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!

The Mountain

The Mountain the afternoon before our summit.

The Mountain resides in my back yard. On clear days you can see it, standing tall to the east. I see it almost daily when I'm flying--on takeoff from runway 10R at PDX, it looms large, as if standing guard; on approach from the east, we pass by around summit height; we overfly on north-south routes and get a bird's eye view. In the winter, The Mountain is cloaked in white. Sometimes she disappears for days under a thick blanket of cloud and emerges more brilliant than before. By summer's end, the receding glaciers are apparent and what little snow remains is brown with dirt. Some days, only the summit peak peeks above the clouds.

When I moved to Portland more than 10 years ago, my intent was to stay for two years--the time remaining in my boyfriend's law school career. Portland seemed exotic and perhaps out of my league, but I wanted to enjoy as many of its treasures as I could during my stay. At the time, I was heavy into rock climbing and moving to the Pacific Northwest seemed naturally to lead to mountaineering. At the very least, I should climb the closest peaks.

Somehow time went by. I did plenty of rock climbing in the early days. I hiked a lot. I mountain biked more and more and even started road biking. I learned to whitewater kayak and paddled weekly for years. But I never climbed The Mountain.

In May of 2002, the first spring I was in Portland, The Mountain suffered a climbing tragedy of Everest proportions. Nine climbers were swept into a crevasse just below the summit. Some died, others were injured. Then a helicopter crashed during a rescue attempt. Dozens of climbers set out for the summit nearly every day from May to mid July, but every year you only hear about the ones who don't return.

This year I established climbing The Mountain as one of my main goals for the summer. My friend Mark leads first-timers up every year, so I only had to ask and he put me on his training plan. We hiked steep trails in the Gorge, gradually adding weight to our packs. My work and play schedule restricted my participation in group training hikes, but I hiked on my own and did enough with Mark for him to have confidence in my fitness and ability.

Summit Day: Well, we actually rescheduled summit day due to iffy weather. New Summit Day: Mark picked me up at precisely midnight. I had carefully packed everything on the gear list Mark sent me via email earlier in the week (I struggled with the final item--"props for summit antic photos." I don't do cookie decorating parties, scrapbooking, theme parties, or costumes. I had no idea what to bring. In the end, I settled on my straw hat that I bought in the Badlands a few years back, a tie-dye scarf, and a hand-made sign that read "Summit Fever, Mt. Hood or Bust.") We drove to The Mountain and registered for our climb. Mark sifted through the other climber registrations to get an idea how many people were out that night, party sizes, route choices, etc. He picked a late start time to allow others to be ahead of us, blaze the trail, and provide summit beta on their way down. We set out at 2:15 a.m., 15 minutes ahead of target.

READY TO CLIMB

Mark was yawning, but I felt wide awake. We stopped often to take in the constellations and the Milky Way clearly visible straight overhead streaking north to south. Before 4 a.m. a rosy glow was beginning to appear on the eastern horizon. By the time we stopped at the top of the Palmer Snowfield to don crampons, we no longer needed headlamps for hiking. Mark pointed out The Mountain's shadow to the west as the sun began to rise.

The climb steepened, but our crampons easily gripped what Mark called the "styrofoam snow." It was fairly fresh and perfectly firm but not icy. Soon we crested the lip of the crater--I never realized Mt. Hood had a crater, but being a volcano, of course it does. Pearly spires rim the north side and in the center lies the Devil's Kitchen, a smoldering fumarole who's sulfur smell reminded me of Yellowstone National Park. The sun was still below the mountain, leaving the crater in shadow. I was leading; we passed two young guys making their first climb with their father.

I hesitated at the crater to scout the route up to the Hogsback; a snow bridge to the left of Devil's Kitchen lay perilously close to a smaller fumarole that was melting the snow and leaving the bridge hollow underneath. Mark validated my concern; we stuck carefully to the center and thickest part of the bridge. Now we could see the two routes to the summit--the old Mazama chute to the left of the Hogsback, and the route through the Pearly Gates to the right. There were climbers ascending both routes, but the left side seemed more popular. Two (young, fit, male) climbers were descending as we traversed the slope below the Hogsback and Mark asked about the summit. They were the first up that morning, just at sunrise. They advised against the Pearly Gates route due to potential ice-fall from the cliffs above and noted that traction devices (ice axe and crampons) would be essential.

A short, steep pitch put us on the crest of the ridge that divided the two summit route choices. Above us, a crevasse was beginning to gape open; Mark said it's covered over in winter and opens wider as summer progresses. Our route would keep us well clear of it, but Mark emphasized the need to be aware of the fall line and of maintaining a position that would avoid it in the event of a fall. About that time, a rope team dropped a picket that tumbled several hundred feet down and into a hole below us, giving crystal clear meaning to the term "fall line."

We stashed our trekking poles and took our ice axes off our packs. I followed Mark on a short descent, then up and across a bare section of loose dirt and gravel, then onto a ridiculously steep snow face with not very good purchase. Mark was kicking steps into the snow and I was trying to improve them for the team behind me, but the texture didn't lend itself well to holding the shape. Ascending was easy enough, but it occurred to me that coming back down this would terrify me. I said as much to Mark and he looked at me with alarm. What I didn't know at the time was that these conditions were more challenging than usual for this time of year and not ideally suited to first time climbers, especially without ropes. The typical summit is on what Mark called a "stairway to heaven" that has been chiseled out by previous climbers. The previous week's fresh snow had obliterated the stairway, leaving us a hard surface that required diligent use of all available pointy tools. Adding to the challenge were several teams descending from the summit, kicking hard balls of snow down onto us.

At the head of this slope, the final climb to the summit was up a narrow chute occupied by rope teams descending. There was room to pass carefully and soon I was topping out on the summit ridge with the sun bright in my eyes! It was the Solstice and an exceptionally clear day. We could see all the way to Diamond Peak in southern Oregon, Saddle Mountain in the Coast Range (the mountain range blocked the view of the ocean itself), and Mt. Ranier to the north. The views were stunning, but the wind cold, so we minimized our time at the top, just taking a few minutes for photos.

The thing to remember about mountaineering is that the summit is only half way there and that most accidents occur while descending. This knowledge, coupled with my inherent dislike of going down steep things (my common phrase is "I would go up this thing three times if I only didn't have to go down it!") had my anxiety level high. Most sports I do have solid safety features built in and consequences are fairly benign. Here, the safety features were technical skill and trust in equipment. My skills were newly learned and I barely knew my equipment. A mis-step could easily lead to a fall; an experienced climber died here just last week. But there was no point in panicking or even allowing fear to settle in. I just had to stay calm and focus on the task at hand.

Mark started down the chute first and put a lot of effort into making foot holds for me to use. It was slow going, but easier for me (and the climbers who followed us) as a result. I quickly became an expert at front pointing (down climbing by facing the wall and digging the long front points of my crampons into the snow) and planting the ice axe--usually with the pick into the snow, but sometimes the shaft dug in in the self-belay position. Even when we reached the open slope where Mark was walking down the "steps" we tried to make on the way up, I felt more stable with the front pointing technique. My calves would later punish me for this.

After what seemed an eternity (especially since my bladder had been on the verge of exploding for most of the descent, due in part to nerves I think) we were back at the bare patch of ground where just walking felt safe once again. The rest of the descent was uneventful--we just had to remember to turn around once in a while to admire The Mountain in the glow of the now-high sun.

Finally, I have climbed Mt. Hood.

https://picasaweb.google.com/104314591543358730400/MtHoodSummit20June2012?feat=email#

The Flu

Last Sunday, I was feeling just fine, ripping through the desert on a Kona 29er, savoring my last few hours of warming sun before spending five days in windowless classrooms and simulators in an unseasonable cool and rainy Pacific Northwest. By Wednesday I was down hard with the flu. It always blows me away that the transition from well to ill can happen so fast. The last time I caught a cold, it was the day after I noted feeling exceptionally well. How could I feel so good one day and so awful the very next day?

This time, what started as a niggling feeling in my chest Tuesday afternoon had become chills, aches, tight chest and a hack by Wednesday morning. I didn't even want coffee--a sure sign that things were serious. I resigned myself to a couple days indoors--made more acceptable by the craptacular rain storms rolling through the outdoors--and grabbed a mug of Gypsy Cold Care tea, my robe, and a book, and burrowed into the couch. For two days, I drifted between reading and sleeping, occasionally relocating to the bed and back again. I didn't even want food, a sign that I might, in fact, be very near death.

Friday I woke up with no aches or chills and slightly more energy. I set two goals for myself: 1) vacuum the house and 2)walk the dogs. Easy, right? I mean, I had all day to pull off these two simple feats. By 11 am I had achieved goal #1. Shortly after, I collapsed in bed for a much needed nap. Maybe my goals were too ambitious. Maybe I should be happy with my accomplishments. Nearly three hours later, I hauled myself up, strapped on my boots, and wrangled the dogs into the garage to be outfitted with jackets, harnesses, and leashes, and we trudged our way around the soggy neighborhood. Mission accomplished.

I felt confident that Saturday I would be better. The flu doesn't last forever, right? Well I felt like crap. My chest had developed a rattle that surely must be pneumonia. I began to mentally calculate the number of sick days left in my bank and how much of my savings I would have to spend before disability insurance kicked in. I worried I might faint while walking the dogs. But Sunday came and I was still kicking, even feeling a little stronger with a hint of appetite.

A couple weeks from now, I'll be back on the bike and the flu (which I got immunized against, by the way) will be just a distant memory, but right now I wish it would release it's hold and move on to someone else's healthy body.

Disney Adventures

Scott and I have talked for years about going to Disneyland over Christmas but we never seem to get around to it. We decided to make it our Christmas gift to each other and set aside a January weekend (after the holiday festivities, but well before spring break, in what we hoped would be a quiet interlude).

I found an online deal for a prepaid hotel room and booked it in advance. We took advantage of my flight benefits to hitchhike our way to Orange County where Super Shuttle met us for the long and roundabout journey to the hotel. Disneyland was just a short walk away, so we avoided car rental and parking fees (even the hotels there charge for parking), gas, and the fun of navigating SoCal traffic.

We were unsure whether one day would allow us to do justice to both Disneyland and the California Adventure theme park, so we were thrilled to learn that you can buy single park tickets and later upgrade them by paying the difference back at the gate.

After renting a locker to store our lunch, snacks, and extra clothes, we made a beeline for Indiana Jones Adventure and Pirates of the Caribbean. The Fast Pass system was new since Scott had been there, so it took us a little while to figure it out, but the morning lines were so short, Fast Passing wasn't necessary. We never waited more than 10 minutes.

Tarzan Tree House

New Orleans Square

The Matterhorn Bobsled ride was closed :-(

Two fit adults without the burden of small children and strollers can really cover some ground and by early afternoon, with one Space Mountain ride under our belts and a Fast Pass for another in hand, we felt like we could spend a few hours at California Adventure.

Scott claims to not be a roller coaster guy, but after one trip on California Screamin', he wanted another go. We got a Fast Pass for a later time and set off for the whitewater rafting ride and the Tower of Terror. I had my heart set on Soaring Over California, but the line was an hour long and our Fast Pass was for too late in the evening, when we planned to be back in Disneyland proper. A rare clever idea entered my head--we could enter the "single rider" line and split up for the ride. This meant we waited while they filled seats, then called us to fill in gaps. Worth the effort! But what really took my breath away was cresting the high point on California Screamin' as the sun set over the LA basin.

Mission accomplished in California Adventure, we headed back to Disneyland for our final few hours. We caught the beginning of the parade, then toured some last rides while all the kiddies were lined up to see Mickey. We paused to watch the fireworks before having dinner at Blue Bayou (inside Pirates of the Caribbean). We debated whether to call it a day or use our Space Mountain Fast Passes, a quandary that was ultimately decided for us when the ride shut down due to a mechanical issue.

Our 14-hour Disney marathon was followed by an all-too-early wake-up call for our Super Shuttle pick-up to the airport. Next time we'll be more savvy about the Fast Pass system and make reservations for dinner to avoid the wait. The magic of Disney is not just for kids!

P.S. A couple things impressed us about the inner workings of the Disney empire:

• I was surprised and impressed to see an abundance of healthy snacks throughout the park. We brought our own lunch and snacks, knowing food in the parks would be overpriced, which it was--but snack carts were overflowing with fresh and dried fruit, nuts, yogurt, etc. Of course, we opted for ice cream and popped corn...
• Disney runs a tight ship. They are masters of crowd management. When the parade is about to begin, employees come out of the woodwork to rope off viewing areas and keep foot traffic flowing. They are always polite and friendly, even when firmly telling you that you can't stand in the walkway if you want to watch the parade. They should be awarded a contract to run the TSA.

Much to be Thankful For

Thanksgiving reminds me of all I have to be thankful for:

• A wonderful family who loves me from 2,000 miles away
• A loving boyfriend who has supported me through the ups and downs of the past 14 years
• A job that pays (most of) the bills
• A strong, healthy body
• A cozy home and food on the table
• Lots of great friends
• The good fortune to live in a place where rush hour traffic means wheel to wheel bicycles on the Broadway Bridge or a glance down at the long line of lights on I-5 while on final approach to Sea-Tac
• And as I left work today, one more thing: I'm not flying with THAT guy for Thanksgiving!

Happy to be home for the next few days, chillin' with my boys!

The Rains are Coming

Well, it's that time of year when we're all shaking our heads and asking "where did the summer go?" And it's not just our imagination that this one was short and cool. Summer was late coming to the Pacific Northwest, even by PNW standards, and we didn't hit 90 degrees until the end of August. We've succumbed to flannel sheets but steadfastly refuse to turn on the heat so early in October.

I like to take this time to review my summer and remind myself that I really did have some good times despite the fact that it seemingly slipped away while I was sleeping one night before I had a chance to enjoy it.

Scott and I got an early jump on summer by taking a trip to Moab the second week of May. The rain followed us all the way there, but it cleared up after a day or so and we had five days of epic mountain biking (and a trip to the vet when Tucker shredded his ear in a campground scrap).



Oregon welcomed us back into the soggy fold--it started raining the moment we crossed the border from Idaho, wrecking our plans for one more night of camping.

The next week, I flew to Georgia for my nephew's high school graduation and a brief visit with my family. While the PNW was still enjoying unseasonably cool rains, the South was enveloped in hot, humid days which I did not mind at all.

I had just one day at home before heading to Denver to start a rafting trip and the continuing cold rain made it that much easier to leave again so soon. When I came home, it was barely June and I was already a month into my summer adventures.



Back home, things started happening fast:

• One-day adventure race in Port Gamble, Washington
• Test of Metal mountain bike race in Squamish, BC
• Mountain Bike Oregon (times two)
• Monday night short track racing
• Lots of long mountain bike rides under the guise of "training" for Capitol Forest 100
• A few camping trips to accompany those "training" rides
• Capitol Forest 100 mountain bike race

• Six days of backpacking in Washington's Glacier Peak Wilderness

• One last mountain bike camping trip to the Lewis River with my friend Caroline

I guess I really did squeeze a lot of action into a short summer. Now on to fall and cyclocross season!

Mountain Bike Oregon

Another summer of MBO has come and gone :-(. I had the chance to go both times again and they were the highlights of my summer! I've been too busy to blog, buhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gift Zach put together this video from the August session. Yes, it's 15 minutes long, but for 15 minutes you can be at MBO...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzbehj_gIG8