Powder Mission. Staging Complete. Prepare for Deployment.

GatSquad Gear, racked and ready.

I've been watching the NOAA weather report all week, tracking the approach of what should be one of this winter's best storms. So have Ed E. and Jeny, so I invited them down to Salida for some telemark sessions with the Squad at Monarch. They bowed out gracefully, with season passes for Vail in hand and high hopes for big resort powder. However, upon their arrival at that esteemed schussing Valhalla, they were immediately exposed to designer fur parkas, clear skies, and a complete absence of anything resembling fluffy white stuff falling on the mountain (aside from the owners of those aforementioned fur parkas). As Ed said, "We were uninspired." No doubt, my friend, no doubt.
A quick call to me at Squad Headquaters, and I gave Ed the scoop; "Dude! I'm looking out my window and the mountain is getting hammered!" So Ed and Jeny made the wise decision to motor for Monarch, and meet me up at the lodge.
And it all panned out. The parking lot was busy, but the weather was harsh, and for most of the day we had the place largely to ourselves. While our visiting tourist friends nursed hot chocolate or hot toddy's in the lodge, we threw ourselves down perfect fluffy runs, carving blower turns, crashing with abandon, and giggling the whole time. I aspire to Jeny's picture perfect tele form, and I'm awfully proud of Ed after watching him settle into his technique after just a few runs and making it look easy for the rest of the afternoon. What a great day!

Now we're all back home, tucking in for the night. The gear is staged in the breezeway, and we're all psyched for tomorrow--that storm is supposed drop one to four feet of snow by Monday. And the crew heading up tomorrow will be stellar: Anton and Amber, Ed and Jeny, Tom and Carl, and yours truly. It would be fun even if we were skiing on dirt. It's going to be epic. It's going to be sick.
Whoa. Let's e-brake this monologue right here. You didn't really think I'd use the terms "epic" and "sick" without some commentary on their abundant overuse, did you? Actually, the commentary isn't necessary; we all throw up in our mouths a little when hearing such overused adjectives (sometimes right after we say them). But I try to take a tolerant stance. Somehow, the spoken language seems to need cliches like these as impetus for innovation. Every generation needs a new way to say "cool!" that differentiates them from the last. Frankly, I'm sick of waiting for the latest iteration, so I'm going to go ahead and invent it. The word is epic-demic. Say the word. Use it in context; "Tomorrow's snow is going to be so sick it'll be epic-demic!" Welcome to the future. You heard it here today. Tomorrow it'll already be cliche.

Bike Vids from 2007

Back in the spring of 2007, we were able to make a few mountain bike videos of Salida rides. It was fun times. Some of it is shot with a helmet camera, some is rather old footage from '05, taken with a run-of-the-mill digital camera in movie mode while riding one handed . If you haven't seen them yet, here you go! (Make sure you have the latest Shockwave player and Adobe Flash Player installed. C'mon, be patient. GatSquad is all Cutting Edge and that. Oh yeah. Please don't allow Norton permission to do anything during the installation. What a bunch of punks.)

New Years Day. 2008.

Plan's to recon Loveland on the first of the year just didn't pan out. Despite a can-do attitude with regard to the forecasted 40 below wind chill, a quick consultation of the GatSquad's statewide spy-camera network revealed that I-70 had been shut down for the day for avalanche control, so the Loveland crews couldn't get to the area to fire up the lifts.

Plan B was a little hike around Matthew Winters and Red Rocks parks.
Hiking is not normally my preferred mode of outdoor travel, but it has it's charms. It's certainly easier to see the smaller details when skulking about on foot.
And I had opportunity to practice with this spiffy new camera. It takes a while to regain your "photographers eye" for your surroundings.

I suppose this one would make a good desktop background for you fans of the abstract (who don't mind losing your icons...).
It wasn't riding. It wasn't skiing. But it wasn't a half-bad start to the year, by any means.

220 Days and Counting

Until the Leadville 100. The Karate Monkey patiently waits out the winter dark.
Why countdown to this race? There will be other races, other events, other rides; before and after August 9th. Rides that are more fun, rides that are longer, races that have more singletrack, races that have less singlespeeding. Definitely races with less pushing. But very likely, no rides or races that have the presence of Leadville. Presence lent by the history of the race, by the deeds of past champions, by the character of the events founders, by the dedication of its volunteers, by, most of all, the 900+ racers who toe the starting line. It's the 800 pound gorilla of marathon races.
Oh, how I tried to like the Leadville that first year. And the second. It's just hard to really get into it when you have to choose between pushing past mile sixty and checking yourself into the hospital for two weeks. Damn you, ulcerative colitis.
Then the wizards who gave you the Six Million Dollar Man ($28.9 million in 2006 dollars) got a hold of me. One TPCIAA surgery gone wrong, then corrected, then riddled with complications, and finally recovered fully from, later, and I was ready to go. All I can say is, Steve Austin got ripped off. I can do all the same cool things he did, minus that awesome "Schwich-chi-chi-sha" sound effect when I jump over things. Actually, it'd totally be worth an extra million or so to get that sound--too bad my surgeon didn't offer a-la-carte upgrades.
Anyway, back to the story. Post surgery in 2005, I was able to finish Leadville, and do pretty well, too. But I couldn't say it was really all that fun. It took until 2007 for me to realize that it wasn't supposed to be. The real challenge at Leadville isn't the mileage. It isn't the climbing or the weather. Or the endless doubletrack. The challenge is to have fun despite the fact that all those elements are (purposefully, apparently) arranged to deliver to the racer the most mentally crushing experience possible. Here's where your fellow racers come into play. As with entrenched World War I infantrymen faced with the the demoralizing affront of endless artillery barrages who might cope with their implacable situation by punching each other the shoulder and commenting with cheeky British humour about the "Bloody lousy weather we're having!" while laughing hysterically; so too do the enqued Leadville racers, faced with the appallingly distant Columbine Aid Station and the demoralizing affront of proximate lightning strikes and thunder, cope with their inexplicably self-imposed situation by punching each other on the shoulder and commenting with cheeky British humour about the "Right-crap weather we're having!" while laughing hysterically and slipping on a discarded GU package.

It's all about the journey, after all. Especially when you're hours away from the podium. In that situation, I like to chat with the volunteers at the aid stations.

Ed Ellinger Photo

Leadville has some of the best. Aid stations and volunteers. Heck, in life you hope to find friends who will support you as you seek your goals. At Leadville, for one day and for one goal, you have hundreds of friends to back you up. Thanks folks.
So,yup, finally, after five starts, I'm looking forward to Leadville. It's gonna be a fun ride.

Coaster, one speed, on ice

Well, honestly it's a cup of hot coffee and a keyboard . . .

Before I moved to Salida, about four years ago, I was already looking for this place. Living in the rolling hill county of central New York, I'd started picking up cruiser bikes and frames. Whether or not you can argue their usefulness for tackling steep hills, they had an undeniable attraction. A simple testament to American manufacturing. While gathering up inventory for the used bike shop I ran for two summers, I picked up my first one. A ragged but still running Schwinn Corvette, free. Then $12.00 for a Rollfast at a police auction. That was a blast for wearing out Lodi, a long-legged hound mix we were fostering. There was a quiet rural loop nearby, with a dirt road descent back to the house. The faster I pedaled, the less effort he had to put forth, spending more time in the air and less touching the ground. Next came the $5.00 garage sale Rollfast, with a, ahem: trailing link pull-shock front suspension fork. With a built in steering lock. With the key broken off inside. An option on certain Columbia's I later figured out. The $5.00 dollar Rollfast hung around the yard for a few years, and moved here in unrideable condition, the seatpost still frozen in place despite the angry pipe-wrench marks gouged into its surface. Then came another project, a donated Columbia Firebolt, with a fork bent into a sine-curve, all the way from the dropouts to the end of the steerer tube. Amazingly enough the headtube survived. And so I gathered parts, like a collection of classy Hawaiian shirts marooned at the North pole. Destiny would provide.
Not for a greater range of coaster-equipped riding possibilities, but for as simple as finding a sense of community that can welcome you on several levels. Not just a small town, with wilderness and woods, and employment at a bike shop with epic rides above treeline. But if you ride a simple old bike halfway across town, drop off your mail, and stop by Benson's tavern, just to say hi, it's completely normal. If you work at a bike shop, the shop fridge fills up with beer in the summer from appreciative customers. If someone hears that you ride a bike, they have their own story to tell about it. That it was so cold the coaster brake didn't work right away, but of course there's a smile. I still get a bit of ribbing for wearing my shirts, though. That's how you know who your friends are.