The dirt is caked on like a thick layer of powdered sugar. I feel everything. I live to ride again.
That is to say; I live, to ride again.
Rode the east/west loops yesterday. It had been awhile, and like most trails lately, I'm re-discovering them with a different body. I'm trying to restore to myself the body I had 3 years ago...lean, fast and aware. But 3 years of change and recovery has made me soft. I've dropped 15 pounds so far this year, looking to drop at least 30 more, but I'm finding age has decided I can't do that as fast as I used to. I was 29 when I finished grad school and found the time to again think about my body in addition to my mind and soul. I was almost 31 when the restoration was complete.
I'll be 38 in a month and I feel like I've aged 20 years since that triumphant day in November, just over 7 years ago. Just found some old pictures of me from 5 or 6 years ago and Amy said I looked like a cancer patient in some of them. I suppose, but those were the days of lean, fast and aware. And I want it back.
And get it back I will. Just posted another personal best on a familiar route and took another ride a few days later on a trail I thought I'd never enjoy again...but that Secret trail was even better than the one I'm so used to. I laugh at the pathetic meaning I once attached to it. Something about change, but now I know, it's just another trail, and my body feels the climbs just the same.
My lenses on my riding glasses are persimmon now, not dark grey. I like the clarity, but metaphorically, I like the fact that I can't hide my attention anymore. I never liked being hidden, but the haze that accumulated made it all to easy.
7 days now, 7 more rides. I've been ineffective this week. Time to wipe the haze away.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
What a great song
Ha. So fitting in so many respects. Chase after it, you overgrown children, cause that's all you can ever do. Seek after that which you think you need...Amuse us, because at the end of the day, after all the words come out and and the only thing left is primal...who acts and who does what they're told?
You Don't Know What Love Is (The White Stripes):
In some respects
I suspect you've got a respectable side
When pushed and pulled and pressured
You seldom run and hide
But its for someone elses benefit
Not for what you wanna do
Until I realize that you've realized
I'm gonna say these words to you
You don't know what love is
You do as you're told
Just as a child at ten might act
But you're far too old
You're not hopeless or helpless
and I hate to sound cold
But you dont know what love is...
You just do as you're told
I can see your man
cant help but win
any problems that may arise
but in his mind there can be no sin
if you never criticize
you just keep on repeating
all those empty "I love you's"
until you say you deserve better
I'm gonna lay right into you
You don't know what love is
you just do as you're told
just as a child of ten might act
but your far too old
your not hopeless or helpless
and i hate to sound cold
but you don't know what love is
no you don't know what love is
no you don't know what love is
you just do as you're told
you do as you're told
yeah
Friday, January 27, 2012
7 days, 7 rides
Day one:
Desert classic. Pima canyon, to the tank and back. 50 minutes in the setting sun. Tires settling in, found the right pressure for the rear, still too much in front. The green concoction seems to work well, good for porous non-UST tires. Still so fat and slow, 30 pounds away from where I will be in a few months. Working those climbs, re-awakening those muscles as much as I can before age and life take them away. Familiar trail, familiar sights, familiar thoughts. Push, shift, push again. Get over the top. I am happy with where I am. Shift again, build momentum. Life's crazy, all the twists and turns. Another hill. Shift, spin, grab and go. Ride the balance, don't let it spin out. It would be easy to overpower here, but that would kill the flow of the journey. Feel the tension between earth and motion, understand how it works, and ride it up. No emergency, no need to disturb the earth here. Fast and flowy now. Gravity is pulling but the trail is resisting. Find your center, aim, lean her over, and find where the edges start to have their say.
I am happy with where I am.
Day two:
Desert classic, to the tank and back, slightly different route. Same setting sun, different results. 45 minutes, out and back. Routine? Really? Already? Tires better, but the back is a little slushy. Easy fix. Individual rocks that fight back, all day every day, are felt even less. Almost dialed in, but I'd like to quit thinking about that. Did I make the right choice? I like things that matter, things that last, things that don't change or break at the first sign of trouble. And yes, it still feels soooo good, regardless of what my micro-vision may suggest. Perfect? Nope. But what is? Can't hold a double standard on my life and what is right in front of me. Spent too many years overly concerned with the so-called ideals that I lost touch with the now. And the now is, quite simply, I'm getting faster again. Don't need a therapist to figure that one out.
Day Three:
Desert classic: Pima Canyon, tank, Secret loop, tank, Pima canyon. 75 minutes. When your usual ride starts to feel too long, go for a longer one. Little things start to come back, like where to center yourself on a fast corner, or that big cog/big ring is a no-no. Lost my chain twice this ride, and something started squeaking. Think I hosed my rear derailleur. Tires felt perfect though. I'm such a diva. Locked out my rear shock for about half the ride, think I'll do that more often, on this trail at least. Am actively fighting the guilt of leaving work early and the perception of not spending as much time with the family, but the benefit of more endorphins in the system and just more good juju in general seem to be countering that. For now. Soldiering on. Tomorrow, a relaxed change-up, me thinks. Pima canyon, east-west loops, up and down Javelina, east-west loops, and back. Maybe bring the big bike and test the Marz 66.
Day Four:
Fuck it. Don't wanna drive to the trailhead, don't wanna go through the routine. Jeans, Keens, and a cruiser work right now.
Day Five:
Good ride on DC with an old friend. Slow is just a phase, not a perpetual prison. And, in the end, truly just a function of choices, driven by priorities. Like anything, slow happens because you don't push the slow back. You let it decide because you either haven't decided, or worse, decided to let it back in. But sometimes it just happens. Learning to push it back and not be afraid of it is a step. A small one, but a step nonetheless.
I have spent my life on journeys of some kind or other. I am happiest and most productive when I am on one. Biking, skiing, driving, educating myself or others, tour guide, writer, whatever. The act of the unfurling journey is what I crave. I get bored when I arrive, I am anxious when I can't leave. Navigation is my calling.
Day Six:
Papago. From the house. A fast 45 minutes and a whole new section of trail discovered. Funny, just the ride through campus and up Mill ave. is almost as entertaining than the dirt part. I must look like a fool to the kids I pass by, the old guy riding his over-priced mid-life-crisis bike. But I don't even care in the slightest, which I guess makes me an -eccentric- old guy riding his over-priced mid-life-crisis bike. I'll keep on turning those cranks and enjoy the buzz of the knobbies on the concrete. I'll not worry about the annoying creaks coming from my under-lubricated seatpost. I find myself thinking of my kids and family and how much they mean to me. I love the state of mind I'm in when pedaling, that's the mental place where I want to be when I leave this life.
Day Seven:
FINS. Fantasy Island North Singletrack. Not bad, but nothing I'd call flowy either. Fun, but in a different, more deliberate and raw kind of way. Like an amateur musician's first composition, got so caught up with each measure and note that the idea comes out distorted when played at normal speed. Maybe we rode it in the wrong direction, everyone seemed to be going the other way. Ah, that's it, we were playing the record backwards! No wonder it sounded like devil music.
Was good to ride again with Dan and Rick. I got Dan into mountain biking about 5 years ago and created a monster. It's good to see, I'm glad I turned him on to it. Rick and I hadn't ridden together in about 2 years prior to last Sunday at SoMo. Feels good to be riding with old friends again. 4 years of monumental changes seem to be coming full circle. I was in such a stable yet miserable place then, like the song was playing but terribly out of key. I still look forward to retirement and the RV and traveling the country but I'm in no hurry to get there now. The thought of the next few hours, the next few years and decades, if not the whole lot of my time left, hold enough potential to keep me in that state of wonder, that place I want to be always, at the end, and beyond. I perceive things now that I would have missed, things that will live on just because I notice them now.
7 days and 7 rides wasn't just a goal, it turns out. It was a prescription.
Desert classic. Pima canyon, to the tank and back. 50 minutes in the setting sun. Tires settling in, found the right pressure for the rear, still too much in front. The green concoction seems to work well, good for porous non-UST tires. Still so fat and slow, 30 pounds away from where I will be in a few months. Working those climbs, re-awakening those muscles as much as I can before age and life take them away. Familiar trail, familiar sights, familiar thoughts. Push, shift, push again. Get over the top. I am happy with where I am. Shift again, build momentum. Life's crazy, all the twists and turns. Another hill. Shift, spin, grab and go. Ride the balance, don't let it spin out. It would be easy to overpower here, but that would kill the flow of the journey. Feel the tension between earth and motion, understand how it works, and ride it up. No emergency, no need to disturb the earth here. Fast and flowy now. Gravity is pulling but the trail is resisting. Find your center, aim, lean her over, and find where the edges start to have their say.
I am happy with where I am.
Day two:
Desert classic, to the tank and back, slightly different route. Same setting sun, different results. 45 minutes, out and back. Routine? Really? Already? Tires better, but the back is a little slushy. Easy fix. Individual rocks that fight back, all day every day, are felt even less. Almost dialed in, but I'd like to quit thinking about that. Did I make the right choice? I like things that matter, things that last, things that don't change or break at the first sign of trouble. And yes, it still feels soooo good, regardless of what my micro-vision may suggest. Perfect? Nope. But what is? Can't hold a double standard on my life and what is right in front of me. Spent too many years overly concerned with the so-called ideals that I lost touch with the now. And the now is, quite simply, I'm getting faster again. Don't need a therapist to figure that one out.
Day Three:
Desert classic: Pima Canyon, tank, Secret loop, tank, Pima canyon. 75 minutes. When your usual ride starts to feel too long, go for a longer one. Little things start to come back, like where to center yourself on a fast corner, or that big cog/big ring is a no-no. Lost my chain twice this ride, and something started squeaking. Think I hosed my rear derailleur. Tires felt perfect though. I'm such a diva. Locked out my rear shock for about half the ride, think I'll do that more often, on this trail at least. Am actively fighting the guilt of leaving work early and the perception of not spending as much time with the family, but the benefit of more endorphins in the system and just more good juju in general seem to be countering that. For now. Soldiering on. Tomorrow, a relaxed change-up, me thinks. Pima canyon, east-west loops, up and down Javelina, east-west loops, and back. Maybe bring the big bike and test the Marz 66.
Day Four:
Fuck it. Don't wanna drive to the trailhead, don't wanna go through the routine. Jeans, Keens, and a cruiser work right now.
I have not introduced my cruiser, have I? Coaster brakes, 29-inch wheels, big fat black leather seat with red piping, cool grey ano frame, and nice accents. Enjoyable on a totally different plane, like an alternate universe where fun comes before pain. It's like a wormhole shortcut into a perfect, effortless moment of single-speed motion, comfy laid-back posture, super-hero intentions, and all the accuracy of a la-z-boy mounted in the driver position of a 76 Cadillac Coupe-de-Ville after a few shots. 4 to 16 shots, to be "specific". 45 minutes of checking out the 'hood and pushing a little extra harder just to see what happens, rewarded by completing day 4, even when I didn't want to.
Day Five:
Good ride on DC with an old friend. Slow is just a phase, not a perpetual prison. And, in the end, truly just a function of choices, driven by priorities. Like anything, slow happens because you don't push the slow back. You let it decide because you either haven't decided, or worse, decided to let it back in. But sometimes it just happens. Learning to push it back and not be afraid of it is a step. A small one, but a step nonetheless.
I have spent my life on journeys of some kind or other. I am happiest and most productive when I am on one. Biking, skiing, driving, educating myself or others, tour guide, writer, whatever. The act of the unfurling journey is what I crave. I get bored when I arrive, I am anxious when I can't leave. Navigation is my calling.
Day Six:
Papago. From the house. A fast 45 minutes and a whole new section of trail discovered. Funny, just the ride through campus and up Mill ave. is almost as entertaining than the dirt part. I must look like a fool to the kids I pass by, the old guy riding his over-priced mid-life-crisis bike. But I don't even care in the slightest, which I guess makes me an -eccentric- old guy riding his over-priced mid-life-crisis bike. I'll keep on turning those cranks and enjoy the buzz of the knobbies on the concrete. I'll not worry about the annoying creaks coming from my under-lubricated seatpost. I find myself thinking of my kids and family and how much they mean to me. I love the state of mind I'm in when pedaling, that's the mental place where I want to be when I leave this life.
Day Seven:
FINS. Fantasy Island North Singletrack. Not bad, but nothing I'd call flowy either. Fun, but in a different, more deliberate and raw kind of way. Like an amateur musician's first composition, got so caught up with each measure and note that the idea comes out distorted when played at normal speed. Maybe we rode it in the wrong direction, everyone seemed to be going the other way. Ah, that's it, we were playing the record backwards! No wonder it sounded like devil music.
Was good to ride again with Dan and Rick. I got Dan into mountain biking about 5 years ago and created a monster. It's good to see, I'm glad I turned him on to it. Rick and I hadn't ridden together in about 2 years prior to last Sunday at SoMo. Feels good to be riding with old friends again. 4 years of monumental changes seem to be coming full circle. I was in such a stable yet miserable place then, like the song was playing but terribly out of key. I still look forward to retirement and the RV and traveling the country but I'm in no hurry to get there now. The thought of the next few hours, the next few years and decades, if not the whole lot of my time left, hold enough potential to keep me in that state of wonder, that place I want to be always, at the end, and beyond. I perceive things now that I would have missed, things that will live on just because I notice them now.
7 days and 7 rides wasn't just a goal, it turns out. It was a prescription.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Winter's here already?
Out of 13 blog posts in 2011, only 3 published. My, what a year of unfinished business, but then again, what a year of change. New job, new house, new Jeep, and Amy and I are -finally- engaged. I say finally because in hindsight, though we've been together almost 3 years now, it should have been 17. But hey, that's old news, what's important now is what's next. And now that winter's here....
Skiing has always been part of my life. I started when I was 14, and being a Phoenix native that's a pretty odd thing. But nonetheless, I spent the better part of the 10 years between 1996 and 2006 getting in anywhere from 10 to 45 days a year. I even got this crazy idea back in 03 and decided I needed to telemark, so I spent the better parts of 03-06 buying tele equipment and teaching myself the art of the soulful turn.
You know, free the heel, free the soul...
Fortunately for the aspiring telemarker in me, I lived in northern Indiana at the time and had a ski area 20 minutes from my house. At least, it was called a ski area because it had a lodge, lifts, and snow, but the two bumps in a farmers field are hardly what I knew as skiing, having grown up skiing the Rockies. But nonetheless, it afforded me the opportunity to drive to Swiss Valley every night after work for a couple winters and do laps, refining my technique and getting the feel for the tele-turn. 3 minute ride up, 30 second ride down. Repeat until 10pm.
And it was great. Each of those winters I got one or 2 trips back west to ride "real" mountains and had the legs all tuned up and ready to go. No 2-5 days getting my legs in shape for winter, they were already where they needed to be to handle days of deep-quad burning tele-turns. I even ventured into "the backcountry" a few times in central and northern Michigan and once in Flagstaff. Nothing extreme or avalanche-prone, but an opportunity to slap some skins on my skis and do some climbing and winter camping.
Moving back to Phoenix in late 2004 and re-kindling my love for mountain biking sort of killed off my skiing a bit, to where I have only gotten about a day or 2 a season the last 6 years. But, for reasons I can't yet explain, the bug is back to make some turns, and do it often. However, this time around, I don't have a nifty ski area just out my backdoor to tune up my legs. I knew this, after a year or 2 back in Phoenix, which is why most of my telemark gear has been sold off replaced by traditional Alpine and an an AT setup.
Telemarking is great fun but only if you're in shape to do it and have the legs, which on average takes 3-5 days to regain every winter. Without the luxury of 30-40 skiing days anymore, I had to turn to the dark side. I had to lock down my heels. No more soulful turns. No more knee bent close to the mountain and and grinning ear to ear as my tasseled sherpa hat's tassels blew in the wind behind me. No more conceited happiness as I comfortably walked around in my boots at the lodge or in camp. No more smug glee as I carved my beautiful turns beneath the ski lift, believing I was the top of the snow-sports food chain. Nope. I had returned to tier-2. I had to put on my training heels.
Well, to quote Andrew McClean, fix the heel, fix the problem.
And until I can live somewhere that will allow 30-40 days a year again, I'll probably keep the heels locked down. Sure, I'll lose all credibility with the counterculture, patchouli-smelling, anti-resort crowd, but sorry guys. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to get some turns, and this man's just going to have to man up and admit it:
I am an AT skier.
Skiing has always been part of my life. I started when I was 14, and being a Phoenix native that's a pretty odd thing. But nonetheless, I spent the better part of the 10 years between 1996 and 2006 getting in anywhere from 10 to 45 days a year. I even got this crazy idea back in 03 and decided I needed to telemark, so I spent the better parts of 03-06 buying tele equipment and teaching myself the art of the soulful turn.
You know, free the heel, free the soul...
Fortunately for the aspiring telemarker in me, I lived in northern Indiana at the time and had a ski area 20 minutes from my house. At least, it was called a ski area because it had a lodge, lifts, and snow, but the two bumps in a farmers field are hardly what I knew as skiing, having grown up skiing the Rockies. But nonetheless, it afforded me the opportunity to drive to Swiss Valley every night after work for a couple winters and do laps, refining my technique and getting the feel for the tele-turn. 3 minute ride up, 30 second ride down. Repeat until 10pm.
And it was great. Each of those winters I got one or 2 trips back west to ride "real" mountains and had the legs all tuned up and ready to go. No 2-5 days getting my legs in shape for winter, they were already where they needed to be to handle days of deep-quad burning tele-turns. I even ventured into "the backcountry" a few times in central and northern Michigan and once in Flagstaff. Nothing extreme or avalanche-prone, but an opportunity to slap some skins on my skis and do some climbing and winter camping.
Moving back to Phoenix in late 2004 and re-kindling my love for mountain biking sort of killed off my skiing a bit, to where I have only gotten about a day or 2 a season the last 6 years. But, for reasons I can't yet explain, the bug is back to make some turns, and do it often. However, this time around, I don't have a nifty ski area just out my backdoor to tune up my legs. I knew this, after a year or 2 back in Phoenix, which is why most of my telemark gear has been sold off replaced by traditional Alpine and an an AT setup.
Telemarking is great fun but only if you're in shape to do it and have the legs, which on average takes 3-5 days to regain every winter. Without the luxury of 30-40 skiing days anymore, I had to turn to the dark side. I had to lock down my heels. No more soulful turns. No more knee bent close to the mountain and and grinning ear to ear as my tasseled sherpa hat's tassels blew in the wind behind me. No more conceited happiness as I comfortably walked around in my boots at the lodge or in camp. No more smug glee as I carved my beautiful turns beneath the ski lift, believing I was the top of the snow-sports food chain. Nope. I had returned to tier-2. I had to put on my training heels.
Well, to quote Andrew McClean, fix the heel, fix the problem.
And until I can live somewhere that will allow 30-40 days a year again, I'll probably keep the heels locked down. Sure, I'll lose all credibility with the counterculture, patchouli-smelling, anti-resort crowd, but sorry guys. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to get some turns, and this man's just going to have to man up and admit it:
I am an AT skier.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Full Circle
And here I am. Full circle, living a life that I should have started 18 years ago but couldn't, at least not until now.
2 and a half years later, after the seemingly impossible happened, and it just keeps going. I may have purged myself once, but the bones were and always will be a part of me; and now, more than ever, I know its for the better.
Rebuilding a life takes more steps than I thought, and makes me appreciate all that goes into building a foundation. For one thing, time. Time to see all those dimensions that only come out with the changing of the tides. I'm well aware of what doesn't work, and maybe I've grown a bit cynical, but I don't care anymore. Sadness is to the east now, and easy to see. At our age, it's just an artifact of our childhood, but you can only entertain it for so long, if you clearly intend to do nothing about it. I don't want any part of it; what energy I have left is better spent elsewhere.
Yet some still seem to thrive on it. Can't let go.
Well fuck them.
I've spent enough time in my own rabbit hole and the ones of those I love to find it interesting anymore. Oh I'll traverse the sea of human drama again and again for the rest of my life, most likely, but I'll certainly not drift in it. Just knowing what's on the other side of the Sargasso Sea is enough for me, and I can accept that getting to the new world and back requires tenacity, courage, integrity and patience.
Tenacity, courage, integrity and patience. I know the meaning of the words. While I feel young, happy and carefree again, I have the perspective of time now. Makes for an easy way forward, with simple truths that don't need explaining:
Yet requires a watchful eye that knows how to keep out the demons at the gate.
2 and a half years later, after the seemingly impossible happened, and it just keeps going. I may have purged myself once, but the bones were and always will be a part of me; and now, more than ever, I know its for the better.
Rebuilding a life takes more steps than I thought, and makes me appreciate all that goes into building a foundation. For one thing, time. Time to see all those dimensions that only come out with the changing of the tides. I'm well aware of what doesn't work, and maybe I've grown a bit cynical, but I don't care anymore. Sadness is to the east now, and easy to see. At our age, it's just an artifact of our childhood, but you can only entertain it for so long, if you clearly intend to do nothing about it. I don't want any part of it; what energy I have left is better spent elsewhere.
Yet some still seem to thrive on it. Can't let go.
Well fuck them.
I've spent enough time in my own rabbit hole and the ones of those I love to find it interesting anymore. Oh I'll traverse the sea of human drama again and again for the rest of my life, most likely, but I'll certainly not drift in it. Just knowing what's on the other side of the Sargasso Sea is enough for me, and I can accept that getting to the new world and back requires tenacity, courage, integrity and patience.
Tenacity, courage, integrity and patience. I know the meaning of the words. While I feel young, happy and carefree again, I have the perspective of time now. Makes for an easy way forward, with simple truths that don't need explaining:
Yet requires a watchful eye that knows how to keep out the demons at the gate.
Monday, February 14, 2011
For my Amy
from The Dream
Love is not love until love's vulnerable.
She slowed to sigh, in that long interval.
A small bird flew in circles where she stood;
A deer came down, out of the dappled wood.
All who remember, doubt. Who calls that strange?
I tossed a stone, and listened to its plunge.
She knew the grammar of least motion,
She taught me one virtue, and I live thereby.
She held her body steady in the wind;
Our shadows met, and slowly swung around;
She turned the field into a glittering sea;
I played in flame and water like a boy
And I swayed out beyond the white seafoam;
Like a wet log, I sang within a flame.
In that last while, eternity's confine,
I came to love, I came into my own.
-Theodore Roethke
Friday, January 7, 2011
Question for leaders
As a potential leader, there are many questions that could be asked to determine your capability or capacity. The one I've never heard is this:
Aside from the people you've led and/or directed...of all the people you've mentored, who are you the most proud of?
It's my bet that many so-called leaders would be caught off-guard by this question because, in their quest to achieve personal goals and improve themselves, the notion of mentoring probably never caught their attention.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
