A Frosty Winter Run

A rare weather system has brought the Pacific Northwest relief from the typical low, grey skies, drizzly rain, and perpetual sogginess, instead revealing blue skies, snow-covered volcanic peaks, and foggy puffs of breath in lung-searing cold air. Most Portlanders root for a comeback of "50 degrees and rain," but I, for one, enjoy the taste of real winter minus the snow.

I packed smartly for my trip this week, anticipating a need for running tights, gloves and hat. So yesterday I decided to take advantage of the no-wind conditions in Pasco, Washington for an extended running adventure. I waited until the sun was high in the sky (or at least as high as it was likely to get; this time of year, it slinks low across the southern sky in the narrow space between sunrise and sunset), warming the air to low twenties rather than the teens. All skin covered except my face, I donned my iPod and trotted down the busy street toward the Columbia River.

Washington's Tri-Cities don't seem to offer much in the form of recreation, but a well-constructed path along both shores of the mighty Columbia make it a decent place to run when the wind isn't howling. On this day, I opted to break out of my usual counter-clockwise routine and run the 8-mile "Bridge Loop" in reverse. Just before joining the path, I passed a flock of geese taking refuge in an empty (brown) grassy lot. Where the path runs adjacent to a park, I looked up to see a bald eagle sunning himself in a bare tree top, non-plussed by the cold. He calmly surveyed his surroundings, noting me with mild interest when I stopped to admire him.

Laboring up the incline of the cable bridge, I distracted myself from the noise of close traffic by admiring the calm water of the river. Ducks floated in the sun and ice formed in the shadows.

Despite the serene beauty, I had the trail all to myself as I shuffled alongside dilapidated barns from antique farms enveloped by modern trailer parks and gas stations. I was brought back to reality by the noise of traffic as I crossed the blue bridge, then escaped again to weave through quiet neighborhoods back to the hotel. A perfect day for a run.

Halloween Cross Crusade

“Get a costume!” You gotta be faster than that if you're not wearing a costume!” were some of the heckling calls from the frenzied area near the barriers on the upper end of the course. A rowdy crowd had gathered on the bandstand and along the course opposite, cowbells jangling and beer flowing freely. Supportive cheers favored those in costume for the day-after-Halloween race (Sunday is always the costume day in Astoria—always, even though Halloween actually fell on Saturday this year.

I arrived Saturday morning in the middle of the Men's Master C race to a field oddly quiet for a cyclocross race. Now and then a racer would come by and occasionally a cheer or weak cowbell sounded. A hard rain the night before turned the course to chocolate pudding that was beginning to solidify between rain showers.

The Astoria double header is a Halloween tradition for the Cross Crusade crowd. Teams rent houses in the coastal town, racers and their families fill hotel rooms, and the hardiest camp on the race course at the Clatsop County Fairgrounds. Sunday's costume race draws the biggest crowd, with racers arriving throughout the day Saturday for the evening's festivities.

As I made my way toward the start line for the women's race, I considered which layers to remove and which to leave on for the race. The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds, warming and drying the field. About a minute later, the bottom fell out of the sky and a torrential downpour turned the course back into a slippery, sloppy mess. Women racers huddled under the arena waiting for the rain to slack off before lining up for the start. Just as suddenly as it began, the rain stopped and the starter began call-ups for those with points to start at the front.

Despite my front-line starting position, when the whistle blew I felt the crowd swallow me as I fumbled to lock my cleat into my pedal. Solidly mid- to rear-pack heading down the steep hill after the start, I tried to find a balance between riding a fast, clean line and avoiding the pileups of crashing riders ahead of me. After making a turn through the flat field at the bottom, the course headed back up the hill. Normally a ridable grade, the mud forced a dismount near the top and my legs, strong while riding the bike, turned to concrete blocks when I tried to run the hill. And my terrible remount technique did me no favors in the short, slippery area at the top.

The course now threaded its way through and around several empty horse barns, then up another hill with a slick crux in the middle. I could clean the hill if I got a running start and could head straight up the center. Unfortunately, nearly every lap presented an obstacle—bikes entangled in the mud or racers spinning out and walking. Then the four-pack of barriers, then another set of tight turns that included a steep, off-camber hill than invariably involved running. I deemed this course the most challenging to date with more time off my bike than ever before.

By the third lap, I had worked my way back toward the front of the pack and was riding with people I normally finished near. With he-man strength, I hefted my cement legs up the hill toward the horse barn and attempted to remount. As I swung my leg over the saddle, my bike, with a mind all its own, swerved abruptly into the wide green barn door. Later, my teammate Abra said she was laughing so hard she couldn't get back on her bike. “I watched you do the worst remount ever and then crash into the barn door,” she said. “I was laughing so hard and thinking 'how does she DO that?'” referring to my strong finishes despite bad technique. I finished in fourth place, my best finish yet.

Sunday morning's fog yielded to a blue-sky day with no wind for the costume race. Favorites included a sloth, a pregnant nun, a robot, and a bike-bull chasing a herd of matadors. Team Sorella Forte raced as synchronized swimmers and performed graceful maneuvers during the race. My two female teammates and I wore red Baywatch swimsuits and carried rescue boards on our backs. One of our male teammates wore swim trunks and wrote “Don't hassle the Hoff” on his back; he ran next to us alongside the course at various points.

By Sunday afternoon, the party at the “heckle pit” by the barriers was in full swing. The sun was warm and the reversed and modified course included human barriers.

Weekend crashes included going down hard as I made the turn into the arena, poised to make an inside pass when my bike slid out from under me, and a dive into the mud during one of the hard turns between the horse barns.

Four o'clock saw the last of the pro racers finish and bike-topped cars streaming toward Portland and another week of reality.

Cross Crusade #1

As I drove through downtown on my way to the Alpenrose Dairy Velodrome, I saw the throngs of runners 15 minutes into the Portland Marathon cruising along Front Street, a backdrop for the glassy Willamette River in the almost dawn light. Seven years ago when I lined up for my 10th marathon and second Portland, I had never heard of cyclocross. Now I felt only a mild twinge of envy, looking forward to a day of cowbells, pommes frites, and Bob's Red Mill oatmeal.

I pulled up behind my teammate Jeff's blue Sprinter van as I exited the freeway. Perfect timing! My race wasn't until 2pm, but I volunteered to arrive early and help set up the team tent on the front lines of the course. The dairy grounds were cool and quiet in a light fog with few signs of the chaos and insanity that would ensue.

It only took a few minutes to pop the awning on the Sprinter and erect the Showers Pass tent next to it, but early arrival is essential to enjoying the front-row view of the course. I also got through the registration line quickly and rode the course before it closed for a full day of racing with a record turnout of almost 1,500 riders turning three to six laps each of the 2.1-mile course featuring two sets of barriers, a flight of concrete stairs, and a steep hill run-up.

The Beginner Men kicked off the day at 9am. I settled in for a day of cheering, heckling and cowbell ringing. I warmed up on the trainer while I watched my friends Peter, Neal and Russ in the single-speed race. Then I went to line up for my race, fighting some pre-race jitters despite telling myself it was just for fun and it didn't matter how I finished.

When the start whistle sounded, I found myself in the middle of a situation I planned to always avoid--dozens of fast-moving cyclists rounding corners on pavement at high speed. This is why I don't road race! I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and settled into the pack as we made the third turn onto the grass, dirt and gravel course. I was farther back than I wanted to be and worried about getting boxed in, but also wanted to slow my heart rate and not feel panicked.

A long, bumpy downhill, then a sharp right turn uphill to a sharp left turn. My friend Jake (the pommes frites vendor) had warned me earlier to gear down before the climb to ride past everyone who got stuck in high gear and had to walk the hill. I remembered and clicked down several gears on the descent, then cut to the inside of the turn, riding past several riders who sling-shotted to the outside. I stood up on the climb and made another pass on the second turn before getting boxed in on the singletrack through the trees. After a couple tight turns, the course widened for a downhill straight-away then made a quick u-turn before climbing the straight-away--some good passing opportunities.

A couple more corners, flat straight-aways, then a bumpy, twisting descent to the bottom of the run-up. I got up the run-up well, but did not remount smoothly, losing some of my gained ground before entering the velodrome for some loop-de-loops and barrier hopping. The course climbs as it exits the velodrome, catering to my strengths and presenting additional passing opportunities. I stood the climb and scooted past several more riders. Some more tight turns, the second set of barriers, then a paved flat to gear up and hammer. Then a 180 to the stairs. One lap down!

Much to my surprise, I continued to feel strong and moved up every lap, finally finishing in 15th place out of over 50 in the Women's Category B race. The entire last lap, I went back and forth with a girl in a blue jersey that I just couldn't seem to lose. I would pass her on a straight-away but lose ground to her on the barriers or stairs. I passed her just before the run-up, but she overtook me at the top and I just couldn't catch her again. We talked afterward--her name is Kelly and she's a student at U. of O. She's new to the area and doesn't really know anyone; it was her first 'cross race (and my second) and she had a blast. It was a fun rivalry.

The pro race is the last event of the day and truly amazing to watch. Ryan Trebon gets his 6'7" frame up the steep hill in about two strides. He doesn't even have to hop the barriers. The fluid technique and superhuman speed is something to behold.

Next Sunday, 1,500 racers will be back for more, this time at Ranier High School a few miles down the Columbia River.

40th Birthday Hike in Glacier Peak Wilderness.

That's right--I'm 40! How the F--- did that happen? And no, we didn't go to Glacier National Park--that's in Montana. Glacier Peak is one of the tallest mountains in Washington's North Cascade range and has a wilderness area named after it.

As always, my objective is to get up high--above timberline where there there's lots of granite, wildflowers and glacial lakes. To that end, I planned the first day to be long and hard, to get to the destination, so we could leisure it and enjoy the scenery for a few days. Loaded for five days, we set out up the North Fork of the Sauk River, pretty mellow at first. But two miles in, we crossed the river and started up Pilot Ridge.

The trail ascends unapologetically, gaining elevation at an astounding rate. Water sources are few and small this late in the season, so we filled up where we could and rationed well. We were tempted by a sparse campsite on the low end of the ridgetop, but the long hike to water kept us pressing on. Sweating and heaving, we only took a couple breaks on the 11.7-mile trudge, punishing ourselves for our late start. I did start to lag behind as we proceeded up the ridgeline as I found the mother lode of huckleberry harvests and couldn't resist the temptation to snack.

At about the point where we decided to rename the trip my "40th Birthday Death March," Scott said, "You know, Sherman, a lot of women just want dinner and a movie for their birthday." He even said he would have flown me to Maine for dinner at Conti's, this place that we sampled once and have fantasized about ever since. We laughed, but I knew the reward would be worth it.

We trudged into Blue Lake just moments before dark, dropping packs to scramble in different directions and quickly identify the best campsite. Then I set up the tent and our beds while Scott fired up the stove for drinks and dinner. We were well fortified on our hike with giant deli sandwiches we purchased on the way to the trailhead, so opted for the lightest dinner choice--curried couscous with raisins. Hot cocoa with Bullet Bourbon served us well as both apperatif and dessert. We watched the fog roll up the valley, settle into the cirque of Blue Lake, recede, then creep back in.

We slept until 8 a.m. when we heard a hiker calling to his partner that he was off the trail again. We had let Tucker out of the tent an hour or so before and worried that he was bothering people. Alas, he was just scouting the area for squirrels and eagerly came running for breakfast. Happy birthday to me! I opened most of my gifts at home, but Scott had brought one on the trip for me--a new Patagonia top that came in handy in the warm, sunny morning. We loitered around camp, marveling over the lake which we barely saw the night before. We even jumped in briefly (very briefly). By the time we had breakfast and packed up camp, it was 1 p.m. again, a now familiar start time for us.

Although the day would generally be an easy one, the start was a bear--a 1,000 climb out of the cirque on a steep, rocky trail, followed by a hairy descent on a narrow, loose, scree-covered and exposed slope. The view from the saddle was amazing, though! We all enjoyed a rest there, had a snack and snapped some pictures.

Once down the slope and back on the main trail, the hiking got easier and the scenery was just as rewarding as I had hoped. We hiked through the four-way junction of Dishpan Gap, then northward on the Pacific Crest Trail along Sauk Pass. You could see high peaks in every direction, for as far as you could see. It truly felt like we were far from anything. One of the most genuine wilderness experiences I've ever had.

We took advantage of an obscure stream for water and shortly after an irresistible meadow for lunch. Pondering the map, I surmised that we had traveled three miles in three hours! Time to get a move on.

The views and easy hiking continued for another mile and a half, then we dropped into and across a high valley, climbing back out of it toward our intended camp at Reflection Pond. Mostly in the trees until the junction right before the pond. Here we saw the first people we had seen all day--two climbers headed down from Glacier Peak and a Forest Service ranger completing her weekend patrol. It was nice to be out on Sunday night when all the weekend warriors are safely home.

Reflection Pond sits in a saddle between the Sauk and White River valleys with exceptional views in both directions. The sunset behind Sloan Peak was riveting! The stars were bright and clear. For the second night in a row, we watched the fog roll up the valley, climbing up the headwall into our saddle. It receded again, and again settled in for the night.

We had at least an hour to spare before dark this time, but still split up camp duties. Dinner was pasta with homemade pesto and sundried tomatoes--which I could not find and though I had left at home. So just pasta and pesto. And cocoa or hot tea with more bourbon as we toasted 40 years.

Reflection Pond sounds quite romantic and sits in a scenic locale, but in fact is a stagnant breeding ground for mosquitoes and offers little privacy from the trail. So instead of a total layover day, we agreed to move camp two miles to White Pass, the originating point of the day hike I had planned. Despite the best intentions of rising early, it was after 8 by the time we started hiking. Tucker nearly revolted--he whimpered a little when I lifted his pack from the ground, but relented and saddled up. But the two miles went by quickly, with well maintained, level trail. We saw several marmots--big hoary marmots, not the smaller yellow-bellied ones I know from Yellowstone.

Just before White Pass, we met a couple from Michigan who had just vacated camp there. They were doing our loop in reverse--apparently rangers discouraged people from going the way we went due to the lack of water on the climb. In the end, we preferred our direction since it gave us a short, easy day at the end when we had to drive home.

With camp newly established in the basin below White Pass, we set out on an afternoon dayhike to Red Pass. The round trip was less than five miles and reaped so much more than that in scenery! From Red Pass, you have a clear view of Glacier Peak and Disappointment Peak, the White Chuck glacier, and a spectacular glacier-carved valley that invited wandering in for days! Originally, I had wanted to scramble along the ridge crest to several rocky peaks along the way, but we were tired (I'm 40 for crying out loud!) and Tucker seemed a tad overheated. It wasn't a hot day--maybe mid-70s--but with little shelter from the sun, the small but steady climb had taken its toll. We enjoyed the pass for an hour or so, then headed back to camp slowly, letting Tucker rest in the few shady spots along the way. He even laid down in a shallow stream--a sure sign he was hot since he hates water! In the warm afternoon, we voted to save fuel by having our bourbon with Tang--not a bad drink that my neighbor later informed actually has a name--a TicTac.

The next day, we would move four miles, dropping 3,000 feet back into the river valley to camp at Mackinaw Shelter, a rustic lean-to in the dense, virgin forest floor. Reluctant to descend out of my alpine paradise, I wanted to spend the morning in camp, relishing the place before hiking out mid-afternoon. The morning was blessedly overcast after the previous day's baking sun and we had our first rain of the trip. Clouds battled blue sky for several hours until an afternoon thunderstorm reminded us it was time to go.

The trail down was necessarily steep, but gentler than the climb up. We dropped off the ridge and into gradually deepening forest as the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed. Close enough to scare Tucker, but far enough away to savor. Down in the woods, we stayed almost completely dry.

Mackinaw was our first campfire of the trip. The well placed fire ring an abundance of wood seemed to insist upon it. We were joined by Zach, a climber turned back from a solo attempt at Glacier Peak in the thunderstorm. We down miso soup and macaroni and cheese while he had freeze-dried mashed potatoes. And the last of the bourbon with hot tea.

Day five was an uneventful hike out (if you consider an encounter with rude horsemen and hiking through piles of horse shit uneventful)in the shade of the forest,crossing several small streams and descending gradually to the car. Tucker jumped with joy when we hefted our packs; he seemed completely recovered and eager to head out. When we arrived at the car, I imagined him spotting his cozy bed in the back and yelping "Praise L.L. Bean!" I think he thinks we went to live in the wilderness but ran out of food and had to come home.

A Whole Weekend of Riding Bikes!

Mountain Bike Oregon did not disappoint again this year! My friend Peter and I arrived late Thursday night and found a flat spot in the growing sea of tents to make camp.

I was a guide this year, so I had to get up early to check in and get my ride assignment for the day. My ride schedule couldn't have been better: "The Epic" on Friday, followed by mellow North Fork on Saturday, and long Middle Fork Sunday. Two hard rides with a recovery day sandwiched in between.

MBO is like summer camp for grownups. You show up with your tent and a bike and they do everything else for you. Your biggest responsibility each day is packing your lunch and getting to your shuttle on time. It's become so well known and loved that both July and August sessions sold out this year.

Notable improvements over last year were added ride options and a new and improved beer garden with all local microbrews. The morning routine is pretty much like this: crawl out of sleeping bag and stumble toward the coffee station; coffee in hand, go inside the pavillion to make lunch from the spread provided; cruise over to the vendor area to secure a demo bike for the day (see, you don't really even need to bring a bike!); refill coffee and stand in line for breakfast; fill up Camelback; get bike and self ready to ride; ride short distance to shuttle.

Afternoon routine: arrive back in camp, either from shuttle or riding in; collapse in chair next to tent to marvel at the surrounding beauty and the wonder of MBO; chat with neighbors; visit beer garden for post-ride beer; catch shuttle to cold showers at the high school; return to beer garden; eat dinner in beer garden; participate in evening festivities such as bike toss and Kiddie Bike Criterium; crawl into sleeping bag.

What more could a mountain biker ask for?

Planes, Trains, and Motorcycles

...oh, and ferries, too!

This weekend I joined Scott on a group Harley ride called "Too Broke for Sturgis." I needed to find a way to seriously limit my time sitting on the bike since that really aggravates my back. So I concocted a plan:

We left the house at 6:30 Friday morning and Scott dropped me off at a coffee shop downtown before heading up I-5 to meet the rest of the group. After an Americano and the paper, I strolled over to the train station where I boarded the Amtrak Cascades to Olympia. Less than two hours in more comfort than you find on an airplane. The train was pretty full, too--a good sign for the industry!

Scott was waiting when I arrived and I strapped on my chaps and leather jacket with body armor to protect against the cool overcast. Since my train was a few minutes late, we didn't make the ferry that the group had a reservation on from Port Townsend and had to catch the next one. But we enjoyed our drive up the east side of the Olympic peninsula, smelling the salt air and admiring the calm bay and the small towns along the Hood Canal. But by the time we got to Port Townsend, I was freezing! The hour wait inside the ferry terminal was a welcome respite and I got my hands thawed out before we boarded the ferry to Whidbey Island.

Motorcycles load first. We strolled the deck checking out the view during the 30-minute ride across Puget Sound. I was disappointed to miss seeing the Olympics due to the low overcast but at least it didn't rain! Once off the ferry, it was just a 45-minute ride northeast to Deception Pass State Park where the group had already set up camp, tents back to back in the flat areas away from the fire pit. It was only 4:00, but everyone was pushing for dinner since they hadn't stopped for lunch. Scott and I had heeded the warning to bring snacks and had quite a feast at the ferry terminal. It was way too soon for us to eat, but we sampled a couple of the local microbrews at Flyers Pub in Oak Harbor.

Sleep was just not to be had, between the people who stayed up late, the ones who got up early, and the ones who snored all night. Scott and I were almost last out of camp at the ripe hour of 7:50. I wisely got coffee at Starbucks before joining the group for breaky at Frank's Place, a veteran-themed greasy spoon that was not at all my style, but suit the rest just fine.

After just a few minutes on the bike, we stopped at Deception Pass, a narrow inlet that separates Whidbey Island from the mainland peninsula that houses Anacortes. A gorgeous spot! Made us want sea kayaks.

Heading northeast was like a walk down memory lane as we retraced some of the steps of Primal Quest '04: we passed Mt. Vernon and Bayview State Park, where we portaged kayaks before paddling back to Orcas Island; we drove up the Skagit River that we paddled 60 miles of in the tandem Neckys; I recognized the bike path near Sedro-Wooley where we did the "ride and tie" before setting off up the mountain for an all-night "bike-whack;" Concrete where we met our support crew after hiking around Baker Lake; Rockport where we launched for the long Skagit River paddle; and Marblemount where I think we had a transition.

Then we entered new territory for me--the North Cascades Scenic Highway. I fly over this region frequently and long to check it out up close. True to form, the PNW "summer" weather kept the clouds low and the views limited. Another disappoinment, although the drive was still beautiful. We stopped for the spectacular overlook of Diablo Lake, and again at Washington Pass. The east side (as usual) was sunny and warm and the scenery amazing!

We had lunch in Winthrop, a faux-western tourist town nestled in the Methow Valley. It reminded me of Montana. The group split up here, some in a rush to get to camp in Wenatchee, and others wanting to linger and soak up the local culture and scenery. Scott and I joined the laggers and walked around Winthrop with an ice cream cone before saddling up again. My back thanked me for the break, but was really glad when the day was over!

The entire Methow Valley is gorgeous, the craggy Cascades giving way to the granite folds of the Okanogan and then to the more arid hills of central Washington. We arrived at Confluence State Park on the Columbia and Wenatchee Rivers shortly before the group left for dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Still full from lunch, we opted for showers (cold) and a trip to the grocery for beer and snacks from the deli. We spent time in camp with a couple from Salem who took camping to mean camping and cooked all their own meals--something Scott and I just haven't figured out on the motorcycle yet. We're still learning how to pack and what can be left behind.

I'm sure we woke the whole campground when we peeled out at 5:15 this morning for the airport. Scott dropped me off to catch a flight home through Seattle so I could avoid another 7 hours in the saddle on a route I've seen before. Getting on the plane was adventurous, but once airborne, it was two quick flights home for a 3-hour nap! before I went to pick up Tucker from our dogsitters. Scott didn't get home til 3 p.m.--I'm glad I flew!

Suffering from neglect

I've seriously neglected my blog this summer. And not for lack of content; mostly because I'm too busy out doing things to sit and write about them. I've been thinking about doing some catch-up, though, so stay tuned! If you follow me on facebook at least you've gotten the abbreviated versions of my summer activities.

Our "transition neighborhood" gets noticed

Portland's Cully neighborhood--that most locals have never heard of--has gotten noticed recently. More specifically, the Ainsworth Street Collective is a loosely organized group of neighbors just one block north of us. We walk down Ainsworth Street almost every day when taking Tucker to the dog park and know several of the residents there.

Apparently, Sunset magazine has a feature on ASC in an upcoming issue and the group appeared on AM Northwest this morning. Ainsworth is a great pocket in otherwise nondescript Cully and deserves the attention. Hopefully it will slow the demise of our home equity as well!

Check out the links:
http://thelocalizer.blogspot.com/
http://www.katu.com/amnw/segments/46828697.html

Spring has Sprung!

Every year, it seems like I leave for a trip in typically cold, wet weather and come home four days later to discover that Spring has occurred. This year was no different. These were all taken in my yard:

Great day on the river!

What better day to spend a rainy spring day than on the river? The great thing about kayaking is that you're wet anyway, so it doesn't really matter if it's raining.

Scott and I slept in, then went to yoga. Then he had to go to work for a few hours, so I made plans to meet one of our paddling buddies out at the Clackamas. The river was up from all the rain this week and since my boating has been more off than on the last couple years due to one injury or another, I opted for the Class II run (borderline Class III at this water level) instead of the more challenging Class III upstream.

The water was pushy and the waves big (well, maybe not BIG big, but pretty big to my low-water paddling self), but less technical than usual since most of the rocks were under water. The run took just over 30 minutes and left me wanting more; on the drive back to Trevor's car, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to do the upper run?"

By now, the sun was out and confidence was high, so I agreed to go for it. I tried to cheat the first rapid, at Fish Creek, too far to the right and the edge of my boat caught the eddy line on the turn at the bottom and flipped me; I set up to roll and felt like my boat was turned the wrong way to the current. I decided to try it anyway. I nearly came up, but too eager for air, reached up with my head, dropping me back into the 37-degree water. I set up again and waited a few seconds to exit the turbulent water; tried again and made it. My head was splitting from the icy dunking and I caught my breath in an eddy before continuing downstream.

Just around the corner was Armstrong Bridge, a rapid that looks innocuous enough, but probably gives me more trouble than anything else on this river, including the Class IV rapid at Carter Bridge. I set up to enter just left of center and drift into the main current as it pours over a lip and into a hole that often knocks me over. Today the hole was pretty flushed out and Trevor and I both floated right through into some swirly water at the end.

I managed to go down most of Big Eddy up on my right edge; I stayed upright by dropping my head to the right and working my paddle back and forth until my left edge dropped back down to the surface.

We finally reached Toilet Bowl--a long, rocky drop with three giant waves at the bottom. Today, most of the rocks were covered, eliminating usual picking your way down. I hugged the edge of two big holes on the left side, hoping to make my way farther left to avoid the biggest waves at the bottom. They came crashing in from different angles, big, frothing piles of turbulent foam towering over head. But the current tugged my boat to the right, depositing me directly into the meat of the rapid. Nothing to do but dig in, paddle hard, and hope for the best. The first wave hit me hard in the face, blinding me and taking my breath away with the cold. I blindly plunged my paddle into the water and braced for the next wave.

We were a little high on adrenaline as we loaded boats in the truck. I celebrated a great river run with an oatmeal stout back at home.

It was no surprise that the best part of my day occurred while riding my bike. Friday morning, I finally got around to putting slicks on my 'cross bike so I can use it as a road bike during the non-'cross season.

The tire changing is fodder for a blog post of its own--let's just suffice it to say that after 45 minutes, a blister and a punctured tube, I threw tires and wheels in the truck and drove down to my LBS and forked over cold hard cash for someone else to do the dirty work for me.

Finally, chores done, dog walked, I suited up for a nice long ride on a sunny February day. By the time I rolled down the driveway, the clear blue had given way to a high but solid layer of cloud. Oh, well. At least it wasn't raining.

Fighting the wind all the way down Marine Drive toward Troutdale, I argued with myself about how far I would go. I planned to ride to Crown Point, 25 miles away, but I haven't done much riding the past few months and the wind was taking its toll. I would still get a good workout if I turned back early.

Pushing on, I left Troutdale and crossed the Sandy River, then turned onto the Scenic Gorge Highway, enjoying a reprieve from the wind. A few miles later, I came upon a large man in sweats pushing an old Trek road bike with a flat front tire. I stopped to offer help--I had tools, patch kit and spare tube. He declined the offer, saying he was almost home, but thanked me anyway. We talked for a few minutes.

Over the course of the past year, this guy has lost over 100 pounds. He rides his bike daily from Troutdale to Lloyd Center and back, an hour 45 each way, he told me. He started this on a bet with a friend and feels so good he could never go back. Oh yeah, he quit smoking, too. He was quite passionate about riding and wishing he knew other people who shared his enthusiasm.

It was the kind of encounter that puts a smile on your face. I was inspired to push on to Crown Point after all.

Via Rail: The Canadian

I awoke this morning to a very loud announcement making the second call to breakfast. When I raised the blind to look outside, I was nearly blinded by white. We were nearing Saskatoon in a snowstorm and the sky was nearly as white as the vast expanse of snow-covered Saskatchewan farmland.

We boarded the train at 5 p.m. yesterday after 48 hours in Jasper. Sunday, we rented a car and drove the Icefields Parkway along the Continental Divide through Jasper and Banff National Parks. We made a few scenic stops, including one at Lake Louise where skiers were crossing the frozen lake while teenagers played ice hockey. We had lunch and walked the streets of Banff Town before making the three hour drive back to Jasper for an excellent dinner at Evil Dave's Grill.

Sunday, Scott and I went for a cross country ski up Mt. Edith Cavell Road; Dad and Liz walked for an hour and returned to the trailhead to pick us up in time to shower, return skis and rental car and board the train. It was good to get the blood flowing before settling in for three more nights and two days on the train.

We signed up for the late dinner sitting and enjoyed drinks in our room as we watched the last of the Rockies go by in the waning daylight. My steak was melt-in-your mouth tender and the halibut was tender and flaky. I was eager for bed after getting up early three days in a row, but Scott stayed in the dome of the Park Car until after midnight, enjoying the solitude and quiet rocking of the train.

This train is much quieter than the first, with fewer passengers and a helpful but not overbearing staff. We made a brief stop during lunch in Melville for a train crew change. We lose the service staff tonight when we arrive in their home base of Winnipeg—too bad because we really like them.

This afternoon we get to sample Canadian wines and cheeses in the Park Car. The sun got really bright for a couple hours, but today has been a steady stream of white. It looks quite inhospitable outside!

VIA Rail: Day One

The champagne flowed in the dome of the Park Car as the train rolled out of Vancouver Station at 8:30 p.m. We enjoyed the nighttime view as the train crept through the city under a nearly full moon and were later rocked to sleep by the steady motion.

We arrived in Vancouver without incident and met my dad and Liz, who arrived over an hour ahead of us, at the airport. We took a cab to the train station to check our luggage, then the Skytrain two stops to Granville Street to do some banking, have lunch, and stock up on liquor for the road, er, I mean rail. We made a brief tour of Stanley Park and enjoyed drinks and an early dinner at the Fish House overlooking the bay and the sunset. The bus delivered us back at the station in plenty of time to enjoy the Silver and Blue lounge prior to boarding the train.

We always try to give still-valid bus passes to needy passengers and got "Ay, I have a dog, ay," as a response to the first offer--translated to mean, "How the fuck am I going to use that? I have a dog!" A moment later, though, we heard, "Ay, thanks, ay!"

We awoke this morning when the train stopped in Kamloops in the still-dark pre-dawn. We had breakfast in the dining car with a retired couple from Arkansas. He was a defense attorney for part of his career, so he and Scott had lots to talk about. Many Southerners on the train including a woman about my age who is a prosecutor in Aniston, Alabama, traveling with her mother. Two older gentlemen from Rome, Georgia brought back a lot of college memories.

We spent much of the day in the dome when we could get seats, enjoying the view as we approached the Rockies. We were a bit disappointed to arrive in Jasper 40 minutes early.

Here are some shots from today's journey. Tomorrow we drive the Icefields Parkway to Banff. Monday we'll cross country ski at Maligne Lake before getting back on the train to continue across the prairie to Toronto.

A few shots from today's snowshoe outing...

Patrick, Craig, Scott and I tried to get to Elk Meadows on the east side of Mt. Hood.

Sundance Film Festival, Day 2 & 3

After Afghan Star, we made a quick trip to the grocery store for supplies, then made the 45-minute drive to the spectacular Sundance Resort for the afternoon screening of It Might Get Loud. The rustic resort is nestled in the Wasatch Range and surrounded by classic rocky mountain peaks.

Catherine and I needed tickets, so we joined the wait list line for a few minutes until Zach scored extra tickets outside. The film festival is amazingly accessible, even for those who don't plan ahead and purchase tickets. Even tickets for sold-out shows can be had through the wait list system or from people with extras.

It Might Get Loud traced the history of rock and roll through the lives of three generations of guitarists who get together to chat and jam. Jimmy Page, The Edge and Jack White share their stories, lives, and techniques with the audience and with each other. Fascinating and a must-see for anyone who enjoys rock music.

After an excellent dinner at the resort (the rotisserie pork loin is to die for!) Zach and Monica and I stayed for a heavier film, Boy Interrupted. Again, I was lacking a ticket but got one with no problem. The film follows the life of a child with Bipolar disorder who commits suicide at age 15. His filmmaker parents produced it in part as therapy for themselves and in part to educated the public about mental illness. They came out for a Q&A after the screening. I was very touched by their courage and strength to share such a personal story with the world.

This morning I'm off for a skate ski at the golf course before I catch a flight home. Being a part of Sundance has been quite an experience. I hope Zach invites us back next year!

Live from Sundance, Day 2

Photo courtesy of Zach Sachen. Robert Redford at the IndieGoGo party, 17 Jan 2009.

This morning we rolled out of bed at 7:30 and drove to the Library for the early screening of Afghan Star. Luckily they sell coffee and bagels onsite and allow eating in the theater.

Afghan Star is a world documentary about daily life in Afghanistan, using four contestants in the native version of American Idol as a story line. The film shows very little of the show itself, instead following the contestants as they talk about their lives in different regions of Afghanistan and what the show represents to the country as it struggles to regain freedom. Two of the contestants are women who face unique challenges as famous singers in the country.

After the film, the British producer, the host of the tv show "Afghan Star," and the tv station's producer held a Q&A session which provided great insight into the challenges of filming in Afghanistan and of producing a controversial show in Afghanistan.

Sundance

I caught an early morning flight to Salt Lake City and arrived at The Playground (aka Zach's house) around 10:30 a.m. He and Monica were at a movie, but arrived home by the time I settled in and changed clothes. Their suggestion of an afternoon ski sent me changing again. I thoroughly enjoyed my first day of alpine skiing in 10 years, schussing down a wide range of moderate runs at Deer Valley. Blue sky, sun shining through the aspens, and the crisp air of 8,000 feet--so refreshing!

The three of us met up at the base just after the last lift closed to make a quick transition to an invitation-only party hosted by IndieGoGo, a one-year-old organization that raises money on line for indie films; two of their funded films are featured at Sundance this year. Robert Redford made an unannounced appearance. The fruity vodka drinks went down like coolaid, their effect aided by my empty stomach and day of exertion. By the time we, now a party of 7, finally set off in search of food, we were all famished! The combined effects of 3 hours of sleep, a full day, no food and alcohol has taken it's toll--I called it an early night while Zach and Monica headed to a late-night invite-only party.

We're up early tomorrow to see Afghan Star at 8:30. It promises to be another full day, with at least a couple more films, as well as dinner and drinks at Sundance Resort. Zach and I likened the experience to an adventure race, where we go non-stop and minimize time in transitions.

A rare sight: sunrise in Oregon

Eyelids still heavy with sleep, thermos of hot Stumptown coffee in my backpack, I throw a leg over my trusty steed, clip in, and roll down the driveway. As I pick up some speed on the flat road, the frosty air slaps my face, reminding me of an icy wave of river water shocking me to life on the first drop of a whitewater day.

Although the Scott Cross Team is surefooted, I corner cautiously to avoid slipping on the invisible ice that thinly glazes the street. Encased in neon yellow with lights blinking front and rear in the still-dark morning, I turn onto a more heavily trafficked street. Cresting the bridge over Lombard, I catch a glimpse:

red, pink and orange glowing brilliantly around a snow-white Mt. Hood.

Although the sun must rise and set nearly every day, we rarely get to see it in the Pacific Northwest, especially in the winter. My mood lifted, body coming to life, I cruise down the hill and into the parking lot where I will spend the day in a windowless office.