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Monday, March 09, 2015
Monday, August 26, 2013
Tour de Colorado - Friday
To all intents and purposes, this is a rest day for us. Sure we have a three our drive but we won’t
be hauling a trailer, we’ll have a fraction of the stuff and best of all – air
conditioning. One of mankind’s greatest
inventions. (Second only to heated car
seats for the other part of the year.)
The riders are racing the 10 miles up Vail Pass, against the clock. We’re taking our time headed to Estes Park to meet our besties Pam and Dejo.
Life is good.
The riders are racing the 10 miles up Vail Pass, against the clock. We’re taking our time headed to Estes Park to meet our besties Pam and Dejo.
Life is good.
Tour de Colorado - Thursday II
So now we have a decision to make. Tomorrow’s stage is a time trial in Vail and
while we’d very much like to see that, there are some logistical challenges
which are probably going to be insurmountable.
While the town of Vail is happy to have the tour run through, they’ve
made it clear that spectators aren’t welcome to stay overnight unless they’re
spending money on a hotel room. No
camping allowed.
It would be possible, albeit unpleasant, to set up by the highway at the top of Vail Pass but then we’d still have the challenge of how to get to the course with the dogs. This hill would be too much for us to cycle up with dogs in tow and leaving them in the truck just isn’t practical.
We also have an invitation to spend Friday night at the home of some friend’s in Estes Park. This will set us up nicely for Saturday’s stage but it’s long drive from here and we’re still somewhat nervous about how the truck will behave. So, after poring over the maps for a while, we decide to skip tomorrow’s stage altogether, drive towards home and break the journey around the halfway point, in Frisco or thereabouts. We can then head home in the morning, have a quick shower and unpack a bit, then switch to the more reliable Subaru for the run up to Estes.
As it turns out, the closer we get to home, the more attractive a warm shower and big bed start to sound. It isn’t even 5pm when we hit Silverthorne and home is only a couple of hours away. Yeah, we’ve talked ourselves into it.
Let’s go home.
It would be possible, albeit unpleasant, to set up by the highway at the top of Vail Pass but then we’d still have the challenge of how to get to the course with the dogs. This hill would be too much for us to cycle up with dogs in tow and leaving them in the truck just isn’t practical.
We also have an invitation to spend Friday night at the home of some friend’s in Estes Park. This will set us up nicely for Saturday’s stage but it’s long drive from here and we’re still somewhat nervous about how the truck will behave. So, after poring over the maps for a while, we decide to skip tomorrow’s stage altogether, drive towards home and break the journey around the halfway point, in Frisco or thereabouts. We can then head home in the morning, have a quick shower and unpack a bit, then switch to the more reliable Subaru for the run up to Estes.
As it turns out, the closer we get to home, the more attractive a warm shower and big bed start to sound. It isn’t even 5pm when we hit Silverthorne and home is only a couple of hours away. Yeah, we’ve talked ourselves into it.
Let’s go home.
Tour de Colorado - Thursday I
“When was the last time a major international sporting event
came though Oak Creek, Colorado?” yelled the guy over the PA system.
Nobody yelled back (none of us were outfitted with PA systems) so he answered for us.
“NEVER! That’s when.”
I suspect there hasn’t been a whole lot of stuff happened in Oak Creek, Colorado. The town is a long way from anywhere, has only a couple of streets, maybe two hundred yards long and appears to have been locked in a time warp since the middle of the last century. However, the people are welcoming, the general store is well stocked and the sandwiches we had for lunch were the best we’ve eaten in a long time. I like this place.
It’s early on today’s ride and the cyclists will just be getting warmed up by the time they arrive. The real meat of the stage comes after they leave town and start climbing. Bachelor Creek is a long, grinding haul which could well decide the race winner. We drove down it on Tuesday, when our truck was being bratty and I’ll admit; I was exhausted after doing that. I can’t imagine what it would be like to ride a bike up.
They have a sprint to complete as they roll through town though so we’re all lined up with our cameras at the ready. All except Dear Wife that is, who has had not one but two cameras crap out on her this week. She’ll be using my cell phone while I man my trusty ol’ film camera.
By now we’re getting the hang of judging when the riders are due to arrive (you can tell by the order of the support vehicles and cop cars) so we’re prepared for when they get here. Which is good because none of these guys seem to be getting and slower yet.
They come into sight, there’s a whirr of spinning cogs, a clanging of cowbells and on they go. Then we spectators say thanks to our hosts for their hospitality, load chairs and other assorted crap back into our cars and away we go for the next leg.
And life in Oak Creek goes back to normal.
Nobody yelled back (none of us were outfitted with PA systems) so he answered for us.
“NEVER! That’s when.”
I suspect there hasn’t been a whole lot of stuff happened in Oak Creek, Colorado. The town is a long way from anywhere, has only a couple of streets, maybe two hundred yards long and appears to have been locked in a time warp since the middle of the last century. However, the people are welcoming, the general store is well stocked and the sandwiches we had for lunch were the best we’ve eaten in a long time. I like this place.
It’s early on today’s ride and the cyclists will just be getting warmed up by the time they arrive. The real meat of the stage comes after they leave town and start climbing. Bachelor Creek is a long, grinding haul which could well decide the race winner. We drove down it on Tuesday, when our truck was being bratty and I’ll admit; I was exhausted after doing that. I can’t imagine what it would be like to ride a bike up.
They have a sprint to complete as they roll through town though so we’re all lined up with our cameras at the ready. All except Dear Wife that is, who has had not one but two cameras crap out on her this week. She’ll be using my cell phone while I man my trusty ol’ film camera.
By now we’re getting the hang of judging when the riders are due to arrive (you can tell by the order of the support vehicles and cop cars) so we’re prepared for when they get here. Which is good because none of these guys seem to be getting and slower yet.
They come into sight, there’s a whirr of spinning cogs, a clanging of cowbells and on they go. Then we spectators say thanks to our hosts for their hospitality, load chairs and other assorted crap back into our cars and away we go for the next leg.
And life in Oak Creek goes back to normal.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Tour de Colorado - Wednesday
We can tell from the beginning it’s going to be another hot
day. Fortunately, we aren’t planning on
dragging the truck too far. Just a few
miles along the highway to the top of Rabbit Ears Pass (so called because of a
local rock shaped like, you know.)
The riders are on their way up from Breckenridge and while
we know it will take them a while to get here, we aren’t sure when the
officials will be closing the road so to make sure we aren’t blocked out, we
get an early-ish start and soon have our spot staked out by the highway.
It’s at the top of a 9,426 ft. high pass. The type of hill I would need a fork-lift
truck to get my bike up. We’re looking
down a long, straight stretch so will have plenty of advance notice when the
riders are coming. Even so, we know they’ll
be passed us in a flash. However, when
you’re following a tour, the cyclist going by is only a small part of it. It’s the carnival atmosphere amongst the
waiting spectators which makes it all worthwhile. The bikes are just the icing on the cake.
Beer gets drunk, jokes get cracked, photos get snapped and friendships
get made. It doesn’t get much better
than this. If the Internet access hadn’t
crapped out when we crested the pass, we would all have been able to use our
Smartphone Apps to know exactly where the riders were but no matter. A helpful support car came along a few
minutes early to let us know that Jans Voigt was leading the field by a little
over 2 minutes and sure enough, a little while later he hove into
view. 41 year old Mr. “Shut Up Legs”
himself.
He wasn’t smiling but then, he was riding 106 miles today,
almost all uphill and I sure as hell wouldn’t be smiling either.
Four more riders ground their way passed us and then came
the pack. Looking mean and angry, they
didn’t seem to be going much slower than when we saw them on the flat. So it was no great surprise when we learned
later that despite dragging everyone else up the hill, Voigt was beaten in an
exciting sprint finish after losing the lead only a couple of miles from the
finish.
Sorry Jens, but we had a great day all the same.
Tour de Colorado - Tuesday III
So it doesn’t really look that far on a map. Aspen to Steamboat Springs. The road is a bit squiggly it’s true and we
knew that meant some uppy bits. But we
really didn’t expect it to take us this long.
A supermarket and gas stop took way longer than it should. And some endless construction zones slowed us
somewhat.
But the most troublesome delay was due to the truck deciding to revisit an old and so far, incurable problem which causes it to just die suddenly. Out of the blue, the engine will splutters to a halt, taking with it the power steering and brakes. Which is about as exciting as it gets when you’re going down a steep hill pulling a trailer. Fortunately, even though this happened three times on the journey, there was no harm done. It was just a hot, long and wearisome drive.
Still, it’s late evening now and we’re snug in our little trailer, with dog and dog snoozing on the floor. The beer stayed cold and the campsite is pretty. It’s not all bad, this bike touring lark.
But the most troublesome delay was due to the truck deciding to revisit an old and so far, incurable problem which causes it to just die suddenly. Out of the blue, the engine will splutters to a halt, taking with it the power steering and brakes. Which is about as exciting as it gets when you’re going down a steep hill pulling a trailer. Fortunately, even though this happened three times on the journey, there was no harm done. It was just a hot, long and wearisome drive.
Still, it’s late evening now and we’re snug in our little trailer, with dog and dog snoozing on the floor. The beer stayed cold and the campsite is pretty. It’s not all bad, this bike touring lark.
Tour de Colorado - Tuesday II
It’s several years since I last visited Aspen and my account
of it is somewhere over there in the archives.
My impression hasn’t changed much.
It’s pretty enough and if I was a skier, I’d love to visit. But it isn’t somewhere I’d want to live, even
if I could afford to do so. As a client
once explained it to me. In Aspen you
either clean the hotel rooms, or manage the people who clean the hotel rooms,
or you own the hotel rooms. Yeah, that’s
about it.
In 1971, my favorite author, Hunter S. Thompson ran for Sheriff on what he called the “Freak Power” platform. Basically this involved mobilizing the hippies and societal dropouts in an attempt to block the wealthy and powerful from ruining the small mountain town he loved.
His manifesto included the following:
“To drive the real estate goons out of the valley: to prevent the State Highway Department from bringing a four-lane highway into the town and in fact, to ban all auto traffic from every downtown street. Turn them all into grassy malls where everybody, even freaks, could do whatever’s right. The cops would become trash collectors and maintenance men for a fleet of municipal bicycles for anybody to use. No more huge, space killing apartment buildings to block the view from any downtown street, of anybody who might want to look up and see the mountains. No more land rapes, no more busts for “flute playing” or “blocking the sidewalk”…fuck the tourists, dead-end the highway, zone the greedheads out of existence, and in general create a town where people could live like human beings, instead of slaves to some bogus sense of Progress that is driving us all mad.”
Hunter came within a few votes of winning the election, scaring the crap out of the controlling elite. But did he really fail? Certainly, the town has changed dramatically since the early 70’s and the results of a pursuit for the almighty dollar is evident almost everywhere. It’s depressingly overrun with condos, expensive boutique shops and tourists like us.
But (most of) the downtown streets are closed to traffic, there is a grass lined stream running down a central mall, the threatened four-lane highway stops well short of town and while the cops may not be bicycle mechanics, they wear pastel colored uniform shorts. And the ones we encountered were friendly in a warm, fuzzy kind of way. Not only that, there IS a communal bicycle sharing program. Also, the sidewalks were comfortably blocked today. Maybe this would have happened without Hunter’s efforts 40 years ago. Or maybe not.
Either way, as we drove past the turnoff to Woody Creek, Hunter’s home for so many years, I downed a beer in his honor. (I had no Wild Turkey). In keeping with the spirit of the thing, I didn’t even hide it in a closed container.
Yeah, me and Hunter S. Thompson. Outlaws.
In 1971, my favorite author, Hunter S. Thompson ran for Sheriff on what he called the “Freak Power” platform. Basically this involved mobilizing the hippies and societal dropouts in an attempt to block the wealthy and powerful from ruining the small mountain town he loved.
His manifesto included the following:
“To drive the real estate goons out of the valley: to prevent the State Highway Department from bringing a four-lane highway into the town and in fact, to ban all auto traffic from every downtown street. Turn them all into grassy malls where everybody, even freaks, could do whatever’s right. The cops would become trash collectors and maintenance men for a fleet of municipal bicycles for anybody to use. No more huge, space killing apartment buildings to block the view from any downtown street, of anybody who might want to look up and see the mountains. No more land rapes, no more busts for “flute playing” or “blocking the sidewalk”…fuck the tourists, dead-end the highway, zone the greedheads out of existence, and in general create a town where people could live like human beings, instead of slaves to some bogus sense of Progress that is driving us all mad.”
Hunter came within a few votes of winning the election, scaring the crap out of the controlling elite. But did he really fail? Certainly, the town has changed dramatically since the early 70’s and the results of a pursuit for the almighty dollar is evident almost everywhere. It’s depressingly overrun with condos, expensive boutique shops and tourists like us.
But (most of) the downtown streets are closed to traffic, there is a grass lined stream running down a central mall, the threatened four-lane highway stops well short of town and while the cops may not be bicycle mechanics, they wear pastel colored uniform shorts. And the ones we encountered were friendly in a warm, fuzzy kind of way. Not only that, there IS a communal bicycle sharing program. Also, the sidewalks were comfortably blocked today. Maybe this would have happened without Hunter’s efforts 40 years ago. Or maybe not.
Either way, as we drove past the turnoff to Woody Creek, Hunter’s home for so many years, I downed a beer in his honor. (I had no Wild Turkey). In keeping with the spirit of the thing, I didn’t even hide it in a closed container.
Yeah, me and Hunter S. Thompson. Outlaws.
Tour de Colorado - Tuesday I
Lots of people in the campsite are here with their
bikes. Serious, hardcore looking
machines, weighing less than the potato chips I eat as recovery fuel after a
ride. Then there’s the group with the
more interesting machines. Long
wheel-based cargo bikes, very fat-tired mountain bikes and 2 creations with one
frame welded on top of another and the seat five feet off the ground. It was something of a relief to learn that unlike
apparently everyone else; they weren’t planning to ride to the top of
Independence Pass. This made us feel a
little better about our planned ride. An
epic climb of 0.7 miles from the campsite to the highway with an elevation gain
of 10 or 12 feet.
Although to be fair, none of the hardcore types had dogs trotting alongside on a leash. Nor were they carrying camp chairs slung over their shoulders or a dog water bowl in one hand. So eat it, hardcore types.
Once by the road, we settled into a shady spot just up from the guy in the stars and stripes top hat and the lady in the bear suit. We didn’t have too long to wait before the parade of team cars, photographer motor-cycles, cop cars and assorted hangers on began. The riders weren’t long behind but like yesterday, were past in moments. And this is frickin’ uphill. I’m starting to think I’m going to need to spread molasses on the road so they slow down enough for me to get a good look at them. We have cheat sheets with the rider names, numbers and jersey patterns but seriously, they go by so fast, Eddie Merckx could be tucked in there on a penny-farthing and I wouldn’t notice. How the hell Phil Ligget can call the races based on the stuff he sees on his monitor is beyond me.
Tomorrow though. Tomorrow we plan to be watching near the top of Rabbit Ears pass near Steamboat Springs. Maybe that will be tough enough to see if any of them are human.
Although to be fair, none of the hardcore types had dogs trotting alongside on a leash. Nor were they carrying camp chairs slung over their shoulders or a dog water bowl in one hand. So eat it, hardcore types.
Once by the road, we settled into a shady spot just up from the guy in the stars and stripes top hat and the lady in the bear suit. We didn’t have too long to wait before the parade of team cars, photographer motor-cycles, cop cars and assorted hangers on began. The riders weren’t long behind but like yesterday, were past in moments. And this is frickin’ uphill. I’m starting to think I’m going to need to spread molasses on the road so they slow down enough for me to get a good look at them. We have cheat sheets with the rider names, numbers and jersey patterns but seriously, they go by so fast, Eddie Merckx could be tucked in there on a penny-farthing and I wouldn’t notice. How the hell Phil Ligget can call the races based on the stuff he sees on his monitor is beyond me.
Tomorrow though. Tomorrow we plan to be watching near the top of Rabbit Ears pass near Steamboat Springs. Maybe that will be tough enough to see if any of them are human.
Tour de Colorado - Monday II
So finally, it’s time for the race itself. The riders will do a couple a couple of laps
of downtown Aspen before heading down the Roaring Fork (cool name, huh?) Valley
for a bit before hanging a left and up into the ski resort of Snowmass. Back down, up around and through Aspen once
more. 3 times. For 64 miles.
We parked ourselves on a patch of sidewalk opposite the historic Jerome
Hotel and let our dogs perform their party piece of being conversation
starters. Just about everybody in Aspen
today has an Australian Shepherd, or knows someone who has an Australian
Shepherd or will look into getting an Australian Shepherd now they know what
Australian Shepherds are. Yay Aussies.
This passed the time nicely until the racers arrived. We knew they were coming because the team
vehicles started pouring through several minutes ahead. The cop cars chirruped their sirens, the
support cars blew their horns, spectators clanged their cowbells incessantly
and such was the party atmosphere, it was something of a surprise when the
bikes finally came round the corner. And
then they were gone. Seriously, it was
that fast. I couldn’t go that quickly on
a bike if you dropped me over a cliff.
Even the slow guys were fast. And
this was on a corner so we can only imagine the speed they go once they have a
head of steam.
Fortunately, because they do this three times, about 45
minutes apart, we had another two opportunities to snag some photos. Although that didn’t really help because the
buggers weren’t going any slower the other times. We did manage to get several shots of empty
road after the cyclists had gone by so I anticipate a call from Sports
Illustrated any time now. Peter Sagan
won apparently. Maybe we’ll get a proper
look at him tomorrow when he’s going uphill.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Tour de Colorado - Monday I
Somewhat to our surprise, it seems some other people also had
the idea of coming to Aspen to watch the US Pro Cycling Challenge. And like us, they’re planning to camp while
doing it. So much so, we struggled to
find a spot big enough even for Lucille to spend the night. Fortunately, a campground just a mile or two
from downtown Aspen was allowing folk to camp in their overflow parking lot.
That’ll do nicely and we were soon snug in our little hard sided tent. Not the most restful night I’ll admit but that was largely due to an older guy in the parking spot next door who seemed to have a broken volume control. But no matter. We awoke to clear skies which promise a sunny and warm (OK, uncomfortably hot) day ahead.
That’ll do nicely and we were soon snug in our little hard sided tent. Not the most restful night I’ll admit but that was largely due to an older guy in the parking spot next door who seemed to have a broken volume control. But no matter. We awoke to clear skies which promise a sunny and warm (OK, uncomfortably hot) day ahead.
We seem to be the only people here without ultra-light road
bikes and leg muscles but everyone is very friendly and they hardly tease us at
all. Better yet, two skinny guys gave us
half a dozen eggs, which they can’t carry.
Free stuff is always a win but better still when it complements the
Canuckian Bacon we brought.
It’s midday now and as predicted, pretty darned toasty. We’ve explored the streets and collected
armloads of brochures. Another couple of
hours ‘till the racing starts so for the moment we’re just chillin’ in a coffee
shop.
Life is good.Tour de Colorado - Sunday II
Before embarking on an ambitious project such as following the US Pro Cycling Challenge around Colorado it’s essential to spend hours researching the details, considering logistics, planning routes and making advance reservations. We didn’t do any of that, obviously, but it would have been a good idea nonetheless.
Instead we bundled dog and dog into the back of the truck, threw a few clothes into a bag, hooked up Lucille the travel trailer and hit the road. Sounds simple enough so it’s hard to explain why it was almost noon before we finally pulled out of the driveway but hey ho, what’re ya gonna do?
It only took us another 30 minutes to get gas (there are only a few summer weekends remaining so the whole world was in line at the pumps.) As if that didn’t put a big enough strain on my limited patience, they were out of ice which meant we’d to stop at another gas station to avoid my cooler o’beer warming up.
But eventually, we were on our way. Bowling along at a rare lick which didn’t really slow until after Buena Vista (pronounced Byoona, not Bwayna – write that down) when we began to really go up. And up and up and oh mah lawrd did we go up. All the way up Independence Pass which tops out at over 12,095 feet. Narrow and windy with big cliffy type drops without the comfort of a guard rail and up and further up and the only thing more exhausting than hauling a travel trailer up and over a pass that height would be to do the exact same thing on a bike.Which is what the cyclists will be doing on Tuesday. OK, they’ll be going the other way but I promise you, it’s no more of a pick-a-nick in that direction.
Before that though, they get to have an easy day tomorrow to start the tour. A mere 64 miles on a circuit around Aspen and Snowmass. And only 8,000 feet of climbing, which is dead easy to type.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Tour de Colorado: Sunday
An exciting day in the Gunsmoke Household. The morning has been a flurry of activity as we pack the covered wagon ready for a week touring Colorado as we follow the US Pro Cycling Challenge. After a cushy year gathering dust in the back yard, our caravan is now spic, span and pointing in the right direction. The pick-up bed is full to the gills with all manner of crap we'll probably never use. And the dogs are in full-on velcro mode, making sure we don't accidentally leave them behind.
Dear Wife is 'almost' ready to get in the shower so our planned early start is only 3 or 7 hours behind schedule. Believe me, this is promising.
Aspen bound tonight - where the millionaires have been pushed out by the billionaires. We'll blend right in.
Dear Wife is 'almost' ready to get in the shower so our planned early start is only 3 or 7 hours behind schedule. Believe me, this is promising.
Aspen bound tonight - where the millionaires have been pushed out by the billionaires. We'll blend right in.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Peak to Peak
“Now there’s a real mountain man” said the middle-aged* guy
without (as far as I could tell) a hint of mockery.
Despite having lived in the foothills of the Rockies for over 10 years, it’s not often I’m mistaken for Grizzly Adams so at first, I wasn’t sure what he meant. Turned out he was expressing admiration for my walking stick. Not yet having made the switch to these new-fangled trekking poles, I’m still rocking it old school with a shoulder high hickory staff. Apparently this marked me out as an experienced hiker. A veteran amongst all these rookies. Hard core.
His companions were suitably impressed.I wasn’t too sure myself but then it wasn’t yet 6am. And at that time of day, I’m rarely at my most impressive. Even worse, having slept in the back of my truck at the trailhead, I’d awoken to discover my bag contained coffee and a stove, but no cooking pots. Which meant I was starting the day without caffeine and that’s never a good thing.It wasn’t an auspicious start to my first real-live attempt at a 14’er**
Mind you, if I was that big an animal, I probably wouldn’t be tackling Gray’s Peak in the first place. Drive an hour or so along the freeway from Denver, then bump up 3 (admittedly steep) miles and you’re at the trailhead. Add a wide, well-trodden and easy to follow trail, this particular 14’er is a classic “beginners peak”. Throw in the bonus of another 14’er, Torrey’s Peak just a short dip away and it’s one of the most popular trails in Colorado. We’re not exactly talking Wilderness Experience here.
In fact, there were at an estimate, several dozen other hikers setting off up the trail in the pre-dawn light.Any serious hiker would have scoffed at such an endeavor. Not so very long ago, I would have scoffed at such an endeavor. Back in the day, I was an experienced hill walker and with my disproportionately long legs, could leave most other trekkers in the dust.
But, in my time as a Colorado resident, I had yet to venture above 12,500 feet and as well, let’s face facts here, I’m not as young as I was back in the day, so I wasn’t entirely sure how my old carcass would cope. I have the fond notion that when I do have my first heart attack, it would be nice if other people were around.
Anyway, real mountain man or not, I resisted the urge to set off at a fast pace, knowing I had some 3,600 feet (1,200 meters) of altitude gain ahead of me. Possibly as a result of this, I found the going not too bad. In the beginning at least. The thing about climbing mountains is you need to go up. And the further up you go, the harder it is to breathe. After an hour or so, I was extremely glad to have my trusty mountain man walking stick along with me. Not only did it help as a lever to push myself up some of the higher step ups, it gave me something on which to lean while desperately trying to suck oxygen into my lungs.
To be fair, I seemed to be doing better than most others around me. I was passing more people than passed me, and of the latter group, I usually overtook them later while they were resting. Not that I was racing you understand, not me. Not a competitive bone in my body. That didn’t stop me feeling a bit smug though.
Although there were 2 young guys who cruised past me on the final, steepest stretch of the climb at a point when I was wondering just beginning to wonder if this bloody mountain even had a top. Without a trace of breathlessness, they were chatting about the Tour de France and I didn’t even have the energy to correct their misapprehension that Mark Cavendish won it this year.
I was still ruminating on the injustice of this when hey ho, would you look at that. Here’s the summit and you know what? I didn’t really feel all that tired. After all this time I’d finally made it to the top of a 14’er.
Only took me 3 hours too so after a look around, and asking a fellow peak bagger to take the obligatory hero shot, I headed down the trail to knock off Torrey’s seeing I was up here. The two young guys passed me on the way down, chatting about Ultimate Cage Fighting this time but I don’t know enough about that to tell you if they were correct or not.
What I do know is that the 600 or so vertical feet (275m) to the summit of Torrey’s Peak was a darn site harder than the equivalent stretch of Gray’s. It could be that I was tiring…well, yeah I was definitely tiring but my fellow hikers seemed for the most part, to be struggling too. I certainly wasn’t the only one stopping to “admire the view”.But the top arrived eventually, as tops generally do if you just keep going. And the view was every bit as spectacular. And the sense of achievement just as great. The 2 young guys were still at the top when I arrived and as it turned out, were very personable. From Indianapolis apparently, where they don’t even have hills so I had to admire that.
Off down the hill then and as is so often the way, I found this to be more tiring than the hike up. It was way further than I expected too and while it only took me a couple of hours, which doesn’t sound all that long but I was bone weary by the time I finally made it to the trailhead. Still, I’d made it to the top of not 1, but 2 of Colorado’s 14’ers. My heart hadn’t given out and really, I hadn’t found it to be anywhere near as hard as I had feared. So I was feeling pretty good about myself.
Better yet, my 2 young friends were still in the parking lot, sitting on the tailgate of a truck. They’d changed into matching t-shirts and the legend emblazoned across their chests cheered me even further.“Marines”
So yeah, I’m OK with them being faster than me.
* The definition for this is a moving target but it generally means “Older than me”.
** Colorado has 54 mountains above 14,000 feet (4,268 Meters), affectionately known 14’ers.
Despite having lived in the foothills of the Rockies for over 10 years, it’s not often I’m mistaken for Grizzly Adams so at first, I wasn’t sure what he meant. Turned out he was expressing admiration for my walking stick. Not yet having made the switch to these new-fangled trekking poles, I’m still rocking it old school with a shoulder high hickory staff. Apparently this marked me out as an experienced hiker. A veteran amongst all these rookies. Hard core.
His companions were suitably impressed.I wasn’t too sure myself but then it wasn’t yet 6am. And at that time of day, I’m rarely at my most impressive. Even worse, having slept in the back of my truck at the trailhead, I’d awoken to discover my bag contained coffee and a stove, but no cooking pots. Which meant I was starting the day without caffeine and that’s never a good thing.It wasn’t an auspicious start to my first real-live attempt at a 14’er**
Mind you, if I was that big an animal, I probably wouldn’t be tackling Gray’s Peak in the first place. Drive an hour or so along the freeway from Denver, then bump up 3 (admittedly steep) miles and you’re at the trailhead. Add a wide, well-trodden and easy to follow trail, this particular 14’er is a classic “beginners peak”. Throw in the bonus of another 14’er, Torrey’s Peak just a short dip away and it’s one of the most popular trails in Colorado. We’re not exactly talking Wilderness Experience here.
In fact, there were at an estimate, several dozen other hikers setting off up the trail in the pre-dawn light.Any serious hiker would have scoffed at such an endeavor. Not so very long ago, I would have scoffed at such an endeavor. Back in the day, I was an experienced hill walker and with my disproportionately long legs, could leave most other trekkers in the dust.
But, in my time as a Colorado resident, I had yet to venture above 12,500 feet and as well, let’s face facts here, I’m not as young as I was back in the day, so I wasn’t entirely sure how my old carcass would cope. I have the fond notion that when I do have my first heart attack, it would be nice if other people were around.
Anyway, real mountain man or not, I resisted the urge to set off at a fast pace, knowing I had some 3,600 feet (1,200 meters) of altitude gain ahead of me. Possibly as a result of this, I found the going not too bad. In the beginning at least. The thing about climbing mountains is you need to go up. And the further up you go, the harder it is to breathe. After an hour or so, I was extremely glad to have my trusty mountain man walking stick along with me. Not only did it help as a lever to push myself up some of the higher step ups, it gave me something on which to lean while desperately trying to suck oxygen into my lungs.
To be fair, I seemed to be doing better than most others around me. I was passing more people than passed me, and of the latter group, I usually overtook them later while they were resting. Not that I was racing you understand, not me. Not a competitive bone in my body. That didn’t stop me feeling a bit smug though.
Although there were 2 young guys who cruised past me on the final, steepest stretch of the climb at a point when I was wondering just beginning to wonder if this bloody mountain even had a top. Without a trace of breathlessness, they were chatting about the Tour de France and I didn’t even have the energy to correct their misapprehension that Mark Cavendish won it this year.
I was still ruminating on the injustice of this when hey ho, would you look at that. Here’s the summit and you know what? I didn’t really feel all that tired. After all this time I’d finally made it to the top of a 14’er.
Only took me 3 hours too so after a look around, and asking a fellow peak bagger to take the obligatory hero shot, I headed down the trail to knock off Torrey’s seeing I was up here. The two young guys passed me on the way down, chatting about Ultimate Cage Fighting this time but I don’t know enough about that to tell you if they were correct or not.
What I do know is that the 600 or so vertical feet (275m) to the summit of Torrey’s Peak was a darn site harder than the equivalent stretch of Gray’s. It could be that I was tiring…well, yeah I was definitely tiring but my fellow hikers seemed for the most part, to be struggling too. I certainly wasn’t the only one stopping to “admire the view”.But the top arrived eventually, as tops generally do if you just keep going. And the view was every bit as spectacular. And the sense of achievement just as great. The 2 young guys were still at the top when I arrived and as it turned out, were very personable. From Indianapolis apparently, where they don’t even have hills so I had to admire that.
Off down the hill then and as is so often the way, I found this to be more tiring than the hike up. It was way further than I expected too and while it only took me a couple of hours, which doesn’t sound all that long but I was bone weary by the time I finally made it to the trailhead. Still, I’d made it to the top of not 1, but 2 of Colorado’s 14’ers. My heart hadn’t given out and really, I hadn’t found it to be anywhere near as hard as I had feared. So I was feeling pretty good about myself.
Better yet, my 2 young friends were still in the parking lot, sitting on the tailgate of a truck. They’d changed into matching t-shirts and the legend emblazoned across their chests cheered me even further.“Marines”
So yeah, I’m OK with them being faster than me.
* The definition for this is a moving target but it generally means “Older than me”.
** Colorado has 54 mountains above 14,000 feet (4,268 Meters), affectionately known 14’ers.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Half a Century
Well there we go. According to the calendar, I’m fifty year old, as of this morning and there’s no getting round it.
Fifty years. Whoever would have thought I’d make it, eh? What’s the old line? If I’d known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself?
Well, I’m not sure about that. Looking back, I probably wouldn’t have. Most of the fun memories have been when I’ve been doing things that on hindsight; probably weren’t all that smart in terms of long-term health. Those of you who were there know the things I’m talking about.
It could be that this is why it takes me a couple of minutes to get fully upright after crawling out of bed in the morning, and why my knees hurt so much of the time. And why people feel the need to point out my grey hair as if they think I’m unaware of it but never tell me I look young for my age any more.
For the most part, it’s been a good fifty years, but there are certainly reasons I look the way I do.
Here’s how it all began, back in Stirlingshire, Scotland in 1962. Just down the road from where Mel Gibson ran around with his face painted blue.
Being the third child, the novelty had worn off somewhat for my parents and as far as I know, this is the only picture of me as a wean.
Obviously, there were more as I got older. Usually dressed in my Sunday best and standing to attention which was how my old Ma believed children should be photographed.
As you can see, I had remarkably poor taste when it came to colour coordination and dress sense back then. Hard to believe as I sit here today in frayed shorts and food splattered t-shirt, like I’ve just fallen off the page of GQ Magazine.
In my opinion, things got a lot better once I hit my late teens. Here’s me at 16
And then 17
Looking quite stud-muffinesque as I’m sure you’ll agree. Or not. Dear Wife breaks out into fits of laughter when she sees these pictures but then, what does she know? She’s always had terrible taste when it comes to me. At least since I’ve known her.
Then in 1991, I packed it all in and set off to travel around the world and see where life took me. After years of working in the public sector, wearing a suit and tie every day, I embraced the opportunity to become a smelly backpacker.
Yes, that is a dog in the bottom right hand corner and yes, I have mullet. And of course, you noticed the mullet before you noticed the dog, right? Don’t worry, it gets worse.
Most people upon seeing that photo make some reference to A Flock of Seagulls. If you aren’t as old as me, you won’t get that but then to be fair, they were fairly obscure even by the time that was taken.
This one starts to give you an idea of where the mystery stomach came from.
At least I remembered to suck it in for this photo, taken just after I’d come off my bike. Again. My ability to stay upright on a bicycle hasn’t improved with age.
Fifty years. Whoever would have thought I’d make it, eh? What’s the old line? If I’d known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself?
Well, I’m not sure about that. Looking back, I probably wouldn’t have. Most of the fun memories have been when I’ve been doing things that on hindsight; probably weren’t all that smart in terms of long-term health. Those of you who were there know the things I’m talking about.
It could be that this is why it takes me a couple of minutes to get fully upright after crawling out of bed in the morning, and why my knees hurt so much of the time. And why people feel the need to point out my grey hair as if they think I’m unaware of it but never tell me I look young for my age any more.
For the most part, it’s been a good fifty years, but there are certainly reasons I look the way I do.
Here’s how it all began, back in Stirlingshire, Scotland in 1962. Just down the road from where Mel Gibson ran around with his face painted blue.
Being the third child, the novelty had worn off somewhat for my parents and as far as I know, this is the only picture of me as a wean.
Obviously, there were more as I got older. Usually dressed in my Sunday best and standing to attention which was how my old Ma believed children should be photographed.
As you can see, I had remarkably poor taste when it came to colour coordination and dress sense back then. Hard to believe as I sit here today in frayed shorts and food splattered t-shirt, like I’ve just fallen off the page of GQ Magazine.
In my opinion, things got a lot better once I hit my late teens. Here’s me at 16
The eighties passed, as decades do and…well let’s just say that I believe all photographs of me during that era have been hunted down and wiped from the face of the earth. Which is what will happen to the smarty-pants who thinks it would be funny to produce any at this stage. Clear?
Then in 1991, I packed it all in and set off to travel around the world and see where life took me. After years of working in the public sector, wearing a suit and tie every day, I embraced the opportunity to become a smelly backpacker.
Although sometimes I cleaned up, for special occasions such as when my Australian friend Matt and I took Malaysia by storm as the singing duo, The Batik Brothers.
So idyllic was beach bum life I was living back then, I made a vow that wherever I ended up living, it needed to have palm trees. Of course, I didn’t expect to wind up in the concrete wasteland that is Phoenix, Arizona.
But that was where I met a gurl, and within a few months I'd conned her into marrying me.
Yes, that is a dog in the bottom right hand corner and yes, I have mullet. And of course, you noticed the mullet before you noticed the dog, right? Don’t worry, it gets worse.
Into my forties then. Not happy about it but what are ya gonna do, eh? On the plus side, we finally escaped Phoenix in 2002 and moved to Colorado. What took us so long, I can’t explain.
Sadly, this was around the onset of digital cameras, which meant that everyone was paparazzi, snapping dozens of photos at every gathering and usually, posting them online.
Sadly, this was around the onset of digital cameras, which meant that everyone was paparazzi, snapping dozens of photos at every gathering and usually, posting them online.
For reasons unclear, it became a running joke to try and get photos of me with food in my mouth. It got so I could barely eat at a party without some unflattering picture appearing on the web within minutes. I tired of the game long before everyone else did.
So, I got into the habit of either pulling a face or putting a finger up my nose whenever I sensed a camera pointing in my direction. Hey, I said I was in my forties; I never said anything about being mature.
So, I got into the habit of either pulling a face or putting a finger up my nose whenever I sensed a camera pointing in my direction. Hey, I said I was in my forties; I never said anything about being mature.
Digital cameras I note, also have the unfortunate tendency to make me look like I have a double chin. And a big stomach. Neither of which are true, obviously.
The upshot? Not too many photos of me during this period of my life. Or at least, none that I wanted to keep on file.
The upshot? Not too many photos of me during this period of my life. Or at least, none that I wanted to keep on file.
This one though, was taken when I was about 46.
Another at 48
This one starts to give you an idea of where the mystery stomach came from.
At least I remembered to suck it in for this photo, taken just after I’d come off my bike. Again. My ability to stay upright on a bicycle hasn’t improved with age.
Earlier this year at 49, I shaved my head for charity, which instantly transformed me into a badass. Oh yes it did! Here, I survey my empire.
Really though, I wasn’t a fan of the full-on bald look, but once things started to grow in a bit, I got used to it. So my hair has stayed short.
Which brings us to 50. Still forgetting to suck my stomach in for photos, but otherwise, contented enough with life.
Regrets? I’ve had a few. But then again, ah well, I’m out of space.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
2012 - By the Numbers
Days to St. Baldrick’s - 40
Days to MS150 - 121
Number of Days Cycled - 12
Trainer – 5
Mountain Bike - 1
Touring Bike - 6
% of Goal - 12%
Miles Cycled on Touring Bike - 103
% of Goal – 4.1%
Miles Hiked on Colorado Trail - 0
14’ers Climbed - 0
Number of Nights Camped - 1
Caravan - 1
Outdoors -0
Time between 5pm and Sunset – 22 minutes
Time between Sunrise and 8am – (51 minutes)
Days until Spring – 49
Days until Daylight Savings begins - 39
Days to MS150 - 121
Number of Days Cycled - 12
Trainer – 5
Mountain Bike - 1
Touring Bike - 6
% of Goal - 12%
Miles Cycled on Touring Bike - 103
% of Goal – 4.1%
Miles Hiked on Colorado Trail - 0
14’ers Climbed - 0
Number of Nights Camped - 1
Caravan - 1
Outdoors -0
Time between 5pm and Sunset – 22 minutes
Time between Sunrise and 8am – (51 minutes)
Days until Spring – 49
Days until Daylight Savings begins - 39
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
A Kojak Moment
OK, so what’s this “Shaving my Head for St. Baldrick’s” thingy that I’ve been on about in my New Year’s Not Resolution posts?
Shaving my head? Sounds like a trip, right? Well, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to get serious for a bit
The St. Baldrick’s Foundation (www.stbaldricks.org) is a volunteer driven charity that funds research to find cures for childhood cancers. According to their web site, 160,000 children are diagnosed with cancer worldwide each year. One every 3 1/2 minutes. Not only that, Cancer is the number one disease killer of children in the U.S. and Canada.
Now I’ve been blessed in that so far at least, no child I know personally has been stricken with cancer. However, in recent years we’ve had more than enough of it in our family. My Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer but she beat it. Stomach cancer took my Dad in 2010. My father-in-law beat bladder cancer a few years ago but is now fighting prostate cancer.
How messed up is that?
Cancer is a hateful, cowardly disease and frankly, I’m fucking sick of it.
Which is why I have so much admiration for people like The St. Baldrick’s Foundation and the work they do to help efforts to beat it once and for all. If you haven't already, take a look at the web site and see some of their success stories.
Right, I’ll climb off my soapbox now and explain about the head shaving stuff.
Each year, round about St. Patrick’s day, the St. Baldrick’s Foundation coordinates head shaving events at locations around the globe; more than a thousand in 2011. Over 45,000 people (more than 5,000 of them women) volunteered to have their heads shaved allowing the Foundation to award over $21 million in grants to help fight childhood cancer.
One of the volunteers was my mate Robert de Jong and it’s him wot deserves the credit for inspiring me to step up and do the deed this year.
It’s not going to be easy. My head hasn’t been shaved down to the wood since I was about 7 and who knows what we’re going to find under there. Tattoos, shopping lists, old girlfriends' phone numbers, there could be anything. And while they may have more silver highlights than I care to notice, I am somewhat attached to my flowing locks. I mean, I am pretty darned gorgeous.
So what I'm saying is, I’m more than a bit scared.
But what the hey. I've looked like a dork before, I can do it again. And who knows, maybe I'll look badass. (Yeah, right). Still, if me walking round looking like a billiard ball for a few weeks can help some kid with cancer, well then it’s not that big a price to pay now is it?
And if you wanted to help by making a donation, I’d be very, very, very grateful.
www.stbaldricks.org/participants/andrewsmith
Note: I can't get the links to work tonight for some reason, so please just copy and paste.
Shaving my head? Sounds like a trip, right? Well, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to get serious for a bit
The St. Baldrick’s Foundation (www.stbaldricks.org) is a volunteer driven charity that funds research to find cures for childhood cancers. According to their web site, 160,000 children are diagnosed with cancer worldwide each year. One every 3 1/2 minutes. Not only that, Cancer is the number one disease killer of children in the U.S. and Canada.
Now I’ve been blessed in that so far at least, no child I know personally has been stricken with cancer. However, in recent years we’ve had more than enough of it in our family. My Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer but she beat it. Stomach cancer took my Dad in 2010. My father-in-law beat bladder cancer a few years ago but is now fighting prostate cancer.
How messed up is that?
Cancer is a hateful, cowardly disease and frankly, I’m fucking sick of it.
Which is why I have so much admiration for people like The St. Baldrick’s Foundation and the work they do to help efforts to beat it once and for all. If you haven't already, take a look at the web site and see some of their success stories.
Right, I’ll climb off my soapbox now and explain about the head shaving stuff.
Each year, round about St. Patrick’s day, the St. Baldrick’s Foundation coordinates head shaving events at locations around the globe; more than a thousand in 2011. Over 45,000 people (more than 5,000 of them women) volunteered to have their heads shaved allowing the Foundation to award over $21 million in grants to help fight childhood cancer.
One of the volunteers was my mate Robert de Jong and it’s him wot deserves the credit for inspiring me to step up and do the deed this year.
It’s not going to be easy. My head hasn’t been shaved down to the wood since I was about 7 and who knows what we’re going to find under there. Tattoos, shopping lists, old girlfriends' phone numbers, there could be anything. And while they may have more silver highlights than I care to notice, I am somewhat attached to my flowing locks. I mean, I am pretty darned gorgeous.
So what I'm saying is, I’m more than a bit scared.
But what the hey. I've looked like a dork before, I can do it again. And who knows, maybe I'll look badass. (Yeah, right). Still, if me walking round looking like a billiard ball for a few weeks can help some kid with cancer, well then it’s not that big a price to pay now is it?
And if you wanted to help by making a donation, I’d be very, very, very grateful.
www.stbaldricks.org/participants/andrewsmith
Note: I can't get the links to work tonight for some reason, so please just copy and paste.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Giving up already, huh?
Yep, you got me. It’s only January 18 and already my "Stuff to Do in 2012" list (see sidebar on the right) has shrunk from 8 items to 7. "Run a Half Marathon" is already gone.
I thought about deleting it quietly and hoping nobody would notice, but despite evidence to the contrary, I do have some ethics. That and I’ve already talked about it here so there’s a good chance I would get called out on it anyway.
So what happened?
Well, as I wrote a long time ago, in The Loneliness of the Short Distance Runner I’ve had a love-hate relationship with running ever since attempting to take it back up in middle age. I want to run, I really do, it’s just my legs won’t cooperate. Despite many stops, starts, annual resolutions, teeth gritting, new shoes, new training programs, and who knows what else, it seems my old bones just won’t tolerate the pounding any more. No matter how slowly I take it, how long I spend building up a mileage base, the end result is always the same.
It hurts like hell.
I genuinely believed that this time, this time, I had beaten the demon. I’d been running 2-3 times a week, almost every week for about 4 months. My mileage wasn’t high, just 2 to 3 miles at a time, but I was doing it you see. And more importantly, sticking to it.
And then I ran 4 miles. Not exactly an endurance race. I doubt any Ironman contender would have been losing sleep. But it was a big deal to me. 4 miles. That’s longer than I’ve run without stopping since I was in my early twenties. See me? See Boston? Get ready world. Man, was I feeling good about myself.
But then the next time out, a short 2 miler, and it all came crashing down. Every step felt like someone was hitting my legs with a baseball bat. Achilles tendons, calf muscles, knees, hips.
Hurt
Like
Hell
They say you should listen to your body while exercising and mine was using words which would have made a sailor blush. I made it 1 mile. 1 pitiful mile before calling it a day, and sitting down and feeling sorry for myself. And I haven’t been able to pluck up the enthusiasm for trying again.
So reluctantly and for the umpteenth time, I’m admitting that me and running just don’t get on. And the goal to run a half marathon has been shelved.
For now.
I thought about deleting it quietly and hoping nobody would notice, but despite evidence to the contrary, I do have some ethics. That and I’ve already talked about it here so there’s a good chance I would get called out on it anyway.
So what happened?
Well, as I wrote a long time ago, in The Loneliness of the Short Distance Runner I’ve had a love-hate relationship with running ever since attempting to take it back up in middle age. I want to run, I really do, it’s just my legs won’t cooperate. Despite many stops, starts, annual resolutions, teeth gritting, new shoes, new training programs, and who knows what else, it seems my old bones just won’t tolerate the pounding any more. No matter how slowly I take it, how long I spend building up a mileage base, the end result is always the same.
It hurts like hell.
I genuinely believed that this time, this time, I had beaten the demon. I’d been running 2-3 times a week, almost every week for about 4 months. My mileage wasn’t high, just 2 to 3 miles at a time, but I was doing it you see. And more importantly, sticking to it.
And then I ran 4 miles. Not exactly an endurance race. I doubt any Ironman contender would have been losing sleep. But it was a big deal to me. 4 miles. That’s longer than I’ve run without stopping since I was in my early twenties. See me? See Boston? Get ready world. Man, was I feeling good about myself.
But then the next time out, a short 2 miler, and it all came crashing down. Every step felt like someone was hitting my legs with a baseball bat. Achilles tendons, calf muscles, knees, hips.
Hurt
Like
Hell
They say you should listen to your body while exercising and mine was using words which would have made a sailor blush. I made it 1 mile. 1 pitiful mile before calling it a day, and sitting down and feeling sorry for myself. And I haven’t been able to pluck up the enthusiasm for trying again.
So reluctantly and for the umpteenth time, I’m admitting that me and running just don’t get on. And the goal to run a half marathon has been shelved.
For now.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Stuff to do in 2012 - Part 2
Picking up where we left off last time, here are the details of my remaining goals for 2012.
4. Ride 2,500 miles on my touring bike.
This one is connected to number 4, but bike specific. When I bought my touring bike in February 2010, I rode the thing every chance I had, no matter the weather. This despite slipping and going down hard on ice during my second time out. And fighting ferocious headwinds for most of the spring. I did a short tour in August and then…never rode the bike for the rest of the year. Not really sure why, I just didn’t.
So, in 2011 I set myself a vague goal of doubling my mileage for the year. Not only did I not double my mileage, I barely equaled it. Again, largely due to a several month layoff for no good reason at all.
Not this year though. 2,500 miles is the target and while I accept this is quite ambitious, I pledge to give it a darn good go. No indoor trainer this time, these all have to be outdoor miles and on one bike.
5. Hike further along the Colorado trail, at least to Breckenridge.
A blast from the past now. This has been on my ‘to do’ list for way too long. I first began the 500 mile long distance footpath known as The Colorado Trail back in June 2007. My plan was to devote a week’s vacation each year and hike it in segments. As I wrote on The Gunsmoke Files at the time, the first week was harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. The altitude gain, the weight of my gear, my general lack of preparation, every step was miserable and I’ve never been more glad to see the end of a hiking trip.
It was May of 2009 before I made it back out for the next leg. I was just planning on doing a short portion, not too far from home, over the course of a long weekend. The first 8 miles were terrific, striding out with a pack that felt weightless and a song in my heart. Then I hit the snow. I floundered around up to my dangly bits for about an hour before admitting that I had no idea where the trail was and it was futile to keep searching. Later, I learned that the pass over which I was attempting to hike wouldn’t be clear for another couple of months.
And here we are, 3 years older and no further along the trail. My vacation time is more or less spoken for already this year, so there’s no room for a long hike. However, I should be able to knock of this particular section in a couple of days.
Once the snow melts.
6. Finally climb a 14’er, dammit!
10 years in April. 10 years. That’s how long I’ve lived in Colorado and I’ve yet to scale one of the 53 mountains over the height of 14,000 feet. That’s 4,267.2 meters for those of you reading in foreign.
There’s a couple where you can drive almost to the top, then walk the last few yards and Dear Wife has hinted more than once that she’d quite like to do that. But no! Before I’ll allow myself to behave like a complete tourist I’m going to climb at least one, all the way to the top. It can even be one of the easy ones. The ones known euphemistically as “Beginner’s 14’ers.” I’ll take that.
But this year, I need to climb one. Once the snow melts and the trail is clear.
7. Camp out for 10 or more nights
Last one, and another which sounds easier than it’s probably going to be. 10 nights in a tent. Or not in a tent, but under the stars, or otherwise out of doors. As I’ve said, the bulk of my vacation time is spoken for, so most of these nights probably need to come on the weekends. Maybe tied in with rides on my touring bike. Or hiking the Colorado Trail. Or just getting out into the woods.
I’ve written before, the ground is a lot harder these days, and my old bones don’t react as well as they used to when it comes to parking them on rocks and tree roots. But I still loves me some camping.
So 10 nights it is.
There we are then, my goals for 2012. Progress to be recorded and reported for your viewing pleasure right here on The Gunsmoke Files.
How about you come with me?
4. Ride 2,500 miles on my touring bike.
This one is connected to number 4, but bike specific. When I bought my touring bike in February 2010, I rode the thing every chance I had, no matter the weather. This despite slipping and going down hard on ice during my second time out. And fighting ferocious headwinds for most of the spring. I did a short tour in August and then…never rode the bike for the rest of the year. Not really sure why, I just didn’t.
So, in 2011 I set myself a vague goal of doubling my mileage for the year. Not only did I not double my mileage, I barely equaled it. Again, largely due to a several month layoff for no good reason at all.
Not this year though. 2,500 miles is the target and while I accept this is quite ambitious, I pledge to give it a darn good go. No indoor trainer this time, these all have to be outdoor miles and on one bike.
5. Hike further along the Colorado trail, at least to Breckenridge.
A blast from the past now. This has been on my ‘to do’ list for way too long. I first began the 500 mile long distance footpath known as The Colorado Trail back in June 2007. My plan was to devote a week’s vacation each year and hike it in segments. As I wrote on The Gunsmoke Files at the time, the first week was harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. The altitude gain, the weight of my gear, my general lack of preparation, every step was miserable and I’ve never been more glad to see the end of a hiking trip.
It was May of 2009 before I made it back out for the next leg. I was just planning on doing a short portion, not too far from home, over the course of a long weekend. The first 8 miles were terrific, striding out with a pack that felt weightless and a song in my heart. Then I hit the snow. I floundered around up to my dangly bits for about an hour before admitting that I had no idea where the trail was and it was futile to keep searching. Later, I learned that the pass over which I was attempting to hike wouldn’t be clear for another couple of months.
And here we are, 3 years older and no further along the trail. My vacation time is more or less spoken for already this year, so there’s no room for a long hike. However, I should be able to knock of this particular section in a couple of days.
Once the snow melts.
6. Finally climb a 14’er, dammit!
10 years in April. 10 years. That’s how long I’ve lived in Colorado and I’ve yet to scale one of the 53 mountains over the height of 14,000 feet. That’s 4,267.2 meters for those of you reading in foreign.
There’s a couple where you can drive almost to the top, then walk the last few yards and Dear Wife has hinted more than once that she’d quite like to do that. But no! Before I’ll allow myself to behave like a complete tourist I’m going to climb at least one, all the way to the top. It can even be one of the easy ones. The ones known euphemistically as “Beginner’s 14’ers.” I’ll take that.
But this year, I need to climb one. Once the snow melts and the trail is clear.
7. Camp out for 10 or more nights
Last one, and another which sounds easier than it’s probably going to be. 10 nights in a tent. Or not in a tent, but under the stars, or otherwise out of doors. As I’ve said, the bulk of my vacation time is spoken for, so most of these nights probably need to come on the weekends. Maybe tied in with rides on my touring bike. Or hiking the Colorado Trail. Or just getting out into the woods.
I’ve written before, the ground is a lot harder these days, and my old bones don’t react as well as they used to when it comes to parking them on rocks and tree roots. But I still loves me some camping.
So 10 nights it is.
There we are then, my goals for 2012. Progress to be recorded and reported for your viewing pleasure right here on The Gunsmoke Files.
How about you come with me?
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Stuff to do in 2012 - Part 1
Those of you with memory spans longer than that of goldfishes will recall that I promised to discuss my Goals for 2012. These can be found in a box over to the right side of the screen, along with another marking my progress. But what do they all mean? I’m glad you asked.
1. Shave my head for St. Baldrick’s Day:
My pal DeJo did this last year to raise money for the St. Baldrick’s foundation, (www.stbaldricks.org) a group committed to funding research to find cures for childhood cancers. I found out about it a bit too late to take part, but in a moment of madness, I agreed to keep him company this time out. So, on March 11, my flowing locks will be shorn and I’ll be doing the Kojak thing.
There was a time when baldness was a mark of shame, of ridicule. Now guys shave their heads in order to look badass. Last time I had a crew cut was about age 10 and whatever adjectives came to mind back then, badass wasn’t one of them. It will be interesting to see what’s lurking under there and just how ridiculously dorky I look.
The whole point of the thing is of course, to raise funds for cancer research so you can anticipate thinly veiled attempts at begging for sponsorship as we get nearer the time, with links allowing you to make your donations. Come on, who doesn’t want to see me with a baldy heid? Watch this space.
2. Complete the MS150:
The what? Another charity event, this one’s a 2-day, 150 mile bike ride to benefit the 88,000 people in Colorado and Wyoming affected by Multiple Sclerosis. I’m confident I can ride 75 miles without too much trouble but hauling my sorry carcass out of bed to do it all again the next day…bit more of a challenge.
Again, more details will follow nearer the time and again, you can blame DeJo for this one.
3. Cycle 100 days.
This one falls under the catch all of “Ride my Bike more” and basically means that I’m committing to going for a bike ride 2-3 times a week. Silver touring bike, gray mountain bike, red mountain / dirt road bike, whichever. I’m also including time spent on the indoor bike trainer, so no excuses about the weather. OK? 100 times.
I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted already and I'm not even half way through. Time for another coffee, then we’ll tackle the rest.
1. Shave my head for St. Baldrick’s Day:
My pal DeJo did this last year to raise money for the St. Baldrick’s foundation, (www.stbaldricks.org) a group committed to funding research to find cures for childhood cancers. I found out about it a bit too late to take part, but in a moment of madness, I agreed to keep him company this time out. So, on March 11, my flowing locks will be shorn and I’ll be doing the Kojak thing.
There was a time when baldness was a mark of shame, of ridicule. Now guys shave their heads in order to look badass. Last time I had a crew cut was about age 10 and whatever adjectives came to mind back then, badass wasn’t one of them. It will be interesting to see what’s lurking under there and just how ridiculously dorky I look.
The whole point of the thing is of course, to raise funds for cancer research so you can anticipate thinly veiled attempts at begging for sponsorship as we get nearer the time, with links allowing you to make your donations. Come on, who doesn’t want to see me with a baldy heid? Watch this space.
2. Complete the MS150:
The what? Another charity event, this one’s a 2-day, 150 mile bike ride to benefit the 88,000 people in Colorado and Wyoming affected by Multiple Sclerosis. I’m confident I can ride 75 miles without too much trouble but hauling my sorry carcass out of bed to do it all again the next day…bit more of a challenge.
Again, more details will follow nearer the time and again, you can blame DeJo for this one.
3. Cycle 100 days.
This one falls under the catch all of “Ride my Bike more” and basically means that I’m committing to going for a bike ride 2-3 times a week. Silver touring bike, gray mountain bike, red mountain / dirt road bike, whichever. I’m also including time spent on the indoor bike trainer, so no excuses about the weather. OK? 100 times.
I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted already and I'm not even half way through. Time for another coffee, then we’ll tackle the rest.
Sunday, January 08, 2012
New Year's "Not" Resolutions. Again.
Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, you’ve heard it all before.
“Here are my new year’s resolutions and this time I’m really going to stick to them; I mean it!”
Even, I’m sad to say, on these very pages. I’m very good you see, about setting targets for myself. I get all gung-ho and excited about them. I make spreadsheets to track my progress, and bookmark web sites which will help motivate me, and get books out of the library and all the rest. Setting targets? All over it.
Achieving targets? Eh, not so much.
So why will this year be different? Well, maybe it won’t but I’m banking on the fact that when it comes to the targets I’ve set this year, I really, really, really want to achieve them. That has to help, right?
Plus, 2012 is something of a milestone year for me in that it will mark my 50th circuit around the sun. (Whoever thought I would last this long, eh?) So there's a little extra motivation to get stuff done. Espcially stuff which will help the pretence that there's still some life left in me.
Not only that; instead of calling them resolutions, I’m going to call them goals. See the difference? But there’s more. I have a fiendishly clever master plan.
Look over to the right. No, not that far, just to the right of the screen. See those 2 boxes?
“Stuff to Do in 2012” and…here’s the kicker, “Progress on Stuff to Do.”
So there you go. Out there for the entire WorldWideIntrawebz to see. Or at least my readership, which to my knowledge, currently numbers around 3. 4 if you count me.
But still, there’s accountability right there. If I fail to make adequate progress, you’ll all be free to curl your collective lips and sneer derisively. Which maybe you do upon reading my blog anyway, but at least I’ll have the repetitive nudge of seeing the goals and my progress, or lack thereof, every time I log on to update The Gunsmoke Files.
Of course, if I won’t see them if I don’t log on to update The Gunsmoke Files, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.
So, join me next time out, and we’ll take a look at them.
“Here are my new year’s resolutions and this time I’m really going to stick to them; I mean it!”
Even, I’m sad to say, on these very pages. I’m very good you see, about setting targets for myself. I get all gung-ho and excited about them. I make spreadsheets to track my progress, and bookmark web sites which will help motivate me, and get books out of the library and all the rest. Setting targets? All over it.
Achieving targets? Eh, not so much.
So why will this year be different? Well, maybe it won’t but I’m banking on the fact that when it comes to the targets I’ve set this year, I really, really, really want to achieve them. That has to help, right?
Plus, 2012 is something of a milestone year for me in that it will mark my 50th circuit around the sun. (Whoever thought I would last this long, eh?) So there's a little extra motivation to get stuff done. Espcially stuff which will help the pretence that there's still some life left in me.
Not only that; instead of calling them resolutions, I’m going to call them goals. See the difference? But there’s more. I have a fiendishly clever master plan.
Look over to the right. No, not that far, just to the right of the screen. See those 2 boxes?
“Stuff to Do in 2012” and…here’s the kicker, “Progress on Stuff to Do.”
So there you go. Out there for the entire WorldWideIntrawebz to see. Or at least my readership, which to my knowledge, currently numbers around 3. 4 if you count me.
But still, there’s accountability right there. If I fail to make adequate progress, you’ll all be free to curl your collective lips and sneer derisively. Which maybe you do upon reading my blog anyway, but at least I’ll have the repetitive nudge of seeing the goals and my progress, or lack thereof, every time I log on to update The Gunsmoke Files.
Of course, if I won’t see them if I don’t log on to update The Gunsmoke Files, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.
So, join me next time out, and we’ll take a look at them.
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