gullies on Mt. Locke

  Instead of riding Poleta, we decided to head across the valley and up to the Buttermilk boulders to do some approach scouting on motorcycles. While sort of a novelty, riding a dirt bike to the base of this climb seemed brilliant since we had that ability. Although Horton Lakes road (access to Basin) is drivable with a higher clearance vehicle, it sounded as though it was incredibly rough and rocky and would be slow going in the big truck, not to mention parking and turning around at the trailhead might be an issue. We found an excellent flat spot to park with the trailer and unload, then examined the map for a few minutes and took off for the Horton Lakes trailhead.
   The turn off of Buttermilk Road was easy to find and we quickly blasted up to the gate--so much more fun than creeping in the truck up a steep bumpy road. It looked like a couple hundred feet of vertical to hike to the first skin-able patches of snow, not bad at all. The lower snow field looked pretty terrible though, all covered in dirt and sticks, runnels and small suncups. In all it looked good to go, and there was still much time left in the day, so we decided to continue riding around the Buttermilk loop and do some exploration for future backcountry missions.

   The road was badly washed out just past the Horton Lakes turnoff but we were able to cross the ruts a couple of times and get beyond the worst parts. Once past there, at point where it appeared nobody had been through yet this season, we came upon a couple of creek crossings that looked a little high but we both scooted through without incident. The next turn we took followed a creek drainage toward Mt. Humphreys, which gained a ton of elevation and eventually we hit some snow patches and had to turn around. A couple of decent flat spots for camping around here, a creek, and nice views. We'll have to go back for that one.

How to ride a motorcycle with a ski mountaineering pack

   Continuing around the Buttermilk loop, we took a few more turns off the main road to explore, and then popped out back on the highway and back to the beginning of Buttermilk Road and our truck. Content with all we had seen and with a solid plan for the next day's climb, we packed up and went back down towards Bishop to take a few afternoon laps at the motocross track, before setting up camp and experimenting with the attachment of skis and boots to our packs and the whole situations's compatibility with riding a motorcycle.

   It's so hard to get out of a comfy bed early on the weekend, but the forecast was for a warm day and we didn't really want to ski glop or deal with wet slides so we rallied to get out of bed and get moving at 6. We each gulped down an egg sandwich and shouldered our awkward packs with skis, boots, poles, ice axes, etc poking out in all directions; and then, as if that wasn't enough of a challenge, threw a leg over our dirt bikes and tried to kick the starter without tipping over. Successful in that, I left camp gingerly at first and opened the throttle as I figured out the balance a little better. Once past the popular climbers' camp by the Buttermilk boulders where the road gets rough and sitting down is a terrible idea, my arms and legs were burning with the effort of hanging on and staying upright with an extra 30 pounds on my back. Horton Lakes road felt like an eternity even though we made good time up to the gate, just under half an hour. The fast way to approach, but certainly not the easiest way! My quads and triceps were already dreading the ride back down just a little bit...

  There were already several cars parked by the gate at 7am and we wondered if we had slept in just a little bit too long. Basin's East Couloir faced to the east and the rising sun was already directly upon it. Whatever. We'll just have to climb faster and catch them all. Except that there were no fresh boot tracks or skin tracks upon reaching the snow... bizarre! We eventually figured that those cars' owners must be hiking into Horton Lakes and elsewhere, because there was not another soul on Basin Mountain this day!

Snacking partway up

   The first pitch went by fairly quickly, a couple of hours or so, and we stopped for a quick snack on the saddle before continuing upward. A short traverse brought us to the base of the actual couloir and the pitch began to steepen, enough that I stopped to swap skis and poles for crampons and ice axe. Although the snow was soft and boot-able, I would rather wear than carry the extra weight, and it felt nice and secure kicking steps with sharp things on my feet and in my hand. At this point the couloir seemed endless, the top appearing just as far away from halfway up as it did from the bottom. We finally reached the giant rock in the middle where we'd agreed to stop for a snack break, and realized that the top was not far off at all.

   Maybe 20 minutes later, around 11:30 AM we reached the top of the couloir and dropped our packs, finding some comfy rocks to sit on and scarf down more food while taking a few photos of the views in all directions. The saddle atop the couloir was still probably a couple hundred feet below the true summit of 13,240 feet, but some chossy, loose rock lay between it and us, and no rope or climbing gear accompanied us. Highest skiable point, then, counts as a summit in our book!

 
 
We clicked into our skis just after noon and enjoyed some rather excellent skiing all the way down the East Couloir. Crossing the short traverse and scrambling back over the rock band took several minutes, and then we were back in our skis and hunting for the least crappy descent route down the last pitch, peppered with suncups and avalanche debris. Survival skiing at its finest--welcome to backcountry skiing!! We reached the tail end of the snow safely, following some sketchy maneuvering among giant runnels in sticky snow. The hike back down to our bikes was incredibly awkward in ski boots, but I managed to not trip over anything and tumble down the hill, all the while envious of Kit's relatively easier
walk in telemark boots...

  Back at the motorcycles, we arranged all of the skiing equipment back on our packs somewhat securely, as I faced the half hour ride back down the hill with more than a little apprehension. As it turns out, riding downhill isn't nearly as bad, and we putzed our way back down to camp, passing a couple of Jeeps crawling slowly down Horton Lakes road. We got a number of surprised looks cruising through Buttermilks camp and a few thumbs-up. The final challenge back at the truck: dismounting in such a way as to to avoid catching skis on bike and tipping over... Success! Tecates with lime all around! A 7 hour round trip from car to car, about 5,000 vertical feet of climbing and skiing, and another 2,000 of approach ride, and that classic peak was in the bag. We're off to find some delicious burgers and watch some Mule Days for the rest of the afternoon!

A horse riding in a car...always something outrageous at Mule Days!

 

For want of a sandwich, and maybe a beer: aka Robyn's first attempt at desert racing

   I found myself sitting on the side of the trail, with my motorcycle propped up against a course sweeper's bike, chatting about riding and racing and the slightly ridiculous situation we were in. I had broken my chain just past the 25-mile mark in my first ever desert race, about halfway through the course, and had somehow managed NOT to notice that it was the sole reason my bike wouldn't move. I had been cruising along enjoying the course, riding well and feeling strong, thinking that I had a pretty good chance of finishing a whole lap. When I heard the snap and my bike stopped moving, I panicked, of course. I am not a motorcycle mechanic by any stretch of the imagination! I looked at the motor and the clutch first and nothing seemed amiss (exploded into pieces), and I feel as though I must have looked at the front sprocket at some point since it lives in the same neighborhood. Was the chain still on it at that point or not? I'll probably never know now. The first guy who stopped to check on me was a sweep rider who declared it to be a toasted clutch, since that has happened to his bike before. He offered to tow me out to the closest road access, estimating it to be about 5 miles; then confiding that he had never towed anybody before. My only prior experience being towed on a dirt bike was terrifying: my old Honda wouldn't bump start until we got it to a steep enough hill, and the road became a rock garden for a good distance and I bumped along behind Kit at what seemed to be a breakneck speed. Therefore I was quite apprehensive about the whole process.

   Unsure of how else I would be getting out of there, and not occurring to me that it might be wise to wait for another sweep rider who knows the area much better and knew how to properly tow another rider, I agreed that it sounded like a plan. Wrapping the strap around my handlebar grip at first, I wrecked almost immediately. A couple more failed attempts and then I decided it made more sense to tie it to the middle of the bars. Thankfully we were in a sand wash so hitting the ground wasn't too bad. We made it several miles with me crashing intermittently; it's difficult enough for me to stay on top of the bike in sand under its own power, but being towed adds a whole new level of excitement. At one point, another sweep rode past as I was picking my bike up and observed that it was lacking a chain. Uhhh... what? Well shoot!! Where was this guy half an hour ago?

   On about the fifth crash or so my rescuer happened to notice his bike was leaking out of the radiator hose. Somehow the exhaust ran too close to the hose and had melted a hole in it, and it would have blown up his bike if I hadn't conveniently crashed just then. Thus began the first time we sat down to wait for somebody else to come along. I found out then that it was his first time sweeping a race, and they had not given him a radio, which might have been helpful. I ate some snacks, and he puttered with his bike trying to find a way to fix it. Eventually, another group of sweep riders came along, and all were incredulous that I failed to notice that my bike had no chain in the beginning. Yeah. Slightly embarrassing! Of course, those guys had seen a chain on the trail and wondered who could possibly just lose one like that. Would have been super awesome if somebody had stopped to pick it up, then this whole epic rescue adventure would have just ended with me riding my bike back under its own power.

   Two of those guys started towing us farther along the trail. This time he knew what he was doing and put the tow strap on our opposite foot pegs, instructing me to stay to the one side at all times. Now that's easier said than done while getting squirrelly as heck in the sand. I kept running over the tow strap, bouncing off of rocks and giant sagebrush bushes, and crashing several more times. He became quite frustrated with my ineptitude and at the same time his bike started overheating from the effort of towing in the sand. We caught up shortly with the other two and it turned out that his rescuer's bike was also not very happy, so they left us there and went off to find somebody with a bigger bike to get us the rest of the way out.

   So we sat. The weather couldn't have been nicer; sun shining, perfect temperature, a slight breeze. I had plenty of water but quickly finished all of my snacks. Bummer. It was getting close to 1 or 2 PM and I really could have used a sandwich and perhaps a beer to drown my sorrows and embarrassment. Some time passed, and a Razor four-wheeler appeared coming toward us. We strategized for a minute and he headed straight through the sagebrush toward the power lines maybe a quarter mile away, looking for the shortest, easiest route to the road. Not long after he disappeared, the sweet sound of a big 650 motorcycle engine came closer and closer. The ordeal was finally coming to an end, but the unknown in between was how the final stretch of towing would go down. As it turns out, uneventfully: I didn't crash a single time. Had a couple of close calls though it was much easier not riding in the sand. Much shorter, too. A truck waited for us at the road with a cooler full of beers in the back, and I cracked one open in celebration, relieved to have gotten out of there with as little damage to myself and bike as possible considering the number of times I'd wiped out on the other end of the tow strap.

   Once back at the staging area, as I gathered up my things and rolled my bike back toward the truck, a random guy (who I could barely see without my Rx goggles on) stopped and asked what happened. He said "you were doing so awesome, you're my hero!" Seriously? Yeah, seriously. I thanked him. Told him I'd be out there again and next time I was going to finish!

   About four hours after starting the race I finally got my sandwich, and sat to watch Kit and his buddy come in after riding the full 100-mile, two loop course. Both tried to bypass the finish and come straight to the truck, almost falling over while looping back around to finish properly. Neither one could walk very well after coming in from that burly ride, and both of them agreed that the second loop was way harder than the first. Sort of a good thing that I didn't finish the first lap and decide to go out for the second, it may have been a rescue mission anyhow.

   So went my first desert motorcycle race... and you can bet that I finished the next one, a rough and rocky 30 miles--and I carried a beer in my pack just in case--sort of like carrying an umbrella to keep it from raining I figured.

Adventures of the Hillbilly Hippies: Riding Bishop's White Mountains

   Somehow we managed to leave town and go camping two weekends in a row, something that has not happened in quite some time. For our first trip, over the last weekend in October, it was looking like nasty weather in Tahoe but quite nice in Bishop, and neither of us felt quite ready for winter yet so it was a great opportunity to escape. Although we packed climbing gear, the first item on our agenda was a return trip to Poleta Canyon to ride the Woodcutter Trail: a narrow sliver of singletrack starting at an open mine and winding across a steep sidehill, then becoming a smooth, flowing, stupendously fun trail leading high into the White Mountains and ending at the Black Canyon jeep trail. 

Waiting for Kit to find the right road to the Poleta mine.

   Ever since our first motorcycle adventure in the White Mountains two years ago we had both been wanting to go back and ride the trails we found, plus explore a little bit to try and find more. I was particularly interested to find if the narrow sidehill parts of the Woodcutter Trail got any less scary with a couple of years of riding experience, or if it was still terrifying because I was on a larger, much more powerful bike… as it turns out, I was still pretty scared at times but I felt much more confident in my riding skills and bike control and definitely got through it faster than the first time.

Heading through the sketchiest part of the Woodcutter Trail.

   I was cruising along, cleaning the few small technical rocky bits and feeling so good that I was ready to throw myself at the rock waterfall partway through the upper single track—that is, until I dumped my bike three times in a row in the last 20 feet approaching the waterfall. Nope, still not a mountain bike! Mental momentum was crushed, and I got frustrated, so I gave my bike to Kit and sat back to watch. Unfortunately I pushed the wrong button on the GoPro to record all the fun. He had cleaned it on his bike this time around so I thought it might be a cake walk, but it took him a few tries to get up all of the steps, and he was about ready to chuck my bike back down the whole thing out of frustration. Apparently my bike wasn’t quite as cooperative to ride as his newer more upgraded machine… go figure!

Back to being Miss Dumps-a-lot. Dreaded waterfall section looms in the background.

   From there my silly grin returned as the trail wound higher and higher into the White Mountains on flowing single track, dodging junipers and low hanging pine branches and occasionally catching glimpses of the Sierra Nevada to the west. Just under an hour later we reached the double track, the trail flying past so much more quickly than before, and stopped for a snack break. With a decent map and some help from fuzzy memory, we found the descent route via Black Canyon and started downward. At one point we detoured onto a fork in the road to find an old mining camp with a cool stone bath house built over a running spring. 

Snack time, with a grand view of the Sierra!!

Old mining camp.

The bath house.

   Back on the main route and further down, we stopped at an intersection where a fork of the road went back up in the direction we came from. Kit wanted to do a little more exploration since it was still early in the day, and I thought it was a fine idea, remembering that the rider we met up here last time mentioned some more single track trails up in this area. So we went up a sandy road, then took a fork to the west and uphill, turning into a narrower trail that dropped into a canyon. It still looked like a legitimate trail at this point, and we followed it downward over small rocks that became larger waterfalls, until they became so tall and steep that the several other tracks we followed at this point went up and around through loose rock. The last large drop we came to was a good 40 feet of sheer cliff with no way to get down, and the trail seemed to disappear after going up and around to the top of the ridge. Kit went exploring on the ridge top as I struggled in the loose jumbled rocks still trying to follow, when tipping over to the downhill side and slightly tweaking my wrist pushed me to the point of utter frustration. Quickly losing my sense of adventure I left my bike laying in the rocks and angrily stomped up to the top of the hill, finding a place to sit and eat some food, figuring that being hungry never helps these situations.

Time for a frustrated snack break, looking over at the Black Canyon, which we hoped to get back to.

   From my seat on the ridge I spotted what looked like a road and some tracks below. While I didn’t feel completely lost, I sure as heck didn’t want to retrace our route back up this canyon with all of its obstacles at this point in the day. Kit came back from his mission without a lot of inspiring news; the trail he had found further up the ridge had a hill climb so nasty that he barely was able to make it up. Then the sound of a motorcycle echoed off the canyon across from us, coming from below where I had seen the road. Looking at the slope below us it seemed like the best option to get back to the road, though it was steep and loose and quite frankly looked terrifying with my amateur descending skills on a dirt bike, and I wasn’t in a mood for any of that at this point. So, I made Kit hike back up and ride my bike down, which I felt a little bit guilty about but at the same time I didn’t want to wreck again and make the same idiotic move of putting my hand out to catch myself. Though my wrist thankfully wasn’t terribly painful, it didn’t seem like a great idea to put it through too many more hazardous situations.

   There was a short piece of trail with a couple more waterfalls to navigate at the bottom of the canyon we dropped into, but shortly we were back out on the road and descending through the Black Canyon. Between the high rock walls and tunnels of yellow and bright green trees, even the double track jeep trail was a spectacular experience. Extremely rocky as well, though the suspension on my new bike gave a much better ride than the previous trip down it on my tiny TTR125. 

Finally heading down the Black Canyon Rd.

   The road became smoother and wider, eventually dropping down into the Owens Valley, and we navigated back to the upper Poleta OHV parking area where we had set up camp. Relieved and exhausted, we cracked open beers and stuffed ourselves with snacks to celebrate a successful adventure into the unknown and back, without any major mishaps or mechanical breakdowns. Quite the memorable ride as well--from the fun to the hopeless flailing, this is a sport that will continue to challenge me for years to come. Also amazing is that we saw nobody at all the entire ride, only hearing the one rider coming through Black Canyon while we were on the ridge above figuring out our situation. We will certainly be back to see if there are more trails up there that we didn’t find, because it is one spectacular place to ride dirt bikes!

Safely back in camp! (notice zero other cars in the parking lot)

Fall musings: catching up

Finding new awesome places in our back yard!

  I sit here wondering how on earth I had ever managed to write two blog posts in one month, as I contemplate yet another unfinished draft on the screen started sometime in the last 2 months. Yellow aspen leaves cover the ground and the air becomes more chilly and crisp every morning. Another summer has come and gone, and thankfully this one has been more adventurous and fun-filled than the past several. There were more than a handful of great mountain bike rides, plenty of exploring the backyard mountains on dirt bikes, learning to ride a standup jet ski, even some tennis and disc golf at the nearby regional park. And of course, plenty of beach time, given our prime location right across the street from the lake.

   Summer has thrown me for more than a few loops, however: a multitude of random small knee tweaks, 3 ankle sprains, minor sprains in both wrists; and to top it all off, after almost 18 years without any trouble wearing contact lenses, my eyes seemed to rebel becoming overly dry and very easily irritated. The most recent episode has had me out of contacts for over a month. Let me tell you, having to wear thick prescription glasses while riding a bicycle is a game-changer, and not in a good way. It's borderline terrifying! Every time I go through a rocky section I feel like I might as well have my eyes closed, I can't trust anything from where the rocks are to what my front wheel is doing. I don't think I've ridden so slowly in years. Also a bit dangerous: my most recent ankle sprain came courtesy of clipping a snow stake with my handlebar right in my front yard coming back from a ride. Clear peripheral vision is something one really takes for granted until they don't have it! I'm finally getting some new glasses after close to 10 years, a pair that I can hopefully do things in--or try to--without being a total klutz. And some prescription goggle inserts for moto and downhill riding, a bit more comfortable under goggles if not also better to see with. In the meantime really hoping and praying I will at some point successfully wear contacts again (or just get dang laser surgery)!! I'm so thankful that I was able to be as athletic as I have been in the past 20 years, because I sure don't think I would have been nearly as successful had I had to wear glasses the entire time...

   I found that riding a dirt bike with glasses stuffed underneath my goggles feels for some reason far less sketchy than riding a mountain bike wearing said glasses, though I can't say it makes me ride any better. That is perhaps because I already feel sketchy riding a dirt bike... haha... but it makes me want to moto a lot more! Add to that my upgrade to Kit's old YZ250 after he bought a newer bike, and I feel like I might be running out of excuses to be slow. Though it's a little heavier and feels less nimble on tight technical trails, the bike has SO much more low end torque than the 125 that it feels almost like a four-stroke in comparison. So far I like it a whole lot, I don't feel too overwhelmed by the power now that I've learned the clutch is my friend, and it will definitely make me a better rider (someday). For now, it will make me a lot stronger every time I have to pick it up after dumping it.

   The bad eye situation threw out my last chance of doing a bike race this year, as I decided it would be far better for my health to not try and race the gnarly Mammoth enduro course with the handicap of sketchy glasses (plus I probably would have crash landed on my face and broken my only pair). That bums me out a lot! On a brighter note I'm really looking forward to this winter and trying my first ever desert race on a dirt bike. New people, a completely new experience, and instead of having the pressure of going fast and being all "pro" and stuff I'm going to just try and finish in the Novice class. Probably making a fool of myself at some point dumping the bike or getting horribly stuck or wheelie-ing it out from under myself and up the trail... or all of the above. I'll usually try just about anything that doesn't look way over my head, and that can lead to some entertaining times and tumbling bikes. Hopefully, by the next time I get around to writing, there will be a good story to tell about my first off-road motorcycle racing adventure!

Adventures of the Hillbilly Hippies: Matterhorn Peak or thereabouts

   After pulling into a parking space at the west end of Twin Lakes near Bridgeport CA, Kit climbs into the camper and starts tossing ski boots, skins, and other various pieces of gear out from their storage. It's about 10:30 AM, following a leisurely breakfast and more catching up with a good friend visiting from up in Oregon, and I was figuring on a mellow day of hiking around checking out ski access for next winter, perhaps trying to catch some fish. However, he's decided after seeing the snowfields around the Sawtooth range in all their glory that going on a hike without bringing skis is a silly thought. Never mind our idea of an "alpine" start...

Just starting up the Horse Creek switchbacks

   It took all of five minutes to convince me that taking skis along was the thing to do--I was still feeling rather out of shape but I was pretty confident I could at least give it an honest try. So I said, wonky knees be damned, I need a good nutty mountain adventure and that's exactly why we are here! What better way to celebrate my birthday!!

In the meadows above Horse Creek Falls

   Shouldering our packs and wandering into the campground, we got a little helpful trail beta from a climber who was about to embark on the same route, sans skis of course, for a 2-day climb of Matterhorn Peak. We cruised up the Horse Creek falls switchbacks and on past the beaver ponds after the terrain flattened out, swatting at mosquitoes (who forgot the repellent?) and marveling at the lack of any other people at this point. Maybe I'm not as out of shape as I think, for an average human anyhow... And at around 8,500 feet, finally, a patch of snow! And another! Shortly after, the route intersected a steep snowfield where we stopped for a lunch of leftover spaghetti and put our ski boots on, hoping for continuous snow from here.

Just about to take off our ski boots and put hiking shoes on again

  Wishful thinking that turned out to be: a change in aspect brought no snow in sight for at least another thousand feet of vertical up granite slabs and loose kitty litter switchbacks. I proposed that we could climb up the snow-covered eastern Horse Creek drainage to a high point and get some nice fall line turns down, but Kit disagreed, thinking it would be way cooler to follow the approach for Matterhorn Peak and see how far up we could get. I concurred. Back on with the shoes for now. At this point my legs were really feeling worked, not painful just tired and slowing down a lot. Plodding up the steep switchbacks in the sun I was finally starting to wear down and lose motivation, seeing us hiking back down this part of trail if we didn't find another way down with more snow.

Snow! Lake! And such majestic granite peaks!

   Reaching the top of the ridge we were greeted by a tiny alpine lake and jagged granite peaks above in all directions. Finding snow again and finally putting skis on feet felt energizing, and we skinned up rather sun-cupped snow towards the rocky pyramid of Matterhorn Peak. The west couloir was looking very enticing. Maybe another thousand feet higher in elevation I spotted what looked like a break in the cliffs to our left, possibly offering an escape into the eastern drainage for a better ski descent. Still thinking we might head higher I clicked out of my skis and scrambled over just to check it out. Meanwhile Kit takes his skis off and sits down for a snack. We discuss our options, settling on heading back down from here. After all, we still had to hike all the way back down to the car, most of it carrying skis and boots. Neither of us had remembered a headlamp, and even with the long days near summer solstice it seemed like a good idea not to push our luck.

Skinning up below Matterhorn Peak

   A short scramble through some trees and we popped out at the top of a nice steep snowfield. It looked as though we would have to traverse quite a bit to stay on continuous snow, but from my memory looking at it from below, it should be do-able. We could have hiked over and up from here for more vertical descent, but both our legs said mehhhhhh.

Back over to the eastern Horse Creek drainage

   Skis on and we're off! A couple of turns, then a hard traverse right, over some rocks and more traversing. We found ourselves atop a steep section that narrowed a bit but definitely went through.
Yes!!

Most excellent skiing to be had!

Not bad at all!

   Great skiing through here, and then an attempted launch off a nice quarter pipe feature below brought some laughs as Kit went flying sideways. Then, dodging rocks to the end of the snow, followed by a good bit of the favorite hiking over talus in ski boots to reach the next snow patch.

Sometimes you just don't want to take your skis off going from one patch to the next--or across a creek.

   Back at our lunch spot it was time to put skis and boots back on our packs for the dreaded hike back down to Twin Lakes. Fun and exhilaration faded into weary legs and sore shoulders, navigating jumbled boulders and rocky trails, trying not to trip and go sprawling all across the trail with legs and skis flying.

   Distance flew by until we reached the switchbacks; there, time slowed to a crawl and the valley floor seemed not to get any closer. Feet and knees ached and the trail dove downward relentlessly, until finally Twin Lakes came into view, tantalizing with the promise of a dip in the icy cold water. Almost there, nothing can stop us now...

   Finally the trail reached the river and became flat, just before tents and campers came into view among the trees. Across the campground and to the truck, dropping our packs, kicking off shoes and cracking open beers. 6 hours from car to car, a cheers to the longest, most awesome mountain adventure I have been on since probably 2012. I felt no weird joint pains at all, hooray! Slightly sunburned, covered in mosquito bites, and every muscle tired and sore, I definitely earned the lazy Sunday that followed--and I also probably can't call myself totally out of shape any more following this nearly 10-mile round trip with 3,000 feet in elevation gain!

Hey summer, slow down!!

   Holy moly! Time seems to be flying by at warp speed--is it really the end of June already? Being busy is good in some ways, but sure as heck doesn't let me "waste" time writing pointless blog posts any more. Life is generally pretty awesome back up on the north shore of Tahoe, living just steps from the lake, riding a bike to work every day and taking the dog to the beach just about every night. I figure I've gotten more hours on the bike than in the past 3(!!) summers already, although I managed to miss the first race I had signed up for in June due to a combination of a crazy work deadline and slight tweak to the knee. A huge bummer, and it leaves me feeling that I still need to prove to myself that I can do a dang bike race if I want to!

   The knee/hip/everything else problems are still working themselves out slowly, with about an hour or so of stretches and exercises before work every morning plus as much foam roller as I can stand. Nothing feels perfect but it's not bad enough to stop me from riding...usually. There have been a handful of random mishaps like a sprained ankle, neck, knee and lower back tweaks, all spaced out about 2 weeks apart and one right when the previous is finally feeling healed. It felt like about 3 months of that annoying business. Must be just getting old and clumsy or something.

   The dirt bike was supposed to be a winter toy for those weekends when the snow isn't great, put away for most of the summer in favor of a mountain bike, but the more I figure out my new moto the more awesome it gets and it's becoming a real dilemma what to ride in between working on projects around the house. Add to that the plethora of OHV trails behind my house and the indecision only increases. We've found some really awesome new singletrack to explore and can get to places after work that would never happen on a 2-hour mountain bike pedal. It's a blast, I can't argue with myself on that at all!

   Yeah, I do really want to do some enduro MTB racing, and I miss the awesome people I've met racing bikes in the past. Still love the silence and light-ness of being on a mountain bike. But dang, I've got a pretty hardcore dirt bike addiction going right now! The speed and focus of riding a downhill bike but ALL the time, not just going down hills. The challenge of finding things that I think for sure I can't get up, but then with some struggling I can eventually get at least my bike up it even if I'm not riding it at the moment... occasionally, I even get through the harder technical bits while actually ON the motorcycle, now that deserves an extra beer at the end of the ride!
 

Spring in the desert just might be my favorite! So many wildflowers!

   So there was the short version of the last 3 or 4 months. What's next? Scheduling is looking like a mess this summer with a couple of weddings interfering with two big races I'd wanted to do at Northstar and Mammoth, and the rest of the California Enduro Series being just plain sold out. What the heck! Guess I'll have to take up motorcycle racing in the desert this fall... I can't imagine those being sold out at all. If I manage to do some mountain bike racing at all this summer I will definitely be posting about the momentous occasion, as well as any other awesome adventures that I can get into now that I'm not completely falling apart any more. Let's hope things keep going that way because I am having entirely too much fun with life again!

How to be a beginner... again

   I keep starting blog posts and forgetting to finish them until long after they've become irrelevant, so with a little extra time on hand I figured I'd get this one out there. We seem to have blown right past 2015 and into February of 2016 already. How'd that happen so fast?? The skiing was incredible from December until the end of January when things warmed up a lot, and we've more or less had spring for a few weeks now.  Great corn skiing and perfect beach afternoons with the dog have been in abundance. Also, nice weather means spending more time with my new obsession: dirt biking. All of this is great, but we could probably use a little more snow before spring really begins to warm things up, and help the lake fill up some more. Lake level is looking much better than it has in several years but still has a long ways to go before many of the piers on the north shore are back in the water.

   On to the whole beginner thing... For Christmas Kit absolutely nailed gift-giving, and though it wasn't much of a surprise because we discussed the options at length, he brought me home a new dirt bike. I thought it was pretty funny how I putted along happily on my little Honda CRF-230 without complaining but when Kit hopped on to try and get it un-stuck from some situation I'd gotten it into, he declared it was a giant heap of junk. Taking a spin on his bike I realized quickly that yes, brakes ARE actually supposed to work to slow you down. And a bike without a kick start is no good when the battery refuses to stay charged. At least I got really good at figuring out how to bump start the bike in all different kinds of terrain.

The new shred-mobile!

   I almost ended up with a 4-stroke 250 trail bike, but before we went to look at any it was decided that one of those was going to be way too heavy; me not being very big plus the number of times I would probably be lifting and lugging it around after wiping out. The new bike wound up being a 2-stroke Yamaha YZ-125, almost identical to Kit's bike but with a smaller engine, almost 80 pounds lighter than my CRF and supposedly easy to fix if I blow it up. Finally a real "grown-up" bike! Having friends who ride 2-stroke bikes I had heard plenty about how different they can be to ride and I couldn't help but be a little nervous about the whole situation. Riding my CRF was sort of like riding an extremely heavy bicycle with a motor, very predictable and would crawl up most things I'd care to point it at. It also sort of didn't seem to care what I did with the clutch lever and wouldn't exactly leap forward with the throttle open.

   So, for my first time on the new bike I was slightly terrified, although the first 10 minutes was an anticlimactic comedy of stalling every time I tried to take off in first gear. Apparently, modulating the clutch does actually serve a useful purpose, unlike on my old bike which seemed to go no matter what--stalling and/or popping unintentional wheelies was a frequent occurrence at first but I've been getting much better lately. A slight twist of the throttle will send the bike jumping almost out from underneath me, requiring constant attention to my hands and positioning on the bike. I would compare it to riding a skittish horse that might spook at any moment but can be kept somewhat under control with the right technique. A different animal entirely!

   Once I got a little better at actually controlling the bike things got even more fun. The YZ even feels way lighter, handles so much better and is getting more and more rad to ride every time, though I'm still working on the clutch-throttle control for trickier hill climb conditions. When things don't go as planned, it's also noticeably lighter to pick up and get turned around, though still a heavy beast compared with a mountain bike and will wear me out in a hurry!

   Oddly enough, it turns out, my nemesis is going downhill, which I discovered pretty early on. Strange for a pro-ish downhill mountain biker, right? I thought so too. For some reason, staring down a steep long hill strewn with loose shale with a long ways to go to the safe runout turns me into a blubbering weenie. The brakes are weird--right foot rear brake is the farthest from making any sense at all! Then I freak out and forget that the clutch lever is not a brake like on a mountain bike. I discover that engine braking on 2-strokes is not quite as strong as on 4-strokes, and the engine keeps dying and rear wheel locking up, sliding sideways in the looseness. If I accidentally hit the throttle, nothing good happens. Way too much going on, when the last thing I want to be doing is picking up more speed! What do I do then? BAIL!!!! This is not the recommended solution, however, especially when one's leg might get twisted funny and result in a sore knee for a couple of weeks. Acquiring a brace seemed like a good idea after that experience. Eventually I will conquer this irrational fear of descending, but until then I might wind up coasting down many things with the engine off to feel more like a bicycle.

Kit gets sideways in the sand.

   All sports have inherently frustrating moments but I haven't been so thoroughly humbled in a long time as I have learning how to ride a dirt bike... though I've progressed a lot in the year and a half since I started, it still feels like everyone else is miles ahead of me. Perhaps if I was able to pay my way to a World Cup downhill I would experience a similar level of complete ass-kicking. Not all trails are quite as gnarly as what I got dragged through last month, but there are constant challenges to figure out, and occasionally a chance to celebrate getting through something I didn't think I could do. Riding with awesome friends who wait for me and make sure I don't get hopelessly lost or stuck also helps a lot. Trials and tribulations haven't seemed to ruin the fun yet and I find myself grinning all the way home after a ride, uncontrollably excited for the next time I get to get out and test myself on the same hill or techy trail, unable to stop talking about what a great ride it was! Somehow the allure of mastering something completely new has become an obsession the likes of which I haven't felt in some time. Not that I've completely given up on mountain biking yet, don't worry!