It's a G Thing

A Canon G11, that is. Just arrived this afternoon.



I have been pretty happy with my Canon SD850IS as a travel and mountain biking camera, but it pretty much sucks in low light conditions. I have taken too many indoor shots of important occasions that came out dark and grainy. I needed something that would do better.

After researching for longer than I care to admit, and changing my mind multiple times, I finally chose the Canon G11.

The G11 does take great pictures in low light. I won't bore you with my comparison testing pictures, but I will say that the difference is huge.

Later.

Foggy Mountain Breakdown

The Haze has settled upon us. For days and days it will stay. It is the defining condition of a Sacramento winter, this haze, this valley fog.

The fog is a silky-voiced seductress. She pulls you towards the darkness, urges you to fall in love with sadness. Cold, dark and damp, she plays with your psyche, tries to break you. Even though the winter days are short, they can seem so very, very long. The time grinds by slowly in this perpetual dusk. The mind, relying on the sun for its internal clock, loses its rhythm. Without seeing the sun for a week, one feels an imbalance. Something is not quite right. Tired and cranky, you just want to hibernate. This is how the mind responds to prolonged gloom.

Normally I am immune to her charms where I live. My house sits at 1650 feet, well above true fog. But this pattern we are stuck in now is actually a low stratus layer, which is hanging right about 1500 feet. My house is socked in, but if we descend into the valley the visibility improves greatly. Still, the stratus layer hangs low and oppressive, right above our heads.

I awoke this morning to another day of this; I did not want to ride. Spending a few hours in 41 degree cold and 100 percent humidity just didn’t sound like fun. But the key to breaking the spell, to breaking the monotony of gloom, is to get out and face it.

It had been a while since I made it out for my “normal” Wednesday single speed ride. Thanksgiving break, contractors, rain and Christmas break all conspired against me. I caught myself smiling as I lifted my bike from the back of the truck. It was good to be back.

Though it was cold, the trail conditions were nearly perfect. In the summer, the searing sun bleaches the trails white, hard and unforgiving like polished bones. Today they were dark, fast and tacky, like ribbons of sweet, velvety chocolate. I pushed the bike hard into the corners, feeling for the edge of adhesion, but never really finding it; traction seemed unlimited.

I saw no one for the first hour. The cold seemingly kept the dog walkers and runners in their homes. More trail for me.

I stopped after about 12 miles and looked out over the lake. It was difficult to tell the difference between sand, water, sky and surrounding hills:



The woods are lovely, dark, and deep:



Nearing the point where I would turn around, I had to dismount and climb over a fallen tree. When I came back through only about 25 minutes later, the tree had been removed. I saw nobody around and heard no chainsaws. It was kind of bizarre.



On a stretch of paved trail between the two main dirt trails, something possessed me to pull a wheelie up a hill. I rode it. And rode it. And rode it. It was by far the longest wheelie I have ridden in many, many years. Maybe since BMX days.

As I came around a corner, an older couple witnessed about two-thirds of my wheelie show. The man stopped me and said I reminded him of "that guy on the Internet." My blank stare prompted him and his wife to describe a guy who "hops around like a madman . . . off buildings, walls, spiked fences . . . "

It was the spiked fence reference that made me ask, "Danny MacAskill?"

"Yeah, that's the guy!" they exclaimed. Yes, today my awesome handling skills were compared to Danny MacAskill's. Too funny.

I ended the 32-mile ride with cold feet and tired legs, but it was a fun ride.

Later.

New Slang

I signed up for Boggs today. The race isn't until April, but you have to register for these races early before they fill up. I really hate having to plan so many months in advance. Life can be unpredictable, and four months is a long time. Things can change.

This is the fourth year in a row I have signed up. The 2007 race was my first solo eight-hour race. The weather was great, and the course was fun. I felt good about knocking out five laps (~50 miles) before the cramps did me in.



I signed up again in 2008 and broke my wrist a couple weeks later.

In 2009 I trained hard, but I caught some funky lung ailment right before the race.

I hope to have better luck in 2010.

I guess I kind of started training. I have done at least a short ride every day for the past eight days, culminating in a longer one today.

After spending the last five years as a geared bike, I converted my Karate Monkey to a single speed for the winter. The flat bars and bar ends were swapped out for riser bars and I put a solid axle in back. Other than that, not much work went into the conversion.

I can't recall ever riding a single speed from my house. I was looking to do something different today, so I gave it a try. I thought it might be boring at times, but due to the up and down nature of my area, I rarely spun out. I spent the vast majority of the time grinding up hills or flying down them (I topped 40 miles per hour a few times).

I hit the Serrano, Powerline, New York Creek, Wild Oak Park and Brown's Ravine trails. It was a little greasy in places, but overall the trail conditions were great. I was out for over three hours, and I was tired at the end from all the climbing. Fun ride.

Monkey:



Tough climb:



Later.

A Long December

Lots going on and not enough time to document it all. Here's a quick and dirty update:

On December 7, we had a little snow flurry. It was easily three times the snow we have ever seen up here. A day that will live in infamy.





The next night we went to see the mighty Metallica. Jenn bought the tickets back in July for my birthday.



I was first introduced to Metallica in 1985 when I was 18. Over the years I have seen them six times, but the last time was way back in 1991. A lot has changed since then.

Truthfully, I was a bit apprehensive about going. In the "old days" I would be in the pit, moshing with my inebriated friends, thrashing my grand head of hair around. This time, at 42 years of age, I stood around, contemplating my bald spot, not really knowing what to do with myself. I thought about my friends who used to accompany me to these concerts, the ones who have scattered about, the ones who are now doctors and policemen.

They put on a great show, as always, and for me it was fun and sad and nostalgic and uncomfortable and comforting all at the same time. In the end I was glad to have experienced it.

During this time we were trying to get hardwood flooring installed. What the contractor said would be a three-day job ended up taking seven. This is not counting the days they didn't show up due to the snow. Here's a little sample:



There's still a lot of finish work to be completed, but the flooring itself is done. I actually contemplated laying the floor myself, but after seeing what these guys went through, I would have been in way over my head. Today we're having some carpet installed.

On Sunday we took time out to go for a little ride. It was cold, but it was nice to get out.



Trail conditions were just about perfect. I hope to get out for a single speed ride soon. It's been a while since I have been out.



That's all for now. Later.

Goin' to Mexico

This is the cruise ship Carnival Spirit, anchored in la Bahía Zihuatanejo, México. Two months from today, we will be on that ship, in that bay. Yay.

Later.

Turn the Page

Yesterday morning my buddy Doug called to see if I was up for a ride. I had no plans, so we talked about where to go. I secretly hoped for someplace other than Auburn. Naturally, that was the ride Doug chose. Auburn was the last local ride on my recovery checklist, a ride that I knew would be a challenge. To be truthful, the idea of riding there scared me a bit.

I started my comeback by riding Granite Bay, the least technical of my local rides, way back in July of 2008. It was only about six months after my wrist was repaired, and it was tough going even though the ride is really very smooth overall; it's a place you can take a very green beginner. Even with a suspension fork set up as plush as possible, I would finish the ride in pain with an angry, swollen wrist. Now I ride there almost every Wednesday, and I have progressed to the point where I now ride with a rigid fork with little difficulty.

In the fall I rode Sly Park with Doug and it gave me some problems. I was very slow on the singletrack descents, and the exposed ledges around the lake freaked me out. I walked down a number of technical sections. I cursed at myself for wimping out, but at that point I just wasn't ready. My hand still wasn't doing what my brain told it to do, and psychologically I was still flashing back anytime a ride feature looked similar to the one I crashed on.

This spring I started riding in Cool, which introduced steeper, rockier terrain and longer descents. Again, at first it gave me problems. On numerous occasions my hand nearly slipped off the bars. My hand strength was slow to return. Since the left hand is responsible for most of the braking, I had issues with fatigue on long downhills.

This summer I rode in Tahoe, where you get into longer downhills, often with features like drop-offs, stair steps, boulders, tight switchbacks, and deep sand. I spend much of my riding time there uncomfortable and timid. I walked down a stair-step drop that I used to do without much thought, a trail feature I used to look forward to doing. It sickened me. I wondered if I would ever ride like I used to.

The turning point came when I did the 50 mile race at Cool. In hindsight, I should have raced much sooner. In the racing environment I completely forgot about my wrist. Instead, I worried about fuel, hydration, cramps and chasing Doug down every hill. I finished with a little soreness, but during the race my wrist didn't hinder me much at all.

A couple weeks ago I tried Salmon Falls. It's a rough ride, but it gave me no issues. I could feel my confidence and speed increase as the ride went on.

Yesterday I arrived at the trailhead and Doug was already there. After dressing and gearing up, we rolled out. I asked Doug whether he wanted to just (hopefully) roll down Stagecoach, or hit the Manzanita Trail. Again, he wanted the tougher of the two options.

When we first hit the trail I felt a bit apprehensive, but before long I was in the groove. At the end of the trail section there is a sheer rock face, about 30 inches tall, that you have to wheelie up. When I saw it I thought, "Oh crap," but it was a pretty easy move. After that I felt like I was going to be fine.

We then descended the rest of Stagecoach and started the long climb up Clementine. It seemed like it went on forever, and it was undoubtedly the longest climb I have done on a single speed in a couple years. After that we did the Connector trail, which is one of the best trails anywhere. Then we started the Forest Hill Divide Trail (FHDT). I had forgotten how much climbing this ride has. The first half of the ride seems to be nothing but climbing. When we hit the 16 mile mark, I was seriously wondering if I was going to make it. When we crossed Forest Hill Road, Doug assured me that we were at the high point, and the rest of the loop was mostly downhill. And it was.

The second half of the FHDT and the Connector on the way back was some of the most fun I have had on a bike in years. The trail was in perfect condition. The mostly downhill, rolling singletrack was fast and buffed, with incredible traction. I was up front and riding well, as comfortable on the bike as I used to be. I was smiling to myself as we ripped along, carving through perfectly radiused corners, many of them with berms. So fun.

We dropped down Clementine rather than bombing the Culvert and Confluence trails. My wrist was tired and a bit swollen, so I opted to play it safe rather than ruin an otherwise perfect ride with a fatigue-induced mishap.

All that was left after that was the climb up Stagecoach, which has always been one of my favorite climbs.

Doug:



Me:



We ended up with 29 miles. It was a super fun ride, and I rode everything just fine. My wrist isn't perfect, but I have learned to ride with it, and it doesn't limit me too much at this point.

I feel like my wrist has been a central theme in my life for a while, and I am tired of talking about it. After yesterday's ride, I feel like I can close the book on that chapter.

I won't mention it again.

Later.

Breathe

Tuesday was a rough day at work. Tension is high. Furloughs, budget cuts, deadlines, low staffing levels, ill-conceived projects, the oncoming tax season and the general dissatisfaction that has crept into the minds of most Californians all contribute to a very tense workplace. Tuesday I had two arguments with guys who are normally very laid-back and level-headed. I could have prevented either or both arguments by simply keeping a level head myself, but I didn’t. Quite frankly, it felt good to lose it a little bit. Unfortunately, I sit right next to my boss, who heard it all. He doesn’t handle conflict well, and it drove him over the edge; he’s back on the glue again. We all have our ways of dealing with life.



Wednesday I was looking forward to my weekly single speed ride more than usual. I needed a release. I needed to breathe.

After dropping my boy off at school, I headed down to the trailhead. The morning was clear and cool, but not cold, the morning dew providing perfect, grippy soil conditions. I warmed up briefly, then quickly settled into a fast and somewhat uncomfortable pace. Over each rise I hit it hard, relishing the resistance of the pedals as I powered over hill after hill.

The frustrations of the previous day melted away as I became more and more absorbed with my ride. It was just me, a narrow trail, and one gear. No thinking, only reacting. The world beyond my tunnel of vision faded away, the trees only a blur in passing. The fall colors wrapped around me like an old, comfortable blanket.

Before long I had traveled 15 miles. I sat up and ate an energy gel on a smooth section of trail. I cruised slowly and looked around a bit, enjoying the scenery after redlining it for over hour. A call of “on your left” brought me out of my daydream as two guys motored by. I stuck the empty gel pack in my pocket and went after them.

I tend to ride under control on singletrack these days. Anybody who has ever suffered a head-on collision with another rider probably does. So when a couple guys go by at race pace, it’s fun to jump on the train because you can ride at otherwise dangerous speeds without worrying—you have two crash test dummies ahead of you.

Because they were on geared bikes, I had a difficult time catching up to them at first because the terrain was flat. As the trail became more hilly, I reeled them in with each successive climb. Finally, I bridged up on a long, steep ascent. I rode behind them for a few more miles before they turned off and I continued on to do another loop.

I stopped at the top of a hill overlooking (the mud puddle that once was) Folsom Lake. I rarely even set foot on the ground when I ride, preferring to ride straight through. On this day, however, I had a different mindset. I sat down and enjoyed the day. The warm sun felt good on my face. I called my wife. I called a friend. I drew in the dirt with a stick. I took a picture.



After about 30 minutes, I started the 14 mile ride back to the truck. The rest of the ride was more mellow. I rode at a good tempo and finished the 41 miles feeling tired but fresh, if that makes sense.

The only hiccup in the whole ride was when I realized, after reaching El Dorado Hills, that I had left my front wheel in the parking lot back at Hazel. I rushed back down, terrified that I had lost my DT Swiss wheel. When I arrived, I was relieved to see that some nice person had placed it in the dirt median of the lot where it wouldn’t be run over.

Thanks, nice person.

Later.