I've Missed my Bikes and my Job

Vacation for 13 days is too much. Period. My idea of a good vacation is going overnight (Friday so as to not miss work) to some place really cool, and being home the next night (Saturday night so as to not miss church).


I like my job, and I love our church.

I also really like our queen size pillow top mattress and contoured pillows. Mom - don't feel bad, the hotel, and Beach house beds were no better than the one in the spare bedroom. None of them were mine.

This repose was OK I guess

Speaking of the beach - it was great. The entire South Carolina Swinton clan (Including 1 more grandchild yet to be named) spent 4 days on Edisto Island in a monster house right on the beach.

Yeah she's 31 weeks pregnant - can't you tell?

This angle is a little better

I was able to go running about 3 miles along the beach the first 2 mornings we were there, and then swim in the waves to cool off. I could handle more of that, if my bed and pillow were there too. The third day I began my descent into the head cold that we had been sharing around, and settled for just swimming without the run. (My nose did all the running for the next 2 days) I managed to hang onto said cold long enough for the altitude changes to implode my meager collection of brain cells both on the way into Dallas and then San Jose.





We (mostly my brother in law Chris) successfully constructed a medieval master piece, as seen above, and below in the video.

Tigger gives a tour of the castle

But I missed my bikes. I rode a decent Cannondale road bike while I was in Greenville, but a borrowed bike never meets the true need. I plan to go out early tomorrow and ride my mountain bike for a few hours before our church's men's prayer breakfast, and have already scheduled my weekly bike commute for Monday and Tuesday. I plan to take it slow, since it has been several weeks since I have exerted those muscles.

I missed my job too. Going away is good for that. Today was the best day at work I've had in months. It helped that I kept the phones at arm's length and had a rather varied day with office work, site visits, proposals, and even a little real work with a saw and drill on a job in Tiburon.

All this to say, I'm happy to be home. I've nearly forgotten how desperate I was to get away, and relieved to crash on my parent's couch just 2 weeks ago. Maybe once every couple of years is reasonable - once a year if Bec is lucky.

68 degrees 94% humidity

On vacation in my home state of South Carolina. We arrived to pouring rains. Nothing too unusual, except that coming off of a San Francisco Bay Area summer, we haven't seen too many rain drops in the last few months.

3 days in, the rains abated leaving a wet wool blanket to serve as atmosphere.

The cycling gear came along, and my friend Ben, with whom I spent my fomative cycling years, arranged for me to borrow a bike.



We went out on Tuesday morning and climbed Paris Mtn., the highest point in the Greenville area. Not quite what I remember it being - but still a nice climb and descent. Ben has only recently purchased a new bike after selling his old one several years ago. He is recovering just fine.

I went back out yesterday morning at sunrise - which to my surprise, ends up being about 20 minutes later than at home (per the time zone). 6:58 Am at home in the Bay Area, and 7:19 here in western SC. I did some research online and determined that it's the location within the time zone that makes it get light "later." You may already understand the concept, but it was a cool revelation to me.

I snapped a few shots during my ride to try and give the essence of the "heavy air."
However, I believe the humidity fogged the camera lens on my phone and aided the effect.

It isn't called Greenville for nothing.

Anyway, I left later than I expected and embarked on a biathalon - swimming and cycling.....simultaneously.
We don't have humidity like this in the Bay Area. I've forgotten what a bane it is. The temperature was only 1 degree above the dew point - 67 degrees, and the humidity was at 94% meaning that for all practical purposes, I was riding through liquid air.

This morning I met up with Ben again and we rode around downtown Greenville. Again, camera phone pictures...

This is actually a pretty cool bridge, and water fall in the middle of the city.

George Hincapie's store in Greenville

He took me past George Hincapie's store just on the edge of the downtown business district. I hope to get in there tomorrow to check it out. We rode around town dodging cars this morning for old time's sake, and then returned the bike to his friend.

Tomorrow we pack the cars and head for the beach at Edisto Island.

Looking forward to 4 days of jogging on the beach and swimming in the warm waters of the Atlantic.

No hurricanes on the horizon - right?

Oh yeah,
My mom came up with this picture of me from high school.
The bike is basically the same - with a few upgrades.
I only wish I could see the socks...

The Baby

My lovely wife and daughter.

I've frankly been nervous about posting regarding our "expectation."
Having lost our son back in December, I have been a little timid about this whole thing. (December Posting)

However, the cat is gonna be out of the bag soon, as my adventures will be laced with references to her arrival, and the following inevitable insomniatic insanity. Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to hold her in my hands as a new (again) daddy. I just remember all too well the wild eyed frenzy in the faces of our friends Jeremy and Amy when we visited them 2 weeks after Jordan came - and I thought - "I remember feeling like they look."

Any way, I figured I should give it some space in the blog, but should probably get back to writing proposals.

(Katie - you inspired me to write this, with all of your updates - but don't expect me to chronicle like you have :))

Lakeport, Diablo Ride and Hike, and the New Benicia Loop

I've undertaken a few adventures since posting last. Each of them was notable and each deserves a posting all for itself. However, they will just have to be content to share.

Lakeport

I invited myself up to Lakeport to our good friends Jeremy and Amy's house. I did so, in order to fulfill my desire to ride my road bike up there.

I left around 8:00 am on Friday, August 21.
I arrived around 4:15 having ridden just over 111 miles. My actual time on the bike was 7 hours and 30 minutes. Martinez was cool at 8:00, but Lakeport was well over 100 degrees when I showed up. It was actually a great ride, but following are the things I learned.

1. Leave earlier in the morning, so that Cobb Mtn. grade can be climbed before it is in triple digits.
2. I am smart enough to stop and rest in order to prevent heat exhaustion. (I have wondered this for years - as to whether I would fall over or have enough sense to stop first.)
3. Bring a third water bottle for the Pope Valley - Butts Canyon stage. (I nearly had to stop passing cars and ask for water. Check out this area on Google Maps - it is barren. It may have been OK on a cooler day, but I was going through a water bottle about every 15 - 30 minutes, and the second one was at least 90 degrees by the time I got to it. A fire truck passed me going the other way, but I couldn't bring myself to stop them and ask if they had water.)
4. I can successfully patch a tube. (I think this was my first successful patch - in Napa, about 30 miles into the ride. I have been woefully inept when it comes to patches.)
5. A garden hose shower feels great after 111 miles in August.

Diablo Ride and Hike

I tried again to ride up Mt. Diablo in under an hour from the North Gate, and failed. That's basically it. I'm told that 1 hour and 12 minutes is a good time, but there is something enchanting about 1 hour, and I may never be wholly content until I acheive it.
I saw an "older" couple on the wide sweeping corner at Juniper resting beside their tandem. I caught them kissing, and commented to them that I thought such an act should aid them in attaining the summit. They agreed. I passed them near the top, as I was descending and they, nearly arriving. We exchanged formalities noting that another kiss may be necessary to finish well.



This past weekend I saw them at the top again. This time I was on foot, and it wasn't till I had chatted with them, and several other cyclists, that I realized we had met before. They are training for an event in Oregon coming up soon - but I can't remember what event it is.

My cohorts, Vince, and Chris had joined me on a fast hike up Mt. Diablo from Clayton. We had ascended the north slope of Diablo, and found a "new to us" trail leading from Prospectors Gap going seemingly vertical the final 900' to the top. We jogged / hiked much of this last section, and came out at the top on the run. I lied to some cyclists that had seen us charge around the last bend of the trail and jump over the guard rail into the parking lot. I announce with authority as I looked at the time on my phone, "13 minutes from Clayton." (6 miles and approx. 3,600' in eleveation gain) All within ear shot were silent for a few seconds as they pondered the probability of my statement. It was great to see the varied reactions as they recognized or decried my jest.
We spent too long at the top taking in the views, talking with other hikers and cyclists, and re-fueling. We left the top with stiffening muscles, but didn't let that curb our enthusiasm. We literally hit the trail running, and only stopped to catch our breath and shoot a few video clips. Even with the stops, we managed to descend the 900' in under 10 minutes. And then we kept running for much of the return trip.

We made good time, though running down hill comes with its price. Vince didn't have his trail running shoes on, and his feet suffered from his boots. We were all stopping periodically to remove the stones from our shoes, and while going up we basically didn't stop - coming down we were forced to rest our weary limbs several times. That was Saturday.

Sunday - I could hardly get out of bed. Literally. I could hardly walk. Literally. I most certainly couldn't walk normal. Touching base with my companions, I found that they were in a similar plight. I managed to overdo it like I have never done - at least in recent memory. 2 days later I still push myself up from the chair with notable pain. Quadraceps, glutes, shins, calves, lower back - they are all indignant.

The New Benicia Loop

The odd thing is, I can ride my bike. I went out with Dave this morning - Monday, Labor Day, to explore our new access to Solano County via the recently revamped Benicia Bridge, returning over the Carquinez bridge and totalling just under 30 miles - on our mountain bikes.

This shows approx. our route, as we managed to travel on trails and closed roads (which Google won't map) for much of the way.

I felt some discomfort as I rode, though had the power I needed. But, setting down the bike and walking a few feet to the bathroom was intense. I keep forgetting and Ella comes and plops down on my lap (which consists of 2 rather prominent quadriceps), whereupon she finds herself fast flying.

I think I will take it easy the rest of this week, and swap some massages with my wife.

Shell Ridge to Rock City

Sometimes the well dries up and there is just nothing to write about.

I guess that's not true. When I'm in the mood to write - I manage to write about most anything.

But when the well is dry I guiltily avoid the computer thinking I should probably compose something (because I have a blog after all) but just don't know what, or care to write.

That's now.

Why do I feel guilty?
Do I suppose that those reading actually mind if I pause for a few weeks at a time?
Is it my obsessive side slowly draining the pleasure from my free side?


My cycling goes the same way.
I find great pleasure in cycling, and the opportunity it provides for perceived accomplishment. (After all, what eternal value is there in making it to the top of a mountain 4 times in one day?) I suppose the value is real. Physical conditioning and the opportunity for solitude are things that many Americans could do with more of.

But.

Sometimes I just don't feel like going out.
No one else wants to go out at the one opportunity I have to put in some miles. I'll be riding alone. Again.

Often I ride anyway.
And then I remember why I ride.

Rock City - Out and back from Shell Ridge Open Space on a quiet, lonely, and spiritually refreshing Saturday morning.

The wind evaporates the perspiration from the waterfall that is my face as I bomb down the back side of the climb I just crushed. My muscles groan with agony on that first climb and then resign to their duties and power me to greater heights with no more than moderate discomfort. My lungs follow suit.

I've seen the sun rise on the road or trail I'm traveling, and I've seen it set. (And what motivation; the setting sun on a cyclist that has forgotten his lights.)

So I remember why I ride.
And I remember why I write.

4 Days in the "Wilderness"

It has fallen to me for a second time, to record in writing our yearly adventure into the wilderness.

I do not take this responsibility lightly and will do my best to accurately portray our group of 7 in the most genial light:

Dave, Tony, Dale, Tim, Zach (Age 7), Pastor (Brent), and Myself.

Since practically the final hours of last year's journey, we have been planning this year's adventure into the high Sierras of Yosemite National Park. The possible routes through the vastness are numerous and endless. With much deliberation we finally settled on 2 at the dawn of 2009 but failed to timely record them with the National Park Service. The all wise NPS decided that our second option was the one they would issue permits for, since at the time of application, the other route was already "overpopulated." Their decision would set the tone for the entire trip.

When the map says "High Sierra Camp" it actually means "Densely Populated City Right Out in the Middle of Where You Thought Was Nowhere." There were to be 2 of these surprises on our route.

Ok, so we knew that we were going to be in the proximity of these HSC's, and knew that they tended toward civilization. However, we had no clue that we would be required to settle within ear shot of their conch blowing calls to dinner, or that their peculiar sprawl would so dominate our wilderness experience. Upon checking in at the Tuolumne Meadows ranger station, we were, in no uncertain terms informed that we must camp at the backpackers camp area associated with each HSC we came to, along with the customary admonitions against creating new fire rings, varying from marked trails, eating the wildlife, or setting up trading posts. We candidly agreed, though later Dale would regret his inability to vend a portion of his immense collection of personal belongings to passing travelers.

Our group was understandably dismayed at this new reality, since our wilderness adventures have always been notably care free and solitary. This new reality however, was not to keep us forlorn long, as we tightened our packs and set off for our first night’s stay in the small metropolis of Glen Aulin.

Within minutes of embarkation the group was split over which direction may indeed hold the trail to this “valley of Beauty” and 2 parties diverged only to rejoin later with both parties being “right.” (The reader must understand that our group was rife with chiefs and short on Indians.)

There is much education in the first few miles of a backpacking trip.

Lesson 1 is typically realizing that the pads at the shoulder and hip are more closely related to the Steel Cable species (Genus – attachmentus, Family – Backpackumus) as opposed to the often assumed, Pillow species. The search for equilibrium between the various restraints begins.

Lesson 2 is often realized in the form of a series of questions. “What did I bring that was so heavy?” “Did I really need that (Fill in the Blank)?” “I wonder if the other guys’ packs are this heavy?”

And the subsequent lessons for each hiker vary, as some realize the error in a pair of boots, while another is regretting his breakfast burrito. In all, the lessons eventually amount to a considerable amount of stopping, adjusting, swapping, and not so silent contemplation.

We arrived at Glen Aulin - on average - Exhausted. Those prepared for the hike having picked up the slack for the less prepared, or maybe better described as over-prepared (by an average of about 20 pounds). Throughout the adventure, many would carry packs with which they had not embarked.

Seven of us crossed the Tuolumne River on a series of footbridges. We were all accounted for and suffering from acute mosquito paranoia.

It was only now that we began to realize our blunder. We were most certainly in the wilderness. We were most certainly NOT alone. A veritable city of large white tents – permanent encampments – were scattered about under the ever darkening canopy of pines and firs. Distinct and immense were the altogether too large fire pits where official expectations placed our anticipated conflagration. All hopes of a soothing blaze before bedtime were consumed by a mere glance at the throngs already dazzled by dancing flames.

We sought out a corner as far distant from other campers as possible, and set up camp.

Dinner was brief, cooked over a small backpacker’s stove, and observed by a chatty stranger sharing our small retreat. We treated our wounds, both physical and psychological, and we headed for bed.

Day 2

As was to be typical of our entire journey, the day started, sustained, and ended with clear skies: Beauty at its alpine best. Strategically located west of a large, thick stand of pines, my tent and I rested till nearly 8:30 that morning – much to the dismay of my less comfortably accommodated companions. The stove was aroused, and breakfast and coffee served.

By late morning we were planning our escape and eyeing a remote lake on the map near Polydome. Several sources warned us that this lake was hard to find and easy to miss, as it is situated a quarter to half a mile off the main trail along a dim path virtually unmarked. Sounded perfect to us.

At this point a decision was made to split the group. Dave, Tim, and myself would scout ahead and search out the mysterious trail, while the others would come along at their suitable pace.

West toward May Lake, South toward Tenya Lake, then within a quarter mile, find the path to Polydome lake heading away to the left. With these simple instructions, the company was divided, and the 4 mile trek began.

The trail gained elevation. Sometime later than anticipated, our scouting party turned left on the Tenya Lake trail and started the search for Poly Dome Lake. We had been told several times that this lake was hard to find, making it all that much more important to me to find it. A marker (affectionately known as a "rock duck" or, more aptly, a “Cairn”) was alleged to mark our final turn.

We met 2 resting hikers having come up from Tenya lake looking for the same trail.

Bad sign.

This provided 2 options - either one of us had missed it, or we were at that very moment standing beside the elusive trail. A cursory investigation gave evidence that it was not the second, and I strongly suspected that it was not these newcomers that had missed the trail. We turned on our heels and left them to finish their lunch. I had noted a potential trail a few hundred yards back and we returned to that spot and began a futile search of the trail’s south flank hoping for any hint of a trail. We found none, but did find a small stream, which after settling our company along the main trail, I returned to and filtered water for the 3 of us.

We had left recognizable gear alongside the trail during our explorations, and it was unmoved, leading us to believe that the balance of our group had not come that way during our absence.

It was while we sipped on fresh cool snow melt, and ate a small lunch that our saving grace walked down the trail. A middle aged couple recounted to us their unsuccessful search for the same lake and their night spent on an unfamiliar piece of ground north of their objective. They also confirmed a group of 4 backpackers, including a child of about 7 who had just located what they believed was the Polydome Lake trailhead about a quarter mile back toward the trail split. We downed lunch and headed back up the trail with purpose.

Polydome lake was certainly worth finding. No less than 5 minutes elapsed between the time that the packs were doffed and when most of us were immersed in the cool waters of the alpine lake. No white tents. No crowds. Just a steady breeze rippling the surface of a knee deep lake.

Day 3

It was with an element of disappointment that we abandoned our solitude. No other travelers had discovered our retreat, excepting one gentleman hunting the balance of his party – who we now suspect we had met some hours early having lunch beside the trail. Where they each bedded down that night or if they sat around the same fire can’t be known. The thought of a night spent divided, however, kept our party together for the third day’s hike.

May Lake, situated at the base of Mt. Hoffman, was the destination for our final night in the wilderness. We now knew what to expect from this popular High Sierra Camp. We would find the same large white tents, running water, and worst of all - toilets. The disappointment, however, was slowly coming around to resignation, and a resolution to overcome even this unexpected wilderness hardship with our usual aplomb. The spectacular views of the peaks and valleys provided by our steady gain in altitude was anything but disappointing.

To reduce the risk of sounding unnecessarily negative, I will skip a full accounting of the May Lake accommodations. A few positive memorable moments are worth recounting however.

After a short scare created by some very unpopular “NO SWIMMING” signs, we located the “approved” swimming area and bathed our sore feet. Some stayed away from the rather angular rocky bottom altogether, content to enjoy the water vicariously - from a distance. Others merely stood shivering knee deep. Tony and I took the dive. Wow. Refreshing doesn’t even begin to describe it. Later I took pictures of the snow melting into the lake, and understood more clearly.

After hearing odd and obnoxious horn sounds from the general direction of the HSC tents, I figured I’d take an afternoon stroll in that direction. I grabbed my Camelback and camera, invited Tim for company, and came upon a migration of hungry humans gathering for a pre-dinner coffee. Fresh coffee. For 2 days now, I had been reduced to instant, and beg, borrow, or steal I was getting a cup of something fresh. I dug around my Camelback and found the $2 I had stashed away for just such emergencies, and convinced a Ranger to let me purchase rights to 2 cups and a moment at the pot. I sat down on a large stump and had polite conversation with an older couple who live not far from myself. They do some cycling, and we spent a few moments discussing topics ranging from the Death Ride, to the dangers of commuting on city streets. Tim finished his cup and being bored by the conversation presumably drifted back toward our relegation. I was left to chat alone.

With little warning, the “horns” began again. It was now that I realized they were actually conch shells somehow contrived to form sounds far more beastly than any casual beach comber might ever suspect. The migration was being summoned into a large white tent to eat their dinner, seated at tables. I was quickly losing interest and continued away from camp toward the valley.

The view of the valley, from the south ridge of the shelf on which May Lake rests, is quite spectacular. Far off to the south west, Half Dome can be seen standing sentinel over Yosemite Valley. Nearly due south a ridge of mountains obscured the valleys we had traveled on our first day, and a rain storm was filling the creeks we had crossed. I had momentary sips of phone reception from the ridge, and accomplished a segmented call to my wife and daughter.

All things now having been set in order, I returned to the bevy of tents where Dave and I began the immensely difficult task of finding firewood in an area ravaged by countless foraging primates since the beginning of the NPS and its formation of HSC’s. We made fire, ate, got sleepy, and eventually were lulled to sleep by the grunts of a hundred campers simultaneously wishing the others would go away.

Day 4

Before bed on day 3, we had agreed to rising early and leaving early for our ascent of Mt. Hoffman. We managed to rise early enough. Sometime later than acceptable to my unnecessarily anxious psyche, we finally set off up the trail. Even in the wilderness it can be difficult to shed the rush.

The climb was not as difficult or long as the summiting of a 10,850’ mountain might lead one to believe. May Lake sits at around 9,000’, and small day packs were all we carried. The trail was well worn, and though not flat, afforded swift travel until requiring a reasonably technical section of bouldering to attain the summit. The views are spectacular and, frankly, defy one to capture them in print. I won’t do those stunning alpine peaks the injustice of description, but will rather retreat to the amazement of an awesome Creator capable of such grandeur. We enacted a series of snowball fights with ammunition supplied by numerous icy patches, most of which will likely still be around to be covered by autumn’s first flurries.

The day was rounded out by a final shuffling of gear and, eventually, feet. The descent from May Lake to the parking area was less than uneventful. The 1^st of 2 vehicles was loaded with gear and the most weary of the group, while Dave, Tim, and Myself headed down Old Tioga Pass Road, to meet the group after they retrieved the 2^nd vehicle back in Tuolumne Meadows.

And it all went by so fast. Within hours we were showered, shaved, and deposited back into the ordinariness of Bay Area life.

And we start planning for next year.