Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Bridget's Bodacious Bunchgrass Blowdown Boondoggle

As Randy climbed back into the shuttle van at 9:15 am, he was shaking his head and muttering something about the Donner Party. He had just dropped us off high on a dead-end mountain road and 27 miles of rugged ridgeline trail stood between us and the Brewers Union pub in Oakridge. We were pioneers on this early season recon of the Bunchgrass Ridge Trail, five hardy riders carrying a day's worth of food, water, and basic emergency equipment. We had shunned the long ride our friends were doing in favor of what was bound to be an epic summer day. 

Derrick led the way onto the inviting fir-lined singletrack as the morning sun shimmered through the trees. The remaining four of us eagerly fell in line.  About 40 yards in, we encoutered our first patch of snow. Undaunted, we rolled through it. Soon, the snow patches became more frequent and bigger--steep mounds that were impossible to ride up, so we got our shoes wet hiking up them. The trail starts around 6,000 feet and mostly descends from there, so we knew the snow wouldnt last long. But we weren't fooled by the net elevation loss. We had a series of burly climbs ahead.

Interspersed between snow piles were down trees and snags to climb over. Then we hiked up a steep meadow trail that was only defined by a series of markers and entered the Warner Creek Burn area. Hot and sweaty, we sat down on a log to eat sandwiches and swat mosquitos, noting that we had covered only 6.2 miles in nearly 2.5 hours. Not exactly record-breaking pace. Derrick had estimated our arrival at the pub for 3 p.m. We briefly discussed turning around, but no one took the notion very seriously. Derrick thought we might still make the 3:00 time if the trail opened up and became more rideable. This would be the first of many reassessments of our ETA.



About 10 yards later, we were handing our bikes over a large tree with a tangle of branches that snared spokes, shorts and skin. The trees kept coming and we were walking more than riding. The trail clung to a ridge between two bowls, then descended steeply into the one on the left before climbing steeply back out the other side. Derrick pointed out that this was the last best place to turn around--basically a point of no return--and all but insisted on abandoning our mission in light of the challenges that were keeping our progress to a snail's pace. But none of us were fond of the alternative--retracing our steps back to a forest road and riding it downhill to Highway 58 where we would commence the "pedal of shame" back to Oakridge. 



We all hemmed and hawed and said either way was fine, then Bridget finally spoke out. "I really want to keep going," she announced. Relieved, I chimed in, "me, too." "So do I," said Charlie. Suzanne did not object. Derrick shrugged his shoulders and said, "well at least you can't blame me," then lifted his bike over the 57th down tree. A few minutes later, I was able to coast at least 20 yards downhill before another forced dismount and I yelled "wheee!" with joy. Bridget, who was just in front of me, laughed. It had to be hilarious, otherwise it was a total suckfest.

The steep climb out of the bowl, still mostly hiking and hefting, was rewarded with 360-degree views of Mt. Jefferson, Three Sisters, Fuji, and Diamond Peak. Indian paintbrush and shooting stars were in bright bloom. Derrick nearly became the first Donner Party casualty when he boldly hefted a bottle of Coke out of his pack. We were on him like flies to horse dung. He offered to trade sips of Coke for food and we fell all over ourselves to be the lucky recipient. Derrick wisely opted for Suzanne's sandwich and Charlie whined, " but I want some Coke," when his proffered snack was not chosen. In the end, we all had sips of Coke, thus saving Derrick's life. We made radio contact with our friends on the Alpine/Winberry ride. They sounded rather smug. We laughed, confident that we were having a better time. Based on distance covered (not much) our new ETA was 4 pm. 



From here the trail did become more rideable, with greater distance between fewer fallen trees. But it wasn't long before a stick broke Suzanne's derailleur. Derrick performed emergency trailside surgery and had it working again in no time. As he handed the bike back to Suzanne, her shifter fell off the handlebar. Derailleur repair be damned: she would now be riding a single speed. New ETA: 5 pm. Suzanne had a deadline for being back, so we sent her on a short bushwhack that would put her on a road back to town. One member down, we pressed on. Derrick reminded us of the climb up Hecklerooth Mountain that still loomed ahead. We laughed maniacally. 

The trail descended into old growth fir forest thickly carpeted with ferns. I filled my bottle from a spring that gushed from the side of a hill on Derrick's Deadly Switchbacks. We steripenned water from another spring and snacked again. New ETA: 6 pm. Rhododendron bloomed in an old clear cut just below the summit of Heckletooth. From here, it was a ripping ride to the end of the trail and a couple road miles to the pub. We greeted Heckletooth like a long lost friend, giggling our way down the trail that had a reputation for challenging even the most skilled riders but seemed mellow and laid back compared to our earlier adventures. 



If we knew in advance what the day would bring, we would not have gone, but we were satisfied and tired and giddy with our accomplishment and sported a variety of cuts, scrapes, bruises and lacerations as badges of courage. Actual time of arrival at Brewers Union Local 180: 6:16 pm. Beer never tasted so good!

Photos by Bridget Hildreth


Friday, June 7, 2013

Posing

Today I posed as a runner. I used to actually be a runner, but it's been 8 years or so since then and I've almost completely transformed into a cyclist. I say "almost" because I only own two mountain bikes, a cyclocross bike, and a town cruiser; no road bike and no touring bike. That and I still sometimes wear a Camelback while riding my cyclocross bike on road rides.

But I digress. Today, I left my hotel wearing a running skirt and tank top, brand new Brooks running shoes, and my iPhone strapped to my arm so I could simultaneously track my progress on Strava and listen to music (Bruce Springsteen, The Black Keys, The Gaslight Anthem, and some Gin Wigmore). I trotted down the Guadalupe River Trail past the airport and toward downtown San Jose, looking for all the world like a runner. So much so that I got the knowing smiles, the nods, and the waves from the other runners.

Inside, I felt like a poser. Not really a runner, just pretending to be one for the moment and wondering if anyone would be able to tell. To make it seem more real, I decided to throw in some intervals, sprinting up the short hills and between signposts with slower recovery jogs in between. This effort netted me several personal records according to Strava, at distances from 1/4 mile to 5k.

I was actually starting to feel like a runner! When the occasional cyclist passed, I tried to make eye contact and give the knowing nod that I'm accustomed to--but they didn't recognize me as a cyclist. They thought I was a runner!

At the 3-mile mark, I turned around. My pick-ups were becoming less frequent and intense as my breath was labored and my arms sagged from yesterday's push-up session. The heat was more than my Mayvember-in-Oregon-acclimatized body was used to. When Strava said 6.1 miles, I stopped running and walked the rest of the way back to the hotel. The charade was up. I'm not a runner!

Friday, May 3, 2013

Kill the Alarm Clock

For years I've been a p.m. pilot. In the early days I flew the early shifts and felt chronically sleep deprived and in need of a nap. It didn't take long to discover the pleasure of never waking up to an alarm clock, even though I had to stay up way later than I like to earn the privilege. Now I go weeks or even months without setting an alarm and let me tell you, sleeping according to your body's needs is a beautiful thing.

This month, I saddled myself with a morning schedule, and just two weeks in I'm feeling the effects. I took two naps this week, something I never do when I'm properly rested. This morning my alarm startled me out of a deep sleep at 4:30 and set my mind and heart racing. It took a minute or so to remember where I was and why I had to wake up. Time to make the donuts. I mean fly the airplanes.

My wish for everyone: that you could spend a few months free of the constraints of schedules that force you up before you're ready and responsibilities that keep you up too late at night. That you could experience firsthand the benefits of sleeping until you wake up--energized, well rested, happy and healthy.

Kill the alarm clock!


Cascade Cream Puff

Cascade Cream Puff
At the early morning start