Practice...

Zazen

The bike is my zendo,
The saddle my zafu,
Feet, cranks, gears, wheels offer their silent mantra
    with each revolution,
The GPS is my mala - counting the diligence of my practice,
The trail is my roshi - pointing the way and inviting me onward.

Mindfulness is each discreet moment,
Every point in the journey is the journey itself.

It has been said that we are all "swimming in enlightenment."
I choose to ride.


With this thought, I set out, spinning my tiny gear into the cool wet air... a sunset ride in the middle of the week... in the middle of a thunderstorm... I flowed through the neighborhoods of north Missoula and then I found myself in the middle of a field of wildflowers...

Soft velvet antlers.
Crunchy sharpening and jpeg artifacts.

In the middle of a spectacular sunset...

And very close to being exactly halfway to my goal of climbing 100,000 vertical feet for the year. I turned up a spur trail to get the last little bit and hit one of these:

Which was oddly enough when my GPS registered this:

Exactly 1500 feet. That makes 50,000 vertical feet of climbing since I started keeping track in February.

This was also a good opportunity to be thankful. Thankful that my knee was still in one piece and working well. Thankful that the time, place, and opportunity to have these experiences have all come together. Time to go home.

Good lights, great trail.
There is something really quite special about riding singletrack in the dark.

It started pouring rain as soon as I got back to the pavement. I also noticed that I had lost my rear blinky light somewhere along the way. It figured that after hundreds of miles of sitting happily on my saddlebag, it came off just when it was needed most... so I rode cautiously, in the dark... in the rain... along a stretch of new pavement with an intermittent bike lane. My lights blazed steadily in front of me and I hoped that 900 lumens of illumination was enough to make me visible from behind.

I made it home with a sense of elation, accomplishment, relief; elated because of the experience of the ride, accomplished for reaching a milestone in my practice, and relief that I had not become roadkill.  Also altogether much more "present" than before I left. This is the mark of good practice: it is not enough to have mindfulness and awareness only when "practicing", it must continue, extend, and permeate all the other moments of life as well; aiming for the ultimate goal of there being no "other moments"... only this moment, just like this.

---

18 miles, 1550 feet of climbing.
(5 miles of road through town to and from cropped out)

Rehab ride #1

I spent the last week doing a huge amount of not much at all. Oh wait. Strike that. I spent it stretching, icing my knee, hobbling about, and doing physical therapy exercises to strengthen surrounding muscles and address some imbalances... and yoga... and hanging out at the house with children who only wanted to be outside DOING something.

Yesterday I finally felt able to walk without a limp, and this morning no pain at all. So it was time for some non-impact rehabilitation in the guise of recreational activity. Oh, who am I kidding? I needed to get out and this was the first time my knee was going to let me do it. We took it pretty easy, but still cranked out a respectable distance, a fun ride, and everything feels good if a little strained after almost two weeks off of cycling.

I didn't take ANY photos (a first for me, I think) because I was having too much fun riding. Also, because a thing put in motion tends to stay in motion, and I wanted to keep moving before I wound up semi-permanently stopped somewhere inconvenient.

Still not running. I'll wait another week or two before starting to explore that further... but I am officially no longer a prisoner of pain in my own house. Screw that noise.

Oh, and the bike is back to being a singlespeed. Not three, not two, not 18... one. I geared it stupidly low, and it seems to be working well. Always did prefer the simplicity and quiet of spinning one gear through the mountains. A month or so ago I put a 9 speed cassette and derailleur on with the hope of making some of the steep climbs a bit easier on my body and be able to reduce recovery time. I don't know what I was thinking... temporary insanity, self-doubt... listening to people on the interwebz... focusing on a problem that had more to do with physiology than equipment. Whatever.

Its been a rough start to the real riding season. A few real fights to keep it all moving. Worth it? Hell yes. Lessons learned. Time for doing.

Pretty quiet week...

Have been following the 2011 Tour Divide race online and resting an injured knee. Stretching and strengthening are going well, but it is still very angry in the mornings. Slow starts means not much gets done.

Summer finally arrived with warm temps and beautiful days... extremely frustrated at the timing! I can manage to ride solo for short periods, but hauling around J is a whole other matter. Looking forward to the first of what will be many relatively easy "rehab" rides tomorrow. That means I'm staying out of the mountains for the most part, and reducing my average mileage by half.

A little sunset riding yesterday did a world of good for my general well being.

Train yard at sunset.

A thing with feathers...

It has been dark, cloudy and raining. For 7 straight days. I managed to tweak a knee on a 3.5 mile night run and have been hiding out behind ice packs and ACE bandage. Starting to feel better. Tomorrow is supposed to be 80 degrees and sunny. If I can walk, the kids and I should be out and about on some adventure or other. One can hope.

Have been following the progress of the annual Tour Divide Race. An epic race this year made even more epic due to the lingering snowpack and unstable weather. 100 degree heat in New Mexico for the NoBo folks, and 3-8" of snow forecast today for those in Colorado. Oh to be on a bike with 2,750 miles to cover... THAT kind of suffering I can deal with. One day I fully plan on it. For now, I'll stare at blue dots and refresh the forum page with live discussion compulsively.

Good luck and godspeed to all the TDR riders out there.

Pushing toward Summer...

Or, at least that is the general idea. Rene is out of school, so I've got both kids at home until the end of August and the plan is to be home as little as possible. Biking, hiking, camping, playing in the park, and sitting down by the river are all on the agenda, and it will be really nice once it stops raining, the sun decides to come out, and temps get out of the 60s. I keep telling myself to have patience... it is, after all, only June.

Our trip yesterday was a sanity preserving exercise. EVERYONE was sick of being inside, even Rene who usually registers some kind of complaint about having to go do something requiring effort. We pedaled out in fair conditions toward Rattlesnake and planned a full day armed with PB&J, bananas, and gatorade. We rode the trails north of town, climbed to the Sawmill TH and stopped for lunch. Then the sun disappeared and the wind kicked up.

Happy kids having lunch in the last of the sun.

I finally got some pics of Rene riding his bike!

A quick roll down the singletrack to the main corridor and then we started the long climb up Curry, headed for the ridge above Sawmill. This area is absolutely beautiful with views of the Missoula valley, Rattlesnake, Grant Creek, and oceans of rolling grasslands below and hillsides aflame with wildflowers.

Winding around the ridge above Sawmill Gulch.
I think I take a picture near here every time I ride up this way.

Indian Paintbrush.

Rene, my trusty wildflower field guide, tells me this is "Fuzzy Tongued Penstemon."

No idea what this is, but it is remarkably complex for how small it is.

Bluebells.

And the ubiquitous, but ever lovely Lupine with Arrowleaf accent.

 We managed some pretty special glimpses of animal wildlife, too. Babies. I was in the woods with my kids, so it was fitting that we saw animals with theirs.

This doe was with her fawn near the start of the Stuart Peak Trail.
I missed getting a clear picture of the baby, but we all stood around looking at each other
for what seemed like a long time.

They didn't seem afraid or bothered by our presence.
In fact, comfortable enough for baby to have some lunch.

Oh, and there is a bear in this tree. I could see him clearly every time he moved,
but then he would stop and be nearly invisible.
Baby black bear. No sign of mama. Best keep moving.

By the time we reached the trail that takes off across the ridge and looks down into Grant Creek, we didn't really have another climb in us. It is a small, easy climb up to the "saddle" (more like a little knoll) and then a drop back into the west side of Sawmill Gulch. But we took a shorter, more direct (read: steeper) route back down. Very fun! Tight switchbacks are always entertaining with the trailer making my bike effectively twice as long. This particular trail apparently gets quite a bit of equestrian use, and judging from the erosion and potholing not many riders can be bothered to stay off the trail when it is soft. I do think it is funny that I have seen signs advising mountain bikers to stay off the trails when they are soft enough that the tires leave ruts... but I've never seen a sign like this directed at horses and their riders. I wonder why not?

Rene struggled a bit with the bumps and the steepness.

Relax, dude.

An awesome ride. I got a killer workout (as usual) pulling Julian, and Rene put out some good effort on the climbs. We rode back down the trails headed for town tired, in good spirits, and ready for some food and relaxation. I keep thinking how lucky I am... I mean, not everyone gets to be out in the woods like this when they have kids, let alone take their kids and have everyone enjoy the experience... on second thought, that probably seems pretty normal if you are a deer or a bear I suppose.

23 miles, 2250 feet of climbing.

Blue Mountain Loops

Headed to Blue Mountain for a solo ride today. Time to get away from the house, the kids, the noise, and the routine. Some "me" time. Turned into a great ride, just what I was looking for. A nice 10 mile road spin to the TH, quite a few loops on the trails, some skills-work on tight switchbacks, wet rocks and roots, and some good-old-fashioned suffering in the rain and the mud surrounded by beautiful forests... what more could you ask for?

The stupid expression on my face is because I am looking at...

... this view from Vista Point. This was toward the end of my ride,
it started raining and conditions deteriorated quickly.

A beautiful, albeit hasty and damp exit along Hayes Creek.

(20 miles of road riding to and from cropped out)
I've been trying to put together a profile like this for awhile.
Something that wasn't "straight up, then straight down."
That can be difficult to do here.

Feet, Flooding, and Flowers...

The recent onslaught of persistent rain has been shaping the landscape of our days... quite literally. The hills are vibrant shades of emerald, and one can imagine the Irish-American settlers of days long past finding the valleys looking like this and feeling quite at home. The river is a swollen torrent which has not dipped below flood stage for over a week now, and while the wildflowers certainly don't mind the water, the residents who are piling sandbags at the waters edge certainly have mixed feelings about it - or so I would think.

Last night I went for a run. I don't do enough running. I've come to the conclusion that I am way overtrained on the bike. I can ride for hours, all day, hard, with lots of climbing... and my body just never says "stop." That isn't a good thing. I can so easily exceed my limits and pay for it dearly for days because of this. Have been working on stretching, nutrition, yoga, and thought some cross training might just tip the scales in my favor.

So after a relatively short run, my calves were burning a bit, I used the discomfort to focus on my technique, if I was striding correctly, it didn't hurt... then, at some point, my body forced me into a walk. That isn't unusual for someone who doesn't run all that much, but it IS unusual for someone used to being able to dig deep and push hour after hour. I'm used to forcing my body into compliance with my will, and here is my body quite literally saying "enough." Why doesn't this ever happen on the bike? I don't know. I intend to find out though. And I intend to run a lot more than I currently do.

My route took me along the river, and amongst crowds of my fellow Missoulians... all marveling at the spectacle of the flooding Clark Fork, the giant logs and trees being carried downstream, the roiling, turbulent, swift waters reflecting the purple hued sunset. I didn't have a camera. I had my shorts and a tee shirt. I had my water bottle. I had my shoes. One of the joys of carrying so little in the way of gear and equipment is being able to find oneself within a moment... I certainly spent some time soaking up the grand spectacle, bathing in the beauty of it. And my legs didn't mind taking a rest either.

So today we took the bikes and rode the same route during the drizzly day, and here is what we saw:

Completely submerged boat ramp along the newly completed section of path
through Silver Park.

This is taken from the Madison St. Bridge.
There is usually a large dry bank below the restaurant where people often fish.
Now you could fish from your table if you were so inclined.

Here's a shot from January.

And now in June.

I seem to remember these trees looking taller...

Near Jacobs Island, property owners are placing sandbags along the western shoreline.

The water is right up to the footpath.

This Canadian Goose found a bit of dry land.

The flowers don't mind the rain a bit.
An as yet unidentified inhabitant of the Kim Williams.
Bell shaped flowers on long panticles, several feet high. 

Almost camping...

First camping trip of the season. Or, at least it was supposed to be. I spent two days collected and preparing gear, figuring out how to transport four people and gear by bicycle into the wilderness, and rousing as much excitement as I could in the crew.

Ready for a weekend in the woods.
Or so we thought.

We did it all except the actual camping part. I consider it a successful shakedown trip. We know we can load it up, make it out there, and set camp. What we also know is as follows:

We overestimated Julian's ability to deal with long days.
We need to create a preflight checklist to make sure we have all essential pieces of gear.
We need a better footwear solution, especially for the kids, when there's lots of water around.
It is going to be an epic mosquito year.
This camping-with-the-family thing is going to be really fun for everyone if we can get it right.

I thought hard about our decision to pack it out at day's end. We had spent the better part of 5 hours pedaling, hiking, and enjoying the day to get to where we were. The spot itself was beautiful and right next to a raging cataract on Rattlesnake Creek (more like a river with full on rapids this Spring). Could we not just deal with some of our oversights, tough it out, and go home in the morning?

I went alone to the tent. I was tired. Sore. Spent, really. It had been a big day. So I figured that if I lay down on my sleeping bag, thought about it, and still my intuition was telling me to head home, then there was no way I could argue with that. We left.

Fleeing down the road over rocks and through streams, it took us 1.5 hours to reach the Rattlesnake TH, 4 hours worth of ground earlier the same day. Back into town in the fading sunlight, disappointed in the outcome but still marveling at the things we had seen and the fun we all had on a VERY long day in the woods. A reminder that even if things do not work out as planned, they are not devoid of value. Readjusting perspective to appreciate things as they are rather than how you think they should have been is a valuable insight, one with which I still occasionally struggle.

How we spent our Saturday, in pictures:

The day started out with a water crossing.

Which we should have taken as an omen of things to come.

I love my Vibram Five Fingers.
Extremely versatile footwear.

I ferried everyone's equipment across,
and Melissa across too.

So much water. This was at Franklin Bridge.

At some points, the road was flowing toward us.
Hard to see, but there's around an inch of trickling water on the road surface.
It was like this off and on for a mile or so.

Beautiful flora right now.

Rene says this is Oregon Grape.

And this fuzzy one is Mullen.

SHROOMS!

The hottest part of the day found us climbing an exposed bit of talus over a landslide area. As I was dripping sweat, I thought "What I wouldn't give for a patch of snow about now." Right around the corner, lo and behold.

Best rest stop ever.

Not sure Melissa has ever been so happy to see snow... in June.

We climbed around on rocks.

Julian is a born climber.

Rene found some high spots, too.
This was directly opposite our camp site.

About 20 feet from the campsite was this raging torrent of water through huge rocks.
Melissa found a great spot to sit and wonder at the power of all that water.

I thought I would take a moment to relax there myself.

Dapples and puddles of green and blue.

My attempt at an "artsy" shot of the falls.
The sun had recently disappeared behind the canyon walls.

Last of the day. Going home.