All mountain skis? The Dynafit Huascaran.

I've been lucky enough to ski a dozen new skis in the last couple of weeks. All of them hand picked for possible inclusion in my personal "ultimate" quiver. No skito date more of a surprise or more impressive as a true "all mountain ski", than... the new Dynafit Hauscaran. This is truly one amazing ski. Helped to have 2+' (yes 2+ feet) of new, untracked hero snow today to play on. It is the Cascades after all so anything you can actually ski here that is 2' deep IS,almost unbelievable, hero snow. And it was snowing hard enough to fill it in all day long.Did I mention it was almost untracked from 9AM to 4PM because it kept snowing so hard? Just one of THOSE days :) Butliterally, from water ice, to cut up crud and a hard rain crust to some amazing POW;the Hauscaranwill rip fast GS turns or dance in the deep and steep stuff amid tight trees. Effortless in either situation, even for me! An amazing ski. And now I know why so many decide towear a helmet.












Even more impressive to meknowing that I was doing all thiswhileskiinga pair of light weight TLT 5 Performance boots and the new TLT Speed Superlite RACE Binding (185g). The same boot the original designer said it was "stupid to ski them off the lifts". They are that light. But they do ski well ;) Turns out, for no special reason, it was a Dynafit day. I hadn't planned it that way. This set up was to be my "lwt fat" ski for longer mid winter touring days. The Hauscaranis all that and a bag of chips! But I am rethinking what might be its other uses now and what it would do with a "real" ski boot bolted on. Something like the Mercury or Vulcan. may be even the One. I know my Zero4 Carbons are way, way too much boot for this ski, in a 177. No need for that much power!













These are short @177cm. Taking advantage of the size/weight ofthe binding these(ski & binding) weigh in at 8# 10oz. First time I have ever thought about buying a 2nd pair of the same ski...the next one in a 196cm. Two sizes, two different boots to drive them and two totally different usesfor the ski.



The 178cm is 134-112-123 and 1780g weights in at . The 196cm is 136-115-125 and weights in at 1940g. And yes, it was snowing :)


In the next few weeks hopefully I'll get the time to write up all the skis I've been ridingrecently.And my ideas behind the "ultimate quiver". Along with some old and new boots and some of the accessories I've found really useful this winter for skiing in bounds and out.



But as I mentioned this ski was a total surprise. I wasn't expecting much from such a big skis. And what the Hauscaran delivered was pretty impressive in my limited experience. Enough so thatI wanted to do an early heads up on it tonight. 'Cuz it is snowing like crazy at the house right now and likely a huge dump upon the hill for tomorrow!

Early evening Milky Way over the Spirit Tree

I made this image a couple of months ago but just uploaded it to my website and wanted to share it with all of you. This was taken in the early hours of the night as the sky was just beginning to get dark enough to see the Milky Way. I love watching and photographing the night sky at the Spirit Tree, there is always something beautiful to see.

Fall Leaves on Jemez Creek

Cottonwood trees along Jemez Creek. Most had already lost their leaves when we were there last week.

Cycling Destinations

image via chris531

For the past several years, I've had a dream cycling destination that I fantasise about incessantly: the Dark Hedges in the North of Ireland. Oh the Dark Hedges! What are they? Well technically, they are just a short stretch of country road near the coast of Couny Antrim. The road is lined with ancient beach trees, and these trees have grown so crooked and twisted that the overhanging branches have intertwined to form a magnificent canopy. Overgrown with moss, the whole thing has an enchanted, mystical look to it. I fell in love with this unseen piece of landscape the first time I saw a photograph of it, immediately imagining myself under the canopy as sunlight streamed through black branches and everything turned hundreds of shades of green. What happens next? I'm not sure, but something magical. Maybe if one is there at just the right time of day, the trees will talk to you, or the faeries will come out. And if you're there at the wrong time of day, you'll be turned into a tree yourself. With a name like Dark Hedges, an element of danger is to be expected.




As I got into cycling, it was only natural that I began to imagine visiting the Dark Hedges by bicycle. I have family in Ireland, and by this time last year I had developed a grandiose plan that involved visiting them, then taking a train north, disembarking once the "scenic parts" began, and cycling along the coast for hundreds of miles - through rolling green hills overlooking treacherous cliffs, and past the Giant's Causeway - until finally, exhausted and covered in road dust, I would arrive at the Dark Hedges and triumphantly cycle through them as their beauty and magic penetrated every fiber of my being.



I know. Some dream of crossing the Pyrenees and I dream of cycling through a cluster of hedges. Well, it's my fantasy!



While I had hoped my pilgrimage to the Dark Hedges would take place last year, obviously that did not happen. The more I began to look into it practically, the more confused I became as to how to arrange it. There was the question of getting my bike over there - which is so expensive and unpleasant, that at first I thought I'd be better off renting or borrowing a bicycle in Ireland. But on closer examination, it turned out that finding a roadbike to rent would actually be quite difficult, and cycling for hundreds of miles on an upright hybrid was not what I had in mind. And while I have friends there who are willing to lend me a bike, they live in the opposite direction from where I'd be heading, so the logistics would not work out. But the final blow that made me postpone planning this trip came when a couple of local acquaintances expressed skepticism about the idea, telling me that the drivers were awful and that all the good cycling was on the west, not the east coast. Hmm. Of course "awful" should be taken with a grain of salt, as they'd never cycled on the roads in the US and their basis for comparison is limited. Still, all of this taken together made me put the brakes on the idea until I could get a better sense of how to plan a trip like this.



Which brings me to a larger point: How does one go about planning a cycling trip to a place they've never been? There are many beautiful locations that are touted as cycling destinations, but the truth is that we do not really know how comfortable we will be with the terrain and road sharing culture until we are there. Having recently read about two cycling couples' experiences in New Zealand has further highlighted this problem. Localrandonneurs Pamela and John "Blayley" picked up andmoved to New Zealand in 2002, believing (after a great deal of research) that it would be a cyclist's paradise. What they discovered in practice however, was rather different and they ended up moving back to the US just 2 years later. More recently, Russ Roca and Laura Crawford of The Path Less Pedaled embarked on a tour of New Zealand - billed as "The Kiwi Chronicles," documented by the Bicycle Times, and meant to promote new Zealand as a cycling friendly destination. It was therefore a surprise to everyone when several days ago they experienced a road rage incident involving physical violence while cycling single file. The incident has sparked a media frenzy, challenging the portrayal of New Zealand as friendly or safe for bicyclists.



I have a number of acquaintances and colleagues who have gone on trips to their dream cycling destinations, and the feedback has been pretty mixed. Those who go to France and Italy seem to have better experiences overall. This may simply be because those routes are so well traveled that it is possible to do more thorough research and have a better idea of what to expect, and it may also be because both countries have a well developed cycling cultures. While to me, Ireland seems like the perfect place to cycle - with its rolling hills, beautiful scenery and rural roads - I have found comparatively few personal narratives allowing me to gauge what the particular route I am interested in would be like for someone of my skill level, and so I remain conflicted.What is your dream cycling destination, and how would you approach planning a trip to one?

Climbing Muscles? Perhaps

When I began to do long hilly rides, I acquired a nemesis: the Mysterious Pain. This pain would get me even when my legs were strong and my energy levels were high. It would get me when least expected, ruining countless rides and limiting my progress.




I have never experienced anything quite like it before. It wasn't so much of a pain even, as an alarming sensation of seizing, not so much in my lower back as below it. If you draw an imaginary horizontal line perpendicular to the top of the butt crack, the sensation was along that line, in two distinct spots on the left and right, symmetrical.




The first time I experienced it in earnest was during a 100 mile overnight ride to Maineearly last summer. It came on around mile 70 and was so debilitating I had to stop on the side of the road and stretch every 10 miles to keep going.




Mystery pains are a source of fascination to cyclists, and I talked about mine with a slew of local riders. At the time the consensus was that I had increased my milage too quickly and hadn't the upper body strength to handle it. So I spent the rest of the summer sticking to sub-100K rides, but doing them with more frequency to build up strength and muscle tone. I am not sure this had any effect. It may have worked subtly, but at the time I felt somewhat stagnant and dispirited. I wanted, very badly, to do longer rides. And I felt strong; my legs would seldom get tired on a bike. But this strange pain/ seizing sensation was like a brick wall I kept hitting:No sooner would I attempt a long ride with lots of climbing, it would return.




This Spring I began riding more than ever. Short rides, long rides, paved rides, dirt rides, club rides, brevets... I thought I was riding a lot before, but now I was practically living on my bike. Disappointingly, the mystery pain was still there - though I'd now learned to manage it with strategically timed stops and stretching. On the 200K brevet, I'd pull over on the side of the road every so many miles so that I could bend over backwards and do some quick twists before continuing. That was all it took to stop the discomfort for the next so many miles, so stopping was better than not stopping: If I did nothing about it and continued riding it would only slow me down.




Having witnessed this riding next to me on the 200K, my friend Pamela suggested that the problem could be insufficiently developed "climbing muscles" - something she herself had experienced at one time. Rather than related to distance, the discomfort could be brought on by long stretches of climbing - which are of course more likely to occur on long distance rides.




There were other suggestions from riding companions at this time: That my gears were too high. That my saddle was too hard. That my position on the bike was too aggressive. And that climbing seated was the real issue.




At that point I decided to take an aggressive approach and try everything. The suggestion that my roadbike position was causing the discomfort worried me, because I otherwise found it so comfortable. But a few strategic rides helped me eliminate that as the cause: I was able to bring about the same pain on more upright bikes (even my Brompton) if I used higher gears when climbing for a prolonged period of time. So gearing had a lot more to do with it than position. I now also knew for certain that the source of the problem wasn't the long distance, but the long, repeated climbs. In Ireland I found that I could bring about the pain within as little as 20 miles, if they were "quality miles" with respect to elevation gain.




In short, the climbing muscles diagnosis seemed the most probable. But how to develop them? I was not willing to go to the gym to work on my "core," and so far just continuing to ride the way I'd been wasn't helping.




Staying in Ireland took care of the problem. Here I did not continue to ride the way I'd been, but, with some guidance, began to do more focused riding - both faster and with more climbing - on a more or less daily basis. I learned how to use gears more efficiently. And I also finally learned how to stand out of the saddleand began practicing that every ride.




One result of all this has been a subtle, but significant transformation to my body within a very short time period. The changes to my legs did not surprise me - after all, that is what we expect from cycling. But I did not expect the changes to my midriff. My abdomen has gone flat and there are these weird thin horizontal muscles wrapping around the sides of my torso, front and back - where the "love handles" used to be,if you will. I have never had muscle definition in this area before, and it all looks and feels absolutely bizarre, as if my body isn't really mine.But existential analyses aside, whatever's happened it has solved the mystery pain problem. No more. It's just gone - regardless of whether I climb standing or seated, in a low gear or high. Just to make sure, this past week I've made it a point to do hilly rides without getting out of the saddle at all, like in the old days (meaning entire months ago). But that seizing sensation below the lower back is now just a memory.




So... climbing muscles. What are they exactly? I imagine some combination of abdominal and lower back muscles. For some they might be naturally well developed. For most they are probably average. And for some, like myself, they could be underdeveloped - requiring lots of work to get up to par. Happily, I love riding and doing this "work." And I love it that this limitation is finally gone.

Metropolitan

The weather here has been awful since I've returned from Vienna. So while I've used my bicycle to get where I need to go, the long "welcome home" ride I fantasized about does not seem to be in the cards. Stretches like this remind me to take advantage of good weather whenever possible, and so I offer these photos from one of the nicer cycling days we had at the beginning of the month.



These photos were taken in front of the Metropolitan Storage Warehouse in Cambridge, Mass., which is a local landmark of sorts and has been functioning since 1917.



We do not usually have a good reason to visit this area, but I was intrigued by the Vassar Street bike path controversy that I had read about on Chic Cyclist and I wanted to show it to the Co-Habitant. To summarise, the Vassar Street path is criticised because it is "European style" - running mostly on the sidewalk and therefore conflicting with both pedestrian traffic and with the cars that frequently pull in and out of the various parking lots that cross the path. Compared to what I had been expecting, the path is actually not so bad in person. In fact, it is set up like a typical bike path in Vienna. The main issue is that cyclists must keep to a fairly low speed in order to ride on the path safely during peak traffic times - and Americans are simply not used to cycling at such low speeds and continue to ride at a brisk pace.



I am not certain what my stance is on the Vassar Street critique; it is a complicated issue. But I do enjoy cycling through the MIT/ Cambridgeport neighborhood during non-traffic hours. When these streets are empty, I feel that the personalities of all the warehouses and industrial sites and contemporary constructions really come out, and the abandoned urban landscape becomes "communicative". Is it all in my head? Maybe so. But that does not make the experience any less interesting.

More Tractor Work

Revisiting My First 5.9's: Bonnie's Roof, Ants' Line & Directissima

This post will eventually describe the climbing I did on Labor Day weekend with my old pal Parker.




But first I want to talk about what I did this summer.




You will recall that I spent a disappointing, rainy week in New Paltz at the end of June/beginning of July.




In the time since then I have been silent.




It has been a wonderful couple of months. I've had exciting travels and adventures.




Unfortunately these exciting travels and adventures did not include rock climbing.




Hence my silence. But I think you, my rock climbing audience, deserve a little taste of what my summer has been about.




I went to New Hampshire twice, and even reached the top of Cannon Cliff. I was in the area on daddy duty, shuttling my two kids to and from summer camp. Climbing was not on the agenda. So although we went to the top of Cannon, we did not scale the cliff via a classic route like Moby Grape (5.8). Instead we took the Aerial Tramway.









(Photo: View down Cannon Mountain from the Tramway on a somewhat foggy day.)




While we were in Franconia Notch State Park we also took in the sights of the Flume Gorge. This natural rock channel is nice, though not nearly as nice as the rock climbing that is available just up the road. The hike through the gorge is fun, I guess. I recommend it if you are in Franconia Notch and by some cruel turn of fate you are not allowed to go rock climbing.









(Photo: The Flume Gorge in Franconia Notch State Park, NH.)




After I dropped the kids at camp, my wife Robin and I found ourselves for the first time in many years with two weekends completely free of the children, during which we could do whatever we wanted. This was my big opportunity. I could have gone climbing. But it didn't feel right. It seemed more appropriate for us to do things Robin and I would both want to do, as a couple.









(Photo: Montauk Point.)




So we went to the beach on the first weekend, and went hiking in the Adirondacks on the second.









(Photo: Avalanche Pass.)




On our first day in the Adirondacks we did a long day hike from Adirondack Loj past Marcy Dam and on to Avalanche Pass. The hike then continued up from Avalanche Pass to reach the summits of Mt. Iroquois and Mt. Algonquin (the second-highest mountain in New York) before returning to the Adirondack Loj via the trail past Wright Peak. Our route covered more than fourteen miles of wilderness. Much of it was quite rugged and wet. The trail from Avalanche Pass up to the saddle between Iroquois and Algonquin was especially steep and slippery. For much of its length, this segment of the trail required rock-hopping up a running stream. We enjoyed the challenge, and the views got better and better as we progressed, with numerous waterfalls along the way and Mt. Marcy gradually appearing behind the summit of Mt. Colden.









(Photo: Mt. Marcy just starting to peek out from behind Mt. Colden.)




While we were hiking Robin and I passed by quite a few rock climbs. In Avalanche Pass there is a lot of climbing, notably a 5.9 on Mt. Colden called California Flake. When we went through the pass this climb was soaking wet-- it has been a rainy year-- but still I wished I could hop on it. As we continued through the pass we got a great view of the Trap Dike, a long scramble up a huge gully on Mt. Colden. This is also a popular ice route in the winter. The Trap Dike is much bigger than I'd previously realized. It is truly impressive. Even though it is an easy climb, barely fifth-class, I'd love to come back to do it.




From the summit of Mt. Iroquois we had a good partial view of Wallface, the largest cliff in New York. For years I've been itching to do the classic Wallface route Diagonal (5.8), but I've never found the time to do it. It can't be tackled from NYC in a single day. At a bare minimum you'd have to set aside a weekend to get up to the region, hike in, and do the climb. Staring at Wallface from above, seeing the cliff in real life for the first time, I was awestruck. It appeared not just huge, but ominous and spooky. I got chills just looking at it.









(Photo: Wallface Mountain, seen from the summit of Mt. Iroquois.)




On our second day in the Adirondacks, Robin and I did an easier hike up the trail past the peaks known as the Three Brothers to the summit of Big Slide Mountain. (This was about eight miles round trip.) Along the way we got a glimpse of the rock climbing routes on the summit cone of Big Slide Mountain. There are just a few routes (and keep in mind I have not tried them!) but this location features incredible views of the entire Great Range. I would consider returning here for the climbing, as limited as it is, because the setting is especially scenic. As Robin and I discovered, this is a great hike even if you don't partake of the rock climbing at the end. The trail was quite muddy during our visit, which was not a problem except that Robin wasn't wearing her hiking boots. After the long hike the day before, her ankles were sore and it was too painful for her to wear her boots on our second day. So she negotiated the mud in her Converse sneakers. It worked out fine, but I wouldn't recommend Converse All-Stars for hiking, or for much of anything, really. Robin's pair went straight into the trash as soon as we finished the hike.









(Photo: View of the Great Range from the part of Big Slide where the rock climbing begins.)




When our children returned to our custody in mid-August we took off on our biggest adventure of the summer: we flew to London and then sailed off on a ten-day cruise to the fjords of Norway.




This was a family trip with Robin's parents, sisters and nephews. A cruise was not our preference; it was imposed on us. We've never been attracted to the cruise lifestyle and we both expected to feel stifled by the whole environment. I didn't like the idea of being constrained to follow the cruise's schedule, and any cruise, by its very nature, makes it impractical for me to incorporate my two sports-- climbing and cycling-- into the vacation. So we went into the whole cruise thing with low expectations.









(Photo: Kayaking with my daughter at the head of the beautiful Geirangerfjorden, Norway.)




Despite ourselves, we loved the cruise. The ship was pretty swanky, the scenery incredible. Norway is the most beautiful place I've ever been. We sailed by gorgeous fjords, kayaked beneath huge waterfalls, hiked past mirror-like lakes to beautiful blue glaciers, and danced our hearts out every night in the ship's disco.









(Photo: Cruising the Innvikfjorden, Norway.)










(Photo: Aurlandsfjorden at sunrise.)




After the cruise was over we spent a few nights in London. We had wonderful weather and had fun seeing the Tower of London, the Tate Modern, and Buckingham Palace, among other sites.









(Photo: The Tower Bridge in London.)




All of these travels were wonderful, but I'm sad to say that even while I was off seeing the world and having a great time, my obsessed mind never strayed too far from all the climbing I was missing.




I couldn't wait to get back at it. We were due to return home just before Labor Day weekend. I prayed the weather would cooperate. I had a partner lined up: my old buddy Parker, the man who'd braved the rain to belay me when I finally got up the sac to lead MF(5.9). I hadn't climbed with him in nearly two years, but he sent me a message while I was abroad saying he was coming up to the Gunks from Virginia for Labor Day weekend. He asked if I could meet him on Saturday.




Could I?? Hell yes!




The forecast was iffy. It was supposed to be muggy and in the 80's. There was a 40 percent chance of thundershowers.




Ultimately we got pretty lucky. It didn't rain until after 5:00. And the crummy forecast kept the hordes at bay. We had our pick of climbs, even though it was a holiday weekend.




Without meaning to, I ended up revisiting several of the first 5.9's I ever climbed at the Gunks, back in .




I drove up to meet Parker in New Paltz with no big ambitions to fulfill. I hadn't been climbing outside in nearly two months and hadn't seen a climbing gym in weeks. After my cruise vacation I felt fat and out of shape. I had no idea how I'd do once we actually got down to climbing.




Still I didn't want to defeat myself by not even trying, so when we met at the parking lot I volunteered for the first lead and suggested a climb: Bonnie's Roof. I thought it would be a good choice because it is a pretty casual 5.9 with a very well-protected crux. I was pretty sure it would be no problem for me and that it would build confidence. And I thought that if by some miracle I was really feeling good I could run the first pitch right into the Bonnie's Direct finish (also rated 5.9), doing both pitches in one.




Also Bonnie's is one of my favorites and I hadn't been on it this year. Why not give it a go?




Well, it went fine, but it didn't feel all that casual. It was so humid out that I was quickly bathed in sweat. I chalked my hands repeatedly but they still felt slippery. I started placing pro very frequently-- Bonnie's Roof allows placements at will-- and soon I gave up the thought of running both pitches together.




Even though I scaled back my plans I wasn't too worried about the pitch, since the crux protects so well. I remembered my first time on the route, four years ago. It was one of the best days ever: I successfully led CCK (5.7+) onsight and then Bonnie's. Both of them were big deals to me at the time. On that day, while I was still on the ground getting set to start climbing Bonnie's, I remember that a passing stranger suggested to me that I bring the blue #3 Camalot for the crux. On that occasion I had committed, getting fully into the steep bit at the roof before realizing it was time for the blue cam. When I suddenly remembered the stranger's advice, I slammed the piece in and clipped it, then desperately pulled up on the great handholds while my right foot flailed about, trying to get established on the right side of the corner above the roof. Finally I was able to get the foot on the wall and stand up. What a great feeling that was... and of course it was all so unnecessary!




This time, in , I placed the blue cam from below. You can reach right up and slot it behind the point at the end of the roof, before you step up into the steepness. There is no need to desperately plug and go. And with a little footwork the moves are not an issue. It is still a great feeling to get over the roof, and then the rest of the pitch is very casual.




I built a belay at the end of pitch one, wishing I had brought a knife to cut all the junky slings off of the fixed station there. I don't know why this station exists. It is too high up for top-roping and no one raps from it. The slings are all old and faded and it is hard to tell what the newer bits are attached to. I have never used this station without backing it up. If I go up there any time soon I plan to chop it.




Parker made quick work of the Bonnie's Roof Direct finish. I wasn't sure how it would feel to me on this greasy day but I remembered it feeling surprisingly easy last year. This time I think I puzzled over the first move for longer than I did when I led it last year. Chalk it up to my being out of practice. When I finally made the move, slotting my hand in the vertical crack and moving my feet up until I could reach the jugs, it went well and the pitch was over within seconds. I wished I'd led it.




Once we got back to the ground, we saw the cliff was starting to get a little crowded. People were lining up for Ursula (5.5) and there was another party headed up Bonnie's. But I was shocked to see no one on Ants' Line (5.9). If this climb was available I had to do it. Ants' Line is one of those climbs that gets toproped to death, because it has a bolted anchor at the end of the pitch and there is a 5.7 way to reach the bolts (via Sleepwalk). Thus it is seldom open. I hadn't managed to get on it in three years.




Ants' Line was my very first 5.9 lead. It is a first 5.9 for many people because it follows a vertical crack up a corner which eats gear. There is no mysterious crux move but it builds in steepness as it progresses. It requires endurance and good corner technique.




I think I did a pretty good job on this one in . I placed a ton of gear and got tired, but I hung on to the finish. It was another one of those magical days in which it seemed like a whole world was opening up. I led my first 5.8's (Arrow and Airy Aria) earlier in the same day, and when those climbs went really well, I decided to go for it on Ants' Line. The corner looked so inviting. After Ants' Line went down, I felt like I'd become a totally different climber in a single day. Maybe I ascribed too much significance to this one 5.9 lead-- maybe this overconfidence led in some way to my broken ankle on Insuhlation (5.9) later that same year.





In I hoped it would be just another 5.9, well within my limits. I hoped to prove to myself I wasn't as rusty and out of shape as I felt.




I think I probably did a better job on Ants' Line in than I did this time. My hands were so greasy in the humid conditions, I started rushing because I just wanted it over with. Aware that I was getting tired, I didn't execute the moves with much finesse. Still I hung on and completed the pitch. It remains a great climb, and one I will hop on again-- if I ever see it open.




It was Parker's turn and he decided to lead Teeny Face (5.10a) in one pitch. This is one I'd like to lead some time myself. The crux is pretty short, just a couple of crimpy sequences that lead to jugs. I top roped it once with Maryana and really enjoyed it. Following Parker, I liked it very much again. He looked solid negotiating the steep moves up the orange face. The lead looked reasonably well protected to me, although you do make the crux moves above the (bomber) gear. On my turn, the moves seemed harder than I remembered. I got through it, but on one of the crimps I could easily have blown it.




I was starting to feel pretty worn out. Was it the heat? I had planned to lead Obstacle Delusion (5.9) next but after we finished Teeny Face I decided I didn't have to prove anything to anyone and that we might as well dial it back a bit.




I suggested we do Modern Times (5.8+). But when we walked over to it another climber was just starting up.









(Photo: You're in the wrong place, my friend! A climber snookered by the tree into going off-route on Modern Times (5.8+).)




Standing there at the base of Modern Times, Parker and I noticed that, miracle of miracles, the entire High Exposure buttress was empty. Parker mentioned that he'd never done Directissima (5.9). This seemed like a great option for us. I told him I would lead the short 5.8 first pitch, and then he could lead the second, crux pitch and run it together with the glorious 5.6 pitch to the GT Ledge.




This was yet another 5.9 climb that I first attempted in . In retrospect, I don't think I was really ready to lead it at that time. Back then I couldn't figure out the crux move. I ended up falling on the fixed pin at the crux, then hanging, and finally pulling on the draw attached to the pin to reach the next hold. I have since gone back and led it clean. The climb remains one of my favorites. The first two pitches are both odd and little frightening, with tenuous traverses. Then the payoff comes with the beautiful 5.6 climbing up the point of the arete, with great views on either side of you due to your position on a buttress sticking out from the face of the long cliff.




Pitch one of Directissima is a little bit intimidating right off the ground. But I'd led it twice before so with Parker I had little hesitation as I stepped right up into the layback position on the smeary, angled ramp. Once you step up the climbing is easy, with good pro, until you reach the crux move, traversing past the point of the buttress, reaching around a bulge to a big jug. It is a balancy maneuver with poor footholds. There is good pro to your left but the ground feels awfully close. Once you brace yourself and make the reach over, you scamper up and right to a belay ledge next to an obvious, chalked-up finger rail that heads left.









(Photo: Parker at the crux of Directissima (5.9).)




Parker was taking the crux pitch so now I could just sit back and watch. The traditional second pitch of Directissima is only 25 feet long. It traverses straight left for fifteen feet on the narrow finger rail across a steep face, and then a reachy crux move past the pin takes you to a little ledge. The first challenge is getting yourself to commit to the finger rail. It is kind of scary. But once you're in it the finger locks are very good and you can (and should!) get a couple of placements (yellow Alien/Metolius) along the way.




Parker hesitated at first, right at the start of the pitch, but once he moved out onto the face he made it look easy. He is over six feet tall so the crux reach required no special technique from him. He breezed right out to the pin and then moved up to the ledge in no time. Then at my urging he continued, doing the nice 5.6 pitch to the GT Ledge as well. When I followed it went well. I found the traverse to be more comfortable than I remembered and I dispatched the crux move with surprising ease-- I don't want to wreck it for you so I won't say exactly how. But it isn't actually all that reachy if you do it right. I've actually solved it in two different ways.




Once I joined Parker at the GT Ledge it seemed almost churlish not to finish with the crux pitch of High Exposure (5.6+). The climb was just sitting there open, with no one on it and no one waiting. How often does that happen? It had been a few years since I was last on the climb-- if I'm not mistaken I think my last time was when I followed Liz up the pitch in -- and while there may have been a time when I never wanted to do it again, the climb made for a great last pitch of my day with Parker. It was just interesting enough for my rusty bones and brain. With no worries and the humidity finally seeming to lift a little, I started to fully relax and just enjoy myself for the first time all day.









(Photo: The classic top-out shot on High Exposure (5.6+).)





As we descended to the ground, debating whether we should do another climb or call it quits, we could hear the sound of thunder in the distance, heralding not just an incoming storm but with it a change of weather. It was time to declare summer over and go home.





It was sort of a lost summer for me, climbing-wise, with no climbing achievements to savor. Whether I can get in shape for any big accomplishments in the fall remains an open question. So far has been a year in which I've grown increasingly comfortable trying to climb 5.10's in the Gunks, but I still have precious few sends to my credit on such climbs. I do have climbing time mapped out for the autumn, including a couple of days in the 'Dacks in late September, and with some hard work and a little luck I hope I can translate these days into something that feels like progress.

I Like Turtles

We have had so many turtles at the campground this year. I'm not sure what that is about, but it's been fun watching them move around and share living space with us.

Tonight, as I was cropping pictures, I came across some shots that Nathan took of some turtles. Which made me think of Austin. For two reasons. The first being that he is in Virginia with Daryl and Diana for a visit. He is my baby and the only child I have left living in our household, so I wasn't fond of him going away. Lauren just had surgery though, so I thought it would be a kind thing if he went to keep his cousin who is in a cast company.



Before he left, I told him not to ask me if he could stay there for anything longer than a two or three week long visit. Because it rips my heart out to even think of giving up any of the little bit of time I have left with him up. I said it clear terms that if he called and asked me, I'd be tempted to bring home sooner rather than later. And then I said, I mean it. So he'd know of course that I really did mean it. I wasn't just tossing out empty, meaningless threats.



So today, he called Nathan to tell him he wanted to stay longer and why. Ok, so he didn't call me which is what I had so clearly laid out. What he did do was to try and go around Mom though. Because he knows Dad isn't quite as sad about the last one leaving home as Mom. Dad would probably be ok with him staying longer.



So Dad tells me, just to let you know...this is what Austin called about. At which point I got angry and sad all at the same time. Since I cry when I'm angry and I cry when I'm sad, I just took care of both at once and cried twice as hard.



The main reason the turtle picture is making me think of Austin though is because a few years ago he fell in love with a video where a young kid is being interviewed by a reporter and he randomly says, I like turtles. Austin played this video over and over and over and over and over again. I think he even made it his voice mail message on his phone. It didn't hurt any that he likes turtles himself.



Somehow the two things are related, but I'm not sure why because I'm crying again over missing my youngest boy. Oh yeah, they are related because I can't look at turtles now without Austin's voice running through my head and I can't see turtles without thinking of Austin. So this picture made me think of Austin. And now I'm missing him.



So in honor of the turtle loving guy I thought I'd send him this message:



Dear Austin,



Mom just wants you to know I miss you so much already. And don't call Dad again about trying to stay longer or Mom will have to come up and bring you home the next day.



Much Love,

Mom

Attack!

I can't help it. Her tail was just too temping. I had to jump on it.

Hard Core Bicycle DIY: Is It Worth It?

Over his year and a half of adult bicycle ownership, the Co-Habitant has progressed from not knowing much about bicycles at all, to completing two full bicycle builds from scratch. In the course of that time, knowledge was gradually gained, tools were purchased one by one, and increasingly complicated procedures were mastered. I helped when I could, but mainly the mechanics are his thing. I will stick to writing about it, thank you.



It certainly would be nice to write an inspiring post about what a rewarding and empowering experience it is to do one's own bicycle builds and overhauls. But the truth is, that I do not necessarily believe that to be so - which is why I do not do it myself. Assuming that we are speaking ofserious DIY here, beyond simple maintenance, these projectsrequire the investment of considerable amounts of time, energy and money.At the risk of coming across as discouraging, here is how I see it:

It is worth doing your own bicycle mechanics if...

...You truly enjoy it and look upon it as a hobby to fill your spare time with. That is the #1 reason in my view. If you do not enjoy it, the process can be extremely frustrating. Also, keep in mind that like any hobby, this one will require spending money on supplies - some of which will be wasted on trial and error. You will surely ruin cables and cable housing, possibly even components. You will order the wrong parts and will need to return them. Sometimes you will only realise that they are the wrong parts after you try to install them and scratch them up - making returns or exchanges impossible. You will have to make multiple, unexpected trips to bicycle shops and hardware stores for things you will suddenly realise you need. All this better be enjoyable, or it makes no sense.

...You own multiple bicycles, plan to build up multiple bicycles, and/or foresee yourself frequently changing components on your bicycle(s). Only then does it make financial sense to invest in the many tools you will need to do your own overhauls and builds - and to go through the learning process before you actually get good at it. Things like a proper bike stand and a standard tool kit will already cost more than most bicycle shops charge for a bike build. And then there are the less common, but often necessary tools, such as headset presses, cotter presses, bottom bracket tools,dremels, and so on, that raise the cost of DIY even higher, if you properly account for it all.

...You are good at bicycle mechanics. If not, then it is just plain dangerous to work on your own bicycle. While some mistakes make for good learning experiences, others - especially when it comes to brakes, steering and the drivetrain - can have disastrous consequences.

...You are, at least to some degree, a control freak and like everything about your bicycle to be "just so". Sure, a bike shop may do an all right job. But you would just feel better if you trued those wheels or tensioned that chain or installed that bottom bracket yourself.

Ifall of the aboveapply, then by all means - full speed ahead with the DIY. You will enjoy it, and it will be rewarding. However,if your primary goal is to save money, I would suggest you think twice. It is not just about buying all the necessary tools that you may seldom have occasion to use again, but also about time. While on the surface it may seem that I would save money by doing abicycle build myself, in economic terms this is actually untrue. In the time it would take me to build up a bicycle, I could insteadtake on an extra freelance project in my own line of work - and the income from it would be greater than the money I'd save by building the bike myself. Financially speaking, the wise thing to do would be to allocate that work to an experienced mechanic while using the time saved to earn money in my own field of expertise.

I am fortunate to live with someone who enjoys working on bicycles (see his description of his travel tool kit!) and is quite good at it. I am also fortunate that he had some time off this summer and actually wanted to spend it working on bikes. Now that he has accumulated all the tools he needs and sufficient experience, we can do pretty much anything bicycle-related at home - and I appreciate that very much. But I by no means think that it is every "real cyclist's" duty to be able to do these things on their own, just like I do not think it is every "real home owner's" duty to be able to do their own plumbing and electrical work. If you are passionate about bicycle mechanics and are good at it, then certainly it can be fun and rewarding. Otherwise, it is best left to the experts - for the sake of your nerves and your wallet.

National Key Deer Refuge

There are some endangered animals in the Keys, and the key deer are some of those animals. The key deer only live in the Keys in fact.



There is a refuge here for them. They also limit the speed that you can drive in an attempt to keep them safe. There are only around 800 of the deer. Around 100 were killed by cars last year. So what is so unique about these deer?



Their size! They are on average two to three feet tall when fully grown. They look just like the deer in Virginia, just smaller.



I think they are beautiful!





We drove around the island and enjoyed the sights and sounds beyond the deer.









And now we are hanging out. Austin is working on our yearly Gingerbread House. Every year he says he is not doing a gingerbread house because he is too old. And every year, he jumps in and wants to do the whole thing alone. He is quite the pro at it by now. You can also see our Christmas tree in this picture:



It is about the size of the key deer here! So cute!



Living the life in the Florida Keys!

Ring of Steall project sent!

Ring of Steall, 8c+, Steall Crag, Glen Nevis. Photos by Claire MacLeod. Click on the pics for a bigger view.

Yesterday I climbed the Ring of Steall project at Steall hut crag. When I got to the belay I had to slap myself and confirm with Claire that it had actually just happened and I wasn’t dreaming. In fact, a dream like state was exactly how I climbed it. The whole thing flowed with effortless ease and perfectly focused effort, on the very first time I made a proper redpoint attempt. Ascents that happen so perfectly with no mistakes, no hesitation and no consciousness of self are so rare. Nevermind on a route I’ve been trying for ten years! I’d say that was by far the most focused moment of my life so far. It was so unexpected, but maybe it had to be to occur in the first place?

This project has been an inspiration simmering in the back of my head for ten years. It was equipped and tried by Cubby in the early nineties and he worked hard on it, coming very close to getting past the crux section before injury and work got in the way and the momentum was lost. I’ve talked with Dave about the project many times since and it was always a huge goal for either of us. If Dave had done it in ’92, it would have been one of the top five sport routes in the world at the time – an incredible effort.

Dave was (still is) a massive inspiration to my climbing, and climbing his hardest routes was a huge goal of mine, in my progression in climbing. Although I managed to climb most of them, the Steall project always remained as a huge test I wanted to pass, but that crux just felt brick hard. Every year I had a day on it, and every year it seemed above my level.

The crux Egyptian of Ring of Steall

It’s about 8a+ to get to the big undercut in the centre of the wall, then you have to get an evil sloping crimp with your left hand, that is so smooth, it’s almost like its been buffed and polished – nothing but pure strength will do to hold it. Then, it’s the Egyptian. Over the past month I’ve walked down the path from Steall feeling that it’s the most beautiful move I’ve ever experienced on rock, and other nights been cursing it to hell. Last week I finally mastered the correct timing of how to drop the knee and then push in the exactly correct direction with each foot. It’s the ultimate move – when performed with technical excellence, it's easy. But if you don’t move the limbs in the correct sequence of subtle shifts, no amount of strength or psyche will make any impression.

This type of climbing suits Cubby’s technical mastery perfectly, so it’s a shame that he wasn’t able to finish it. It’s no surprise to me that the route left such a big impression on him as it has done on me – perfect movement in a beautiful place.

Having completed this route, if I had to give up climbing tomorrow due to some disaster, I’d be satisfied with my effort. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt that. Climbing it has confirmed in my mind something I felt for the first time after climbing Rhapsody; We can really do anything, and I mean anything we want. Circumstances are indeed barriers, but never impenetrable ones. We are limited only by knowing exactly what we want and having the pure motivation to find it. I always heard this idea from ‘motivational types’ in the past. As a sceptic I’ve spent over ten years trying to refute it by repeatedly trying seemingly impossible projects. Every time the result is the same – Tasks you are not truly motivated for may always remain beyond your reach, tasks you are deeply motivated for take you on a long and convoluted route around the barriers that circumstances create. Sometimes, in the thick of the maze of circumstances, you realise your motivation is not deep enough and its best to try something else. But when the motivation remains through deep frustration, the results are always… always… just around the corner.

How cool is that.

Another Horse in Collection

A Riverview Site

One of the advantages of having an annual site is that you can pick any spot in the park to plunk down on. One of the advantages to doing lottery and driving the park is when a great spot opens up, you see it right away. Which was the case a few weeks ago. As I drove through the park, looking for empty sites, I saw something that shocked me. One of my favorite spots that had been occupied by an annual site member, was now opened up. I drove back to the office and asked for permission to move to it. Then I went home and asked Nathan if he was ok with moving to it. Normally I would do that in reverse, but I knew if I waited then the site would be gone!



We are now on the end of a dead end road. Our side only has two spots, counting us. We are fortunate to have Rich and Donna behind us. Two of the spots on the other side of the road are annual sites with friendly neighbors also. And the site one away from Rich and Donna is the same way. So we are surrounded by great people that will remain neighbors for longer than two weeks at a time.



As great as they all are, the real draw is that this is now our "front yard".





More of the front yard view:



Most of the side yard is the part that joins with Rich and Donna's yard. Some of it empties into a hiking trail.




We are loving it here so far. It is so peaceful and we have a bit of space to spread out in, especially if we have company. The beautiful weather has meant that Nathan can work outside in the tent, and enjoy working without people walking by all day long. It helps him to not feel so cooped up inside and it gives me some space to get away from "work" when I am at home. We are already toying with the idea of renewing the site for next year!



Living the life in gorgeous Florida!