Tour of Cal Baldy Brunch Ride

Meet at Buster’s Coffee House up the street. Three riders. Me on “Totally Eighties.” Ride East to Rod’s classic diner for breakfast. Continue on to the Stage 7 route. Ride a few miles of it and wait for the racers to pass by so we can cheer them on to the top of Baldy. Ride back, tired into the sun and wind. Grab a few beers and a pizza and watch the coverage of the race on tv to find out the results. Good ride.

25 to 30 percent increase

The marathon was in town over the weekend. I had some friends in the race and The Half. So I set my trusty alarm cat to go off early – actually he goes off every morning when the sun comes up – who needs clocks? But it was raining – not rain-rain but just a little drizzle – perfect maybe for running but not great for going out and waiting for someone to show up at a halfway point when maybe they’ve already gone by. So I stayed home and ate blueberry pancakes.

But the marathon did affect my running over the last couple weeks. Two weekends in a row now I’ve done the double-run thing. Start out with a nice easy warm-up run with Hil and then go out to the Arroyo to get my fill. It’s a nice way to add on the mileage. I’m not sure how important it is for me to add on the mileage right now but since the marathon was in town I thought I’d do a little extra as unseen moral support – just get that running vibe out there in the air for everyone on race day.

I was a little surprised by two things. Both the Arroyo runs, which immediately followed a warm-up run, were pretty fast. And I was a lot more tired after both extended days of running. In my mind it seems like about the same distance 10, 13, whatever. But I think that’s right around that distance/time when you hit a threshold where you really need to be more conscious of caloric intake and hydration.

I do like the Half distance a lot. I don’t think I’ll ever get around to running a marathon. It’s a lot harder than two halves somehow. But based on the speed I think my legs were ready for the half and I may try to throw more of those together down in the arroyo on a more regular basis.

Also, my current shoes are hanging on impressively. The farthest I’ve ever taken a pair of running shoes in lifetime mileage is 600 miles. “They” say shoes are expected to break down after 300 to 500 miles based on your weight and running style and surface and such. My current Adidas are at 760 which of course begs the challenge of 1000 miles. They feel pretty good so far so we’ll see. The extended mileage may be from more dirt-trail miles or my focus on shying away from heavy heel landings.

dove bars again

At this stage in the long progression of continual adjustment and change that goes along with bicycling (and life) I’ve put the Dove Bars back into the mix. I originally got these bars for the SSSSfixie but then decided I wanted to go with the original bars for that bike. Recently I’ve been changing the adjustment a lot on Mindful Mule’s bars. I just can’t quite nail the right set-up. The Dove bars have just been lying around in the shed so I figured, in a moment of spontaneous unplanned activity following long months of semi-conscious calculation that I’d swap bars. The idea is that this will give me approximately the same hammer-time positioning that the Mary bars provided “in the hoods” so to speak even though neither of these bars technically have hoods but at least a nice curvy area up front where your hands can push out forward a bit to pretend time trial. And provide some more upright positioning when I’m just tootling around or in traffic or whatnot because the bar ends come back at a tighter angle, almost straight back and closer to my body. Both bars, the Mary and the Dove were/are mounted upsidedown as is my preference because that seems to enhance the handling and reduce flex. We’ll see how long this lasts.

arroyo river dream

The other night I had a dream about running in the Arroyo where the plant Datura grows – a sacred place – Datura is the Queen. She brings visions and breaks down barriers between the underworld and surface world and past and present and dream and reality and vision. The dream was simple and real-like and showed the future-past – the creek-wash-stream-river was naturalized again. The walls of the channel were absent. The flow of the water was low, slow, but the streambed was wide and flat and sandy, suggesting recent surges of power, washing down the loose, steep mountains. Datura was growing in the sand near the river, just as it now grows in the sand near the river above the wall/channel. The river was telling a story, its dream of the future, its remembrance of the past. Datura was there as friend and orator, its large white and translucent light purple trumpet flowers perfect for broadcasting messages.

I went running in the Arroyo that day after the dream. And of course, the river was there, and Datura, and even a build up of sediment within the channel – looking almost back to normal, a real river within the walls – nothing prophetic, just presence, always presence:

Here I am, I am a river, always a river, Datura is my friend, run beside me, be my friend, run beside me, run beside me, run beside me…

Later that evening I was at my high school reunion and it was only the simple moments that made any sense. There was one conversation about home life and simple ways, and it sounded nice, even if it was made less true in my mind than the words were meant to imply, she wasn’t even in my class, but she told the best story, that I believed, and believe to be true, a story like a river…

tire profiles, the old and the new

the old tire


and the new Big Apple Tire

The Big Apple is here and mounted and really great, immediately noticeable difference in speed and handling. Greater than expected. Some of the speed may have come from adjusting the brakes, though, I think they’ve been dragging for a while but well… training. I actually thought the Big Apple would look a little wider, fatter. It seems skinnier than the rear XR of the same make and dimensions. Maybe I should have gotten the even bigger version at 2.2 width instead of 2.0. This should be fine and great, though. Maybe I’ll switch it up in another ten thousand miles – knock on wood…

the big apple, a tire tale

In the beginning of October of last year I blew-out the rear tire on the Mule. It was a bummer because it was a great tire and expensive and it was so almost reusable but the slash was just large and irregularly shaped (star-ish) enough that I couldn’t really trust it to ferry me along the outer ranges of my rides.

The tire that blew was a Schwalbe XR. Really a super tire that is nearly indestructible. But no tire is without its Achilles Heel. So kablamo it went with several thousand unused miles of tread.

But I didn’t want to replace it. I was feeling cheap. Actually, I tried to find another one for a while but they apparently don’t make them anymore. And they’re become increasingly rare. So I took the healthy XR from the front and moved it to the rear and found an old spare in the shed and threw it on the front. Thinking to myself, This will just be a temporary fix until I figure something out.

Well, temporary turned into permanent as it often will and I’ve been riding that mediocre tire for half a year. I guess it couldn’t really be called mediocre as it’s performed okay, almost well. I’ve had a ton of great rides with it but it’s just not quite rad enough for me. The primary problem being that it’s got sort of a sharp edge on it. It’s like squared off in its profile rather than rounded so that when I’m bombing around corners it’s a little unstable and potentially unsafe. Plus it’s a little narrower and shorter and, well, I gave it its fair temporary-into-permanent re-useful life but now I’m finally excited to report that I’ve ordered a new tire.

The new tire on the way is another Schwalbe – the model they call the Big Apple. That should restore proper geometry and awesomeness to the Mule. Why do they call it the Big Apple? I guess because it’s big and round (profile) and has a lot of air volume in it so it sorta cushes along and absorbs a lot of shock and vibration. And it should take abuse from all manner of urban road debris (as well as the XR anyway). An appropriate tire to ride the streets of New York.

I spend so much time on that Mule that I figure I might as well make it just right for full enjoyment as well as functionality – it really is a race mule after all. It’s funny though – this is such a big deal (a big apple) to me and I want to go out and tell it on the mountain but somehow the world I live in seems not to understand how a kid (1973) could be so excited about “a new tire!” So it gets repressed except for this blog with its few readers that might understand. So, thanks for being there for me to tell my tale. I might even take a picture…

currently reading

A Way to Measure Time: Contemporary Finnish Literature
by (multiple)

Mountain Home: The wilderness poetry of ancient China
Translated by David Hinton

the slow bicycle movement and what it can do for you

I keep hearing about The Slow Bicycle Movement. The phrase seems to have been coined by the creator of Copenhagenize and Cycle Chic, also, two very catchy phrases/movements/sites. Copenhagen is a city where every body bikes. Not everyone, but something like almost half of the people ride bikes a lot. But it’s not like a bunch of Lance Armstrongs (sorry, he’s getting a little overused in this context but whatever). It’s like a bunch of grandmas and bakers and candlestick makers and whatnot and so such. Copenhagen is like the bicycle friendly streets advocate’s Mecca. They’re the role model for the world.

And the Slow Bicycle Movement is spreading the concept of what riding there is like and applying it to individuals and cities around the globe. It’s basically a big Whoa, Nellie! What’s everybody in such a freakin’ panic about out there on the streets. And, in our lives, too.

I assume the Slow Food Movement was first. And that’s where the name came from. Slow Food being the opposite of Fast Food. Words like local, quality, real, wholesome, organic, and community might be applied to the Slow Food Movement. Not the same words most people would apply to Fast Food.

On some level the same applies to the bicycle movement. There’s no such thing as Fast Bicycle or the Fast Bicycle Movement but there is the Roadie crowd that pretend to be pro cyclists and dress up in Team Kits and ride 16 pound bicycles. And that’s great. That’s fine. I wore my tights just yesterday. It was a nice ride. I don’t choose to wear clothing with unpaid sponsorship or advertisements on them but to each his own. I’m not against the Roadies. And I don’t think, at it’s core, The Slow Bicycle Movement is either, although it tends to sort of pivot off and away from the idea of lycra and carbon fiber as the devil’s realm. If anything, the Roadie Movement, we’ll call it, is something separate and irrelevant.

The Slow Bicycle Movement is about getting around with ease and simplicity and awareness. It doesn’t matter what kind of bike you ride but it should be capable of allowing you to carry some extra weight around on it. Maybe it has a basket or some panniers. It should be durable and functional. It can be heavy. It can be light. You don’t need special clothes. You don’t need a helmet. You’ll probably want a sweater at night though. The SBM is a guiding reminder that a bicycle works pretty darn well for more than you think.

But in addition to all that, I found that the philosophy of the SBM also gets into your head and makes you a safer rider. When you’re in the SBM mindset you’re not competing with cars or trying to get through that yellow traffic light. You’re just moving along and merging with other people in various other forms of transportation that they’ve deemed appropriate for their tasks for that day. It’s very mellow.

And a mellow rider is a safe rider. Mellow creates a force field. A mellow bubble. Try it and I think you’ll see what I mean.

On the SBM website they’ve got a bunch of video links of people riding really slow. Slow racing I suppose it is. They, the SBM, seem to be a little stuck on this theme. I see how it could be sort of fun, once or twice to race real slow. I think the idea is whoever crossed the finish line last, of like a hundred foot race, wins – and probably you can’t touch the ground. These slow races are not, in my view, the SBM. They’re more like a promotional tool. An event. Or maybe like practice. A group of people getting together occasionally to strengthen the community. Afterwards the individual cyclists ride away with renewed hope and calm. As if they’d just been to a meditation circle and were now out in the world with a little clearer mind.

The SBM is something. It is something remarkably powerful. If it spreads. Or if it doesn’t. I was in the grocery store this morning and those places can be an excellent place to observe the need in our society for slowing down. And an excellent place to practice slowing down. There was a moment when I was coming to a corner of an isle and there were a couple other people kind of freaking out and changing direction and grabbing things off the shelf and trying to pass each other and I found myself walking very very slowly as I read all that was happening in front of me. I noticed each foot placement and the rocking forward down over the arch of the foot and the slow lift up again of the heel and lingering stretch of the toes. I had entered the slow life movement while searching for slow food because of my practice on a slow bicycle. It all slowly adds up to a lot of time and space and calm.

currently reading

The Mindful Hiker: On the trail to find the path
by Stephen Altschuler

so much beauty before the grey
by robert galbraith

arroyo ghost running

I’ve been sick a lot lately so the running has been a little crazy. I’m this close to being recovered but I just can’t quite kick it. It doesn’t even seem to be tied to anything in particular but just comes in waves of randomness. I’m still getting some good distance in and even some great timing but also every other run seems to fall flat. Alternating super fast and inspired with super slow and dragging.

Yesterday was both. It started out slow and horrible. I had a headache, I thought I was going to vomit and pass out. I had no reason to be out running. But once you start it becomes very difficult to disengage yourself from the path, the route, the rut, the ritual. You don’t even want to take one more step but you do. Your legs just want it and they’re not listening to the head. All the head can do is pour water constantly down the throat hoping to avoid a dehydrative crash.

Once you’re at the top, the turnaround, the halfway point, well then there’s nothing left to worry about because you’re out of options. You can either run home or you can lie down and die. I guess that’s an option but generally a last resort. Not one I was quite ready for. And besides by that point, my brain having given up it’s fight, having nothing left to fight for, wasn’t hassling me any more so the legs just ran and ran faster.

The mind freed from worry but still in it’s fever induced state set upon creating morbid and hallucinatory entertainments. The morbid thought being like: death – the miracle tonic – it cures what ails you – and realizing that really that’s not a bad deal – we pick up all these quirks and aches and diseases and blocks throughout our lives and we do our best to live with them even if they’re ain’t no cure – we run through them – and then one day – all of us – set free from all of it – reset…

The hallucinatory thoughts being like: when I got back to the pedestrian/equestrian underpass under the “Historic Arroyo Seco Parkway” as they’re calling it now (don’t go thinking it’s still a freeway!), the place where on the way up/out I’d nearly passed out from the ill I was feeling, now seeing my dead grandfather standing there waiting for me. Waiting for something anyway, not me maybe, just standing there, really. But it was surely him. Unmistakable. He couldn’t see me though or hear me. I just ran right by him, right through him maybe. I didn’t dare to look back. Well, the Arroyo seems like as good a place as any for him to hang around – I know it’s where I’ll be spending a lot of time when I’m gone. Not to mention while I’m here.

currently reading

A Moveable Feast
by Ernest Hemingway

Tropic of Cancer
by Henry Miller

Both books are centered around life in Paris in the 20’s and 30’s respectively. Both are biographical (or at least semi.) I think there will be some similarities in theme (life lived well) but widely different approaches to relating them – in particular what is left out in Ernest’s case and what is left in in Henry’s.

I didn’t have any books on my reading list (any suggestions?) yesterday at the library but I do like reading about California and I do like Big Sur and anything coastal and so Henry Miller popped up. I’ve been to his library/book store in Big Sur but never read any of his books. At least now I can, this book being banned in the USA from 1934 to 1961.

So two books of Paris. One Mindful. One Mule. The first few pages have already seeped into my dreams of last night so they must be dangerous...

spatial relations of a grocery ballet

There was a time when, back in the seventies and probably long before, grocery baggers were an incredibly talented lot. They took great pride in presenting the customer with perfectly organized groceries packed into crisp brown paper bags. Some of them took it to a level of performance art – adding some flair, maybe a spinning of a loaf of bread through the air with one hand as they were loading the previous item with the other hand, catching the bread and placing it softly in place at just the last moment – a grocery ballet. I’m thinking one of these guys went on to create Tetris.

These days, well I don’t have to tell you, two plastic bags per item, cans on top of tomatoes!

I’ve been grocery shopping by bicycle now for several years. At this point I know pretty much exactly how much will fit in my basket and that’s how much I arrive at the checker with because I like to maximize my trip and I like to eat – amazingly, it’s pretty close to one full grocery basket. But, you have to pack it well. Unfortunately, today’s baggers don’t get this. And they can’t seem to understand that I can’t take an extra bag – it’s a car culture thing – even a Miyata will fit several grocery bags.

So it is that I find myself out on the sidewalk taking all (or most) of my groceries out of my bag so that I can reorganize them so they’ll fit in the bike basket and not get squished. I found that the key to packing groceries well is verticality. I don’t quite understand the spatial relations of why this is the case, but it seems as though you can fit about 20% more into a space of equal size when packing groceries in a vertical manner.

It’s not a big deal, of course, but I dream of one day walking out of the grocery store with a perfectly cubical bag that slides right into my basket and away we’ll ride, me and mindful mule…

ostriches and tigers and peacocks, oh my!

Here in our little hometown we seem to consider the ostrich as our unofficial mascot. That’s not just random, there’s a historical link in that there used to be a place called the Cawston Ostrich Farm over near the Arroyo about a century ago. There’s a life size stuffed ostrich (of the Teddy Bear toy doll variety, not taxidermied, thank god, although, maybe that would be better, but super creepy) in the local library.

Wouldn’t that be the way to roll into Old Town in style for the evening! More photos here.


For some reason the mascot for the school sports teams is the Tiger. Go Tigers! That seems a little boring to me. I’d rather root for an Ostrich. Go Ostriches!

I finally went out for another long run in the Arroyo the other day (after about three weeks missed. It went well, thanks, and fast) and just as I was approaching the old Cawston Farm area what should appear but… a peacock! Are they encroaching on the ostrijes (it’s in the dictionary, although I’m not sure about the plural)? Well, yes, they are. Actually, the last ostrij is long gone. And the peacock is a surprisingly common sight – but always fresh and fun.

Encountering peacocks often reminds me of an explanation of a Zen realization moment by one of my teachers back when: You’re walking along through town thinking about the things one thinks about and you round a corner and… it’s a pig! That snaps you right into reality. AKA Zen. The Now. The Moment.

Another good example is: you’re in the kitchen getting a dish out of the cupboard and you notice a little piece of something, let’s say broccoli, on the floor, mid-dish-task you bend over to pick up the broccoli and upon standing up again slam your head into the left-open cupboard door. Bam! Back in the moment.

I see peacocks probably about several times a year. I think they once escaped from the nearby botanical gardens or somewhere but they seem to be rather well established in the mini-wilds around the hillsides. Seems rather unbelievable. Maybe they come and go.

Since there are no more ostriches and never were any tigers I’m starting the campaign to change the schools mascot to the peacock. Go Peacocks!

Though, the footballers might get embarrassed.

currently reading

Seeing Is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees: over thirty years of conversations with Robert Irwin
by Lawrence Weschler

Raven’s Exile: a season on the green river
by Ellen Meloy

un-weight-ed

In the cycling world there are a lot of people that are very concerned about shaving weight off of their bikes – so much so that they’ll spend hundreds of dollars on new, better parts to drop a few ounces.

I’ve gotten into that a little in the past, too, it can be fun, but more and more lately I seem to be following the Rivendell philosophy of: who cares how fast you’re riding? You’re [37] and you’re not going to get picked up by Euskaltel-Euskadi for this year’s spring classic season. And even if you were to live out that fantasy, they’d give you a free 16lb bike to ride and all that training on your 20-35 pounder would serve you well.

There’s also the idea swimming around out there that for a lot of us it might be wiser to not spend extra money on dropping our bikes weight, but to just drop a little weight off our own bodies. This seems somewhat logical but I don’t think it’s a direct equation. If you loose 3 pounds of fat it probably won’t do as much as losing 3 pounds of bike weight. That’s my belief.

I can never really get a good study going on this. There are so many variables to include that it’s pretty much impossible. I like the idea of someday doing some time trials on each of my two road bikes, one being a few pounds heavier than the other – maybe loops around the Rose Bowl – but I doubt I’ll ever get around to it.

I’ve lost a little weight recently, mostly by intent. It seems like a natural cycle to be a little leaner at the end of winter when, in the old days at least, food was a little scarcer. I think I can feel I slight difference in my climbing speed and ease but I’ve also been riding alone a lot lately and so maybe I’m just riding slower and therefore the hill feels easier without the competition. Incidentally: Desperately Seeking bicycle freaks who enjoy long winding rides…

My recently developing trend has been to ride Mindful Mule (the heaviest of all my bikes and most often used) on longer pleasure routes that were previously reserved for the road bikes. This makes it easier to bring along extra clothes in the basket and locks and encourages more of an exploratory feel to the ride. And I’ve really enjoyed these rides. Sure it’s slower going up over the hills on the Mule but who cares? The coffee shop will still be there when I get there a few minutes slower. And, actually, on the downhills, the Mule is a champ – a rattletrap bomber, of sorts – we hit 37mph the other day descending Lida (our super duper in town mini mountain), not much slower than the road bikes and just as fun (the importantist factor).

Over the weekend I rode Lida three times on Totally 80’s (the heavier road bike but still a lot lighter than the Mule) I’m not sure how to filter out all this data (heavy bike training, been sick, lost weight, lighter T80, ate heartily the day before, inspired by watching Paris Nice, etc.) but I know I didn’t want to stop riding. I’d get to the bottom and just go again. I don’t think I’ve ever done Lida more than twice before. It felt good to let it ride and ride and ride…

The funny catch to that Triple Lida ride was that it started off with a Devil’s Gate Dam Trail run (5K), twice crossing the knee-deep, shoe-and-sock-soaking, mucky, silty, creek so I did the whole ride with soggy feets. Freak!

currently reading

A Palpable Elysium: Portraits of Genius and Solitude
by Jonathan Williams

Jose, can you see Brown Mountain

“let’s get back to civilization!”

As I was saddling back up on Mindful Mule after my Devil’s Gate Trail run last evening a couple of young runners were exiting the trail behind me. I had just passed them on the way out about a mile up the trail where they had gone off the trail over to the creek for some reason where they were squealing in that high Beatles-follower pitch as youngsters sometimes do. Maybe they dropped their iPod in the river or something, I don’t know, but they seemed fine when I passed them. When they got back to the trailhead one of them exclaimed with relief, “let’s get back to civilization!”

I thought it was sorta funny, pretty cute. I mean, I understand where they were coming from, and that’s exactly why I like that trail. It does have the feeling of a “real” trail (like) out in the woods. But you’re also never more than about half a mile from a road and for much of that you’re only about two meters from the rough off of fairway 16 at Brookside Golf Course (actually, I have no idea what hole number it is). So, you never really get a chance to leave civilization on that trail. Oh, and then there’s also the Interstate 210 Freeway bridge that runs directly overhead about a mile in – it’s so high that you barely notice it but you’ve got to realize it’s there – or wonder where all that shade is coming from.

In other trail running news, it turns out I’m getting a little bit wiser. The creek was flooded again and I just walked right in without trying to balance on rocks that didn’t quite span the flow or make any kind of impossible flying longjumps. My socks filled up with about a 1/2 cup of silt each though and I did have to give my shoes a good rinsing bath when I got home but it turns out it’s just a little water. Wet shoes and socks are really not that bad when compared to any kind of injury/recovery. And besides, I’ve got a race this weekend and as a little Zen master once said, “you can’t run if you can’t run.”

so many bike racks…

How many bike racks do you need for a 100-thousand-seat stadium?

Oh, about 12 should do it.

More bike parking here.

improvising protected bike lanes

There’s been a ton of construction going on along Fair Oaks Ave lately – they’re resurfacing the road. I usually avoid this street as it’s a fairly major thoroughfare – two lanes each way, crosses a freeway, stoplights, business parks, etc. Since the construction, though, I’ve been riding this street a lot. It seems strange I know because it’s become doubly congested now. The new advantage though is that for about a mile in each direction the right lane is closed off to cars. There’s a line of those tall skinny orange traffic cones running along what was previously the line between the two lanes – a cone about every 20 or 30 feet. To the right of that line of cones is a gap of about 4 or 5 feet before another line of cones that block off the actual construction zone – creating a long empty corridor. I think you know where I’m going with this: free bike lane! It’s dope. The street goes up and down a moderate hill so on the way down you can zip by like 100 cars. And even on the way up the hill, maybe only pulling 9 mph, but there’s so many cars stuck in there you can ride past a good 30. It’s been nice, like living in Copenhagen. It would be (will be) amazing to see that (someday) permanently converted to a forward-thinking-multi-modal-pedestrian-community-safe-friendly-calm-happy street – with big old oak trees wending along the way for killer shade.

currently reading

bus 260

Bus 260 goes up and down Fair Oaks Ave in Pasadena. It’s a great route for me. It goes somewhere else after hitting Huntington Drive at the south end of Fair Oaks but I don’t pay much attention to it after that.

It’s super easy once you figure it all out and get over the mental blocks to transit. It’s a dollar fifty each way. Almost expensive but pretty reasonable if you go at least a few miles. Get on a few blocks from home. Get off a block from Club 72. Get half off drinks and see a few friends for a while and then reverse the same route to get back home. Not a bad evening.

Also, on the northern end of the route it goes all the way up to the top of Fair Oaks, way up there to the top of the foothills. I haven’t done this yet, but someday soon I’m gonna take an adventure bus ride up the hill and go for a hike on Echo Mountain (the trailhead is just a few blocks from the top-most stop) and then after the hike walk right down into the best veggie restaurant/grocery in the world, well, in my world, Oh, Happy Days…

Why would someone so into the bicycle be posting about the bus? Well, it’s because of rain (and in the case of hiking, the hills prior to the hills and a bit of that continuing OCF, one-car-family experience.) But “it never rains in Southern California,” you’ve heard. Well, that’s just so wrong I can’t even tell you. It can rain a lot here. Five centimeters (2”) just last night. Mostly it rains all within a few months and it’s true that there are stretches through the summer when we get very little or none but that just makes what we get, our annual, all the heavier.

I’m sure you’ve heard that Portland, Oregon gets a lot of rain. It’s one of those rainy places in our mental geography. Well we here in three-blocks-north-of-LA get as much rain or more than Portland through the winter. And we get it super concentrated into a few storms per season. I know you don’t believe me, but I honestly believe that I’m speaking the truth.

So… when it’s raining here, it’s really raining, it’s the monsoon. And no matter how much you like to ride it’s no fun to ride in the monsoon. You get soaked, super soaked, double soaked.

Last night was actually a multimodal (walk/bus) trip into Old Town. Walking up I was reminded that I’m one of those people that can’t go out in the rain without getting soaked. Some people have a knack; they go out in the rain and somehow, miraculously, they stay dry. In fact, most people seem to be able to pull off this magic trick. I however, can’t figure it out. I get so soaked, so soaked. It’ll stop raining and I’ll think, “hey, okay, I can shoot out real quick and be right there and I’ll make it clean and dry…” No. As soon as I hit the point of no return the deluge arrives and I end up walking or riding around like a drown rat – wet, wet – and then it will let up and everyone will be staring at me because I’m the only one that’s soaking wet and they’re all dry because they’ve been inside and inside their cars and they’re all like, “why’s that guy so wet,” and I’m all, “dude, because it’s raining…”

So when it’s raining it’s really nice to take a break and ride the bus. “Get on the bus” as they say. One tiny little push button pop out umbrella will keep you mostly dry for the sprints on either end. It’s probably healthful, even, and humbling to allow yourself to be a little less mule (stubbornly forging ahead) and a little more mindful (flexibly aware with the moment). That’s the story of Bus 260, a good monsoon season friend of Mindful Mule and Me.

cool mini flash flood

…running down in the arroyo this morning… right along the channel next to the fence, I heard gushing behind me. I looked back to see a rushing wave of water complete with sticks and other floaty junk traveling twice my speed downstream through the cemented flood control channel of the creek and carrying about twice the volume of water that it was overtaking.

There’s some more rain due this weekend so they’re probably flushing out some of the dam water to add space. A very small and safe and man-made flood but pretty cool to witness all the same. Like a little science experiment to demonstrate the power and speed of a real flash flood.

Just downstream of where the water quickly passed me by the flood crashed with all its force into a small naturalized area with no channel but only managed to scare a few ducks into flight, the flood’s energy easily dissipated by nature's superior flood guidance system – below which all was calm, not even a ripple.

winter on brown mountain

It must be very quiet up there these days. No visits from the Mule. It snowed up there over the weekend. Very nice to gaze upon that ridge-like peak from down below in town. Black in the depths of the canyons, brown rising up the flanks to a heavy streak of white across the top under blue sky, passing shadows and clouds. A deep, cold rest. Sleep well my mountain, my friend.

post arroyo run snack of champions

Half a cup of blueberries.
Half a cup of (mixed, raw) almonds, sunflower seeds, walnuts.
Half a cup of leftover coffee (a different kind of cup.)

fluffy arroyo

More “snow” in the arroyo this morning. This time it was falling from the sky. Still not real snow and not frost again either. The willows are sending off their fluff to repopulate the earth. It really does look a lot like lightly falling snowflakes, each fluffy seed forming it’s own little crystalline flake and getting blown into low drifts along the side of the trail. Someday it will snow in the arroyo for real. It will be beautiful. In the mean time, it’s enough to know that there are other arroyos out there in the world with other folks wandering through them and light snowflakes falling peacefully.

Devil’s Gate Nature Run of Patience

It’s been a little while since I’ve gone up the Devil’s Gate Trail. But I made it up there today for the first time this year. I kinda got out of the habit after my weird ankle/river/tumbling experience last Fall. I think I’d been back since to “get back on the horse” but once that was accomplished I drifted away. Part of that drift was that it got a little cooler and there’s sort of an ideal temperature range for making that run work smoothly, especially as it requires a bicycle ride before and after. You want it to be cool enough to go running and warm enough to go biking. You also don’t want to ferry too many different levels of clothes along in the bike basket or bother with changing at the trailhead. And you don’t want to ride in “running shorts!” In the seventies works well. Sixties could work too.

On the run, just after passing through the dam (there’s a pedestrian/equestrian tunnel) I came across a couple of walkers that were stopped over at the side of the dirt road waiting for a big dump truck to pass by. I joined them under their oak tree while the dust settled. They told me about a big construction project that was just getting started there above the dam, below JPL, that will be ongoing for 3 years. I forget the exact details but something in the neighborhood of 30ish dump trucks a day for those three years will be hauling out debris from behind the dam that has washed down from the mountains. That’s a Devil’s Gate Damn lot of debris.

He knew a lot about the project and the area. I didn’t get around to asking but I had the impression that he was a part of one of the community groups that is active in the area, maybe The Arroyo Seco Foundation or Save Hahamongna or one of their friends. I was glad to get some information about other projects going on in the upper Arroyo too.

And then we all went in our opposite directions and what he’d said started to sink in. The consequences, the construction, the removal of hundreds of trees, the dust, the noise, possible closures! I can’t take any more closures. “This aggression will not stand, man!”

I understand, though. You have to clean up behind the dam or it won’t be a dam for very long. Which is exactly how I’d want it and I’m sure that guy with the info too. But many people like to be able to build houses and golf courses and stadiums and freeways in flood plains and they probably want it the other way, dammed.

A little further up the Arroyo at about my turn around point I went out to the creek where it was meandering along quietly. It was a nicely naturalized area just above the dam. It was all sparkle and flow and real and awesome. A pristine nature-takes-it-all-back moment. Soon to be removed. Labeled “debris” and trucked off to become fill dirt and concrete. Useful stuff to have access to but today a bit of a tough thought.

Looks like we’re in for some more patience. Not really what we needed as they just re-extended, again, the closure on Brown Mountain, another year… Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one dying from this, but today at least, I came across a few people* that are in it with me.

*Also another walker asking me about the creek cross-ability at the top of his loop as it’s been flooded a lot lately – it’s been flooded because they’ve been draining the water off behind the dam so they can dig it out. We had kind of a moment of shared understanding and connection to place as I too quickly understood his line of questioning and why he was asking and how long he’d been cut off by the water flow and how glad he was about to be to be able to cross that creek and go on above (and secretly knew that he’d be bummed when he figured out about the construction too but couldn’t bear to tell him then) and all of that all exchanged with a few words and looks within a few seconds.

another snippet (to Noah); Or, the art of blowing off a run up Mt. Wilson

I'm close to saying yes to this. But I'm not quite there. Maybe I need to let it filter through my head for a while and join you on the next one. I have trouble with early mornings and I have trouble with cars. (But I don't have trouble with dogs!) I know this makes things difficult for the average trail runner out there. But there are occasions when I'm awake early enough to ride to a trailhead. And there are occasions when I'll accept your generous offer of a car ride. I mean one could make the argument that if you're going there anyway, picking me up isn't that much of a load on the earth, you know. So let's say, keep me in mind for future running adventures and let's hope that I come along eventually. I hope this doesn't sound totally ridiculous. But I know that runners have their ways and sometimes it just takes a little time to fit two runners together. How long is the trail anyway, like 14m round trip with 4000'?

white arroyo

It was fairly cold this morning. Ice in the birdbath again. I can’t find the post from the last time this happened but it did and I posted it and well I don’t really feel like searching for it but some other winter I guess. The thing that’s interesting about this ice in the birdbath thing is that I don’t think it actually got down to freezing last night or the time before. Maybe the time before but not last night. So how can you get ice without freezing temperatures? Uh, well, you probably can’t but what you might be able to do is create a localized colder temperature zone in the birdbath by accident.

So here’s my guess: The birdbath is just a ceramic bowl, a cat bowl, I think there’s a little image of a paw on the bottom, ahh. And there’s some water in it. Not much last night – just what was left over from last weekend’s one centimeter of rain (the only rain we’ve had all calendar year.) The cat dish is resting on top of a steel cake pan that fits perfectly inside of the opening at the top of the chiminea. Why is there a cake pan in the top of the chiminea? It keeps the rain out of the chiminea and the wood dry – that’s the idea anyway, it sort of works a little. Now that I think about it I don’t really have a guess about why or how the H2O or bowl could be colder than the surrounding air, but those are the physical conditions, the parameters, that surround the magical birdbath that freezes at above freezing temperatures.

So… on my run through the Arroyo this morning there was white all over the ground in the shadows. Not snow. That would be awesome. Someday. But frost, it was. Frozen dewdrops or transpiration drops on all the low lying grasses and other weeds that are choking the Arroyo groundcover to death. It was pretty cool, figuratively, well, and I guess literally, too. I missed the best part of the show having arrived there a little too late in the morning. If I’d been there earlier it would have been coated in white just about everywhere. As it was I only got the remnants in the deep nooks and shadows. No wonder my feet were cold…

message snippet to a guy named sorcery bird

Yeah, but either south or north of the Rose Bowl is much nicer. There's a great trail that starts up at the northwest corner of that Rose Bowl loop at heads up along the left side of the golf course over Devil's Gate Dam and into the area below JPL.

South of the Rose Bowl and the Aquatic center from about Holly St Bridge under Suicide Bridge past the Casting Ponds and/or Archery Range depending on which side of the "creek" you're on and on and on with a few tweaks and turns all the way down to Deb's Park as far as you want to go.

Speaking of jogging and Deb's Park, I'm considering this:
4 Mile Hill Challenge

mind to match my mountains*

Riding up the street the other day took me back to the seventies. The afternoon not-quite-sunset sky was hazy. The mountains, having just days before been multicolored pop out three dimensional gems, were more distant and flat, residing in some other realm of reality, leaving only their monochrome calling card should any of us happen to glance their way, not wanting to leave us completely unattended, landmarkless, unable to find north. That dusty orange light reminded me of the days before the mountains, before they existed. Things were different then, so much smaller, mellower, nothing much going on… air pollution turned that decade into one long rose-tinted dream and made us think we lived in the city when really we were up by the foothills, if only we could have seen them… “The Town and The City”** now instead, and the mountains too, now that Wilson’s spires finally pierced a whole in that sky to let the smoke drain away, so that we can remember to match our minds to our mountains.

* Stone. Men to Match My Mountains. 1956.
** Kerouac. The Town and The City. 1950.

two moons

Saw the full moon set and rise yesterday – full enough, anyway. That doesn’t happen very often. It wasn’t planned – it just turned out that the moon and I were on the same schedule surrounding my morning and evening bicycle travels. Both times I only caught glimpses of her through the trees as she was hovering at the horizon, big and round and two-dimensional looking with so much reflection – too bright for texture, a ghostly outline. Two wheels in the sky, a goddess companion of bicyclists.

2011 Amgen Tour of California to ride Claremont to Mount Baldy

One of the highest mountains in the Los Angeles area is Mount Baldy. On clear days its domed peak can be seen from many miles away, floating far above the cityscape, a beacon and reminder of mountain adventures, past and future. It’s a favorite haunt of many a hiker, biker, skier, and nature lover.

And finally in this sixth year of the Tour of California the peloton is going to take it on. Riders will start this Stage 7 on May 21, 2011 in the city of Claremont near the foothills of Mount Baldy before winding their way up the Glendora Mountain and Ridge Roads. This is exciting news for the local cycling community for which this classic route has been a long-standing test of one’s mountain cycling mettle.

Although the riders won’t actually come anywhere near the peak of the mountain (the paved road stops a few thousand vertical feet below the top) it will be a grueling ride nonetheless, covering many mountain miles with constant vertical gain, the steepest grades and tightest hairpin curves awaiting them in the last few miles of the climb. It will likely set the stage for the wildest mountain spectacle yet seen in the Tour of California.

It promises to be an epic stage for this year’s Tour and will hopefully become a classic, revisited for many years to come.

currently reading

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
by B. Traven
I’ve stuttered on this one for some time. Lately I haven’t been much into fiction, which this is, but Edward Abbey won’t shut up about this book so I figured I might as well give it a try. And I have a feeling that there’s probably some nonfictional elements to it that Ed must have latched onto – likely something geographic or landscapey.

God’s Middle Finger:
Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madre
by Richard Grant
This one came up on the library search list when I entered Sierra Madre looking for the book above. And well, it looks fun and also landscapey.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle:
A Year of Food Life
by Barbara Kingsolver
Recommended by the wife of one of my Arroyo runner friends. I have runner friends? Well, sometimes. It gets lonely out there and it’s nice to meet up with other people once in a while. I don’t think he’s related to the company that makes the running apparel called Hines, although I’ve never asked him.

Like Denali

I’ve never been to Alaska but I’ve read a few books about the Denali region and seen some pretty great photographs of the mountain – one in particular by Ansel Adams from Wonder Lake. I like the idea of calling the mountain Denali rather than Mt. McKinley. It feels a lot more appropriate. More sacred. And it is a sacred mountain. They say that. But you can tell anyway just by looking at it. It just is.

The last few nights have given some incredible views of Brown Mountain. You know that moment when town is in shadow but the mountains are still glowing in the sunset. Alpenglow in Los Angeles – incredible, isn’t it? Purple mountain majesty on one side of each ridge and warm soft mellow powdery orange on the other.

The other night I was noticing that Denali and Brown actually share some similar features. Something about the way the ridges take their time descending from the peak. Brown is a little more flat-topped than Denali and obviously much smaller but they both hold such a strong presence – almost proud. Sacred mountain brothers.

Salad of Champions

I eat this a lot. Sometimes twice a day. It’s the right way to eat like a pig – in that, despite the common thinking on the subject, a healthy pig would probably like to eat much in the same way. Or maybe it sounds better to eat like a mindful mule. It’s a semi-starvation diet, no doubt, but humans probably are meant to be a bit starved, lean, fit. It’s a pretty simple plan: moderate starvation + excessive physicality = fighting weight; fighting weight + a few pounds of “wine and beer” = just about right.

Start with a pretty bowl about the size of your head.
A fork and a spoon – you might need both.
Ingredients vary with season and availability. Try something new.
Break or cut to desire.
A few leaves of lettuce – something better than “iceberg dead ahead.”
A couple pieces of kale or chard or cabbage or the like.
A couple pieces of bread or a cup of mixed rolled rye/barley/oats/wheat.
A few canopies of broccoli or cauliflower.
Tomato or apple or pear or plum or orange.
Carrots or radishes? Whatever you’ve got.
Hunk of cheese or tofu or tempeh or peanut butter or some sliced almonds.
A bundle of cilantro or dill.
Green onion. Why not throw the whole thing in there.
Several twists of pepper.
Several shakes of red chile pepper, sea salt.
A good splash of apple cider vinegar to rinse down some of that shake.
A squeeze or slash of mustard (Dijon?)
More olive oil than you dare to measure – like about five seconds.

adidas

old town doors

friday night lights

mindful mule

mindful mule

OCF!

It’s official. We’re a One Car Family. Well, really more like a one car couple. Pretty good still. I mean, this is LA (sort of.) Although, not much has changed lately. We’re still getting around town with the same habits we’ve had for a while now. The only difference being we’ve now got a lot more space in the garage. The garage car has been sold off. Which also makes a difference in paying only half as much insurance and registration. Think of all the Margaritas we can buy each other now. Not as many as you’d think actually. But a lot. Well over a hundred. A hundred Margaritas a year – every year – for as long as we stay OCF. That’s incentive. Now… about that ZCF…

999 beads

On the last mile of the last run of the year I found a strand/necklace of beads. I find a lot of beads while running. Maybe I look for them. Maybe they look for me. Most of the beads I find down through the Arroyo. And most of them I end up wearing myself as is or restrung into bracelets or necklaces to fit my fashion. I like beads. It’s a little surprising that I find so many. Why are beads falling off of people in the Arroyo at such a rate? It’s not like it’s a big hippy fest down there.

At any rate, it was nice to encounter these beads as a marker for the end of the year and the achievement of mileage goals. I barely squeezed in those last miles. I had to run like hell this past week to make it official. Probably stupid and unhealthy and asking for a foot or leg injury due to increasing mileage to quickly but I just couldn’t help myself.

So now we’re all back to zero miles on the year. Time to start over. Although, we just went for three this morning so it’s already begun…

“Now Sacagawea saved the day,
She had a belt of blue.
‘Twas beaded up and beaded down
With blue beads through and through.
Please take this belt she said to them,
We can’t afford a fight
But offer them my belt of blue
And see if it is right.
No take’em, no want’em,
Gotta have blue beads, blue beads!”

dog days of winter

I’m dog sitting Jengo for about a week. We just went out for a quick afternoon trot around the block in the drizzle. I don’t get the impression that Jengo does a whole lot of running but I ran him just a little today – a few minutes. I figure any dog should be okay with that. As soon as he dropped back behind me instead of leading the way we walked it off.

It’s been drizzling a lot the last few days – apparently – I’ve been out of town – I thought Georgia was a warm place – pretty cold out there – nice running through Piedmont Park though – and the Botanical Garden there.

When we returned from our space journey across the continent the rain cup was full – 14.5 cm. Actually it holds about 15 cm but who knows if I got there just in time to measure the four day rain event or if the rain had been splashing out over the lip for days?

And in other bigger more exciting news – we’ve now got a memory card in the camera that holds more than 4 pictures at a time! 2000, to be exact. So, hhhhere’s Jengo… Hard to tell from the picture, of course, but he’s listening to jazz on the radio.


Because of this new photo ability the blog could be at a crossroads here if you know what I mean. Something to look at, at last! Assuming I ever remember to take the camera out with me on adventures.

Merry Winter to All! It becomes official at around… well, I can’t figure it out exactly – sometime today. We’ll call it right… now.

currently reading

The Anthropology of Turquoise:
Reflections on Desert, Sea, Stone, And Sky
by Ellen Meloy

Vibram FiveFingers

I finally got my hands on (I mean, feet in) a pair of fivefingers – the glove-like running shoes. Don’t tell Vibram, it might hurt their feelings, but I picked them up in one of those gag, “white elephant” holiday gift exchanges. They are the Sprint model.

I think they might be about one European size too small for me, although according to the Vibram shoe sizing chart they’re actually a size too big. Feet and shoes, though, are not mathematical equations – hence the saying, “if the shoe fits, wear it.” I haven’t run in these yet because they feel too small so maybe I’m not qualified to write a true and fair review yet but here are a few (mostly negative) thoughts. I’ve worn them around the house and am wondering if maybe they’ll stretch out just a bit so I can give them a run but not sure yet.

These shoes seem to pride themselves on being minimalist. To me, they still seem over built. The two Velcro heel straps and one larger Velcro strap over the top of the foot seem unnecessary. If I keep these I’ll probably cut those all off. Keep in mind my perspective, though, as I’m the guy that doesn’t tie his regular running shoes either – they’re knotted loosely enough to easily slide on and off – that works well for me. They don’t fall off. And neither would these fivefingers without their straps. The inner lining is more than enough to secure them to the foot especially since you’re supposed to make sure they fit just right to begin with.

The rubber soles are much beefier than I expected and really too much for my liking. The worst part of the sole is where it wraps up and around the front of each toe. My toes end up sticking and clicking together. Maybe with use this problem would wear itself out as the rubber lost its tackiness. They should keep the sole on the bottom. I’m not planning to be kicking around a bunch of rocks, although I suppose that is the intended purpose of the rubber toes for people that use them out on trails – anti-toe-stubbing technology.

I’m wearing the fivefingers right now as I type this. They’re starting to feel a little better as I wiggle my toes around but they’re still a little annoying. The idea behind these shoes is make you feel like you’re running barefoot but at the moment they feel even more restrictive then a regular light shoe like the cross country racers I ran in during the early part of this year. And at least with those, I can wear them out to the pub or wherever if I feel like it. There’s no way I’d wear the fivefingers anywhere/anytime but night runs or in the ocean or a river rafting trip. At least these are all black so they’re a little less noticeable than the other bright colors available.

I’m not sure how much these cost as I got them for free. I think they may be sort of expensive – in the $80 range. It would feel a little strange to take the scissors to such a valuable shoe but I think I’d like them more if I cut the tips of the toes off and all the straps. I think at some point though you just have to avoid the silliness of trying to mimic the natural human foot and just go out running barefoot.

Oh, and one more thing, Vibram. You really (obviously) ought to call these FiveToes as hardly anyone runs on their hands.

currently reading

The Lost Cyclist
by David Herlihy

and (just finished)

Unbearable Lightness
by Portia de Rossi

lessons from a tire pumping nerd

Don’t be a tire pumping nerd. Or don’t bother being one, anyway. It’s okay to ride your bike without repumping the tires every time. And yes I’m talking about the road bikes with the skinny tires. And no, I’m not talking about the urban bikes with the fat tires although you needn’t pump those either very often like I’ve been doing with Mindful Mule lately. I can’t even remember the last time I pumped up those tires. They’re 26X2 and they’re pretty low on air but they roll and it’s cold out and so when I get out there I don’t want to pump, although that’s warming, I just want to ride. I don’t want to fiddle with valves and shit. It’s too limiting.

And it’s the same with the road bikes. If you think that you have to repump your tires every time and put on your special riding costume and fill up your water bottle with poweraid and plan a route and find a partner or group to ride with then you’re never going to get on that bike and ride it down to the store or to the pub or even to work for that matter because it’s just too much of a pain to do all that every time you leave the house. Your bike just needs to be ready to ride all the time. And if you rode that race bike last weekend it probably already is.

If you want to tuck or roll your pants I’ll allow that, though, as I do that a lot. I’m a bike nerd, too. Hello, my name is Jonah and I’m a bike nerd. Sometimes I wear that costume too, so I know how it can be, but you’ve got to let your self be free. There are so many roadies out there that aren’t riding their bikes but for exercise. Please go somewhere on you bikes, too. Ride free.

meditative slog

I had a super slow run through the Arroyo this week. It was strange. I was so low energy I could barely call it running. Jogging maybe. Although it felt more like speedwalking. Although the word speed shouldn’t be applied here so I’ll call it slogging – slow jogging. To be fair, this was really only perceived slogging – my time for the run was a little on the slow side but not outlandish – 10m/m.

But sometimes it’s really good to slow down. To listen to your body when it wants to go slow. Not that today my body was telling me to go slow. My legs felt fine and my form held through the distance well. I just had no motivation. Some element of the whole was missing. Maybe it was my mind that wanted to go slow.

I was talking about my running habits with a friend last weekend and telling him about my Arroyo route. I mentioned something to him that I’d never really verbalized before: in addition to running in the Arroyo, I tend to Arroyo via a run. In essence, the run being merely a vehicle to accomplish the main activity: being in the Arroyo.

This week that became a bit more apparent. I wasn’t really enjoying my run but still it seemed like the best way to tour the area. A few people down there walking dogs or running or birding and that old ranger guy on his horse (the mellowest beat in town.) Toward the end of my journey down there it hit me that it was totally quiet. I could hear all the birds and crickets and the slight gurgle of the (channelized) creek. Dense green native foliage spilling down the hillsides all around me under the slightly dulled, thin-cloud-smeared blue of the still, heavy sky. I could have been in Bolivia. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could smell Hawaii. It was a moment I’d been missing lately.

And just like with meditation or yoga or chanting or praying or what have you, all that was needed was a simplification from the normal, a simple slog, away from goals and cravings, to slip briefly out of the envelope and recall.

The Good Life

running through airports

I often hear about the dry, re-circulated air in airplanes and how one should make an effort to stay hydrated during a flight. And I generally try to follow this advice, although, there’s also the downside of having to crawl over your fellow passengers too many times so you don’t really want to over hydrate either. So, as with so many things in life, finding the middle ground in this situation seems appropriate. Drink some water but not too much and you should be fine.

Unless your flight arrives late into SLC and you’ve only got 5 minutes to make your connection which, of course, departs from the other side of that fairly massive air complex.

Customer service isn’t what it used to be in airports. When we got off the plane we asked “a representative” what gate to head to and if she could let them know we were on our way. E63. And, no. You’ll have to run.

Um, run? I mean, I’m fine with that. Hil’s fine with that. But who else in this world in an airport is going to respond to that with enthusiasm? Something seems wrong with the system.

But we ran. With our heavy bags and coats flung over our shoulders – because no one can afford to check a bag anymore. I was wearing heavy hiking boots. Hil was wearing clogs. Hil said I looked like Santa Claus. I felt more like John Muir (having just spent the flight reading his book.) We both did our best OJ impression. Lots of dodging in and out of the many holiday travelers blocking our passage between the B and E concourses. No hurdling though – that seemed a little excessive. Some things only really happen in the commercials.

It was sort of a fun run. Challenging. Probably about 3/4 of a mile. Towards the end of the run I noticed my first symptom: cotton mouth. That’s weird, I thought. Not normal. We tried to compose ourselves as we arrived at E63 but soon encountered the next symptom: dry cough. Now that’s even weirder. We could barely speak. Half a sentence to the gate agent… interrupted by wheezing breath and searing throat and cough cough cough… second half of the sentence recovered by Hil or me back and forth – tag team communication.

It was crazy. The coughing just wouldn’t stop. I was convinced we’d run through some sort of chemical gas cloud leaking in from a jet refueling hose or some kind of industrial strength airport deodorizing agent.

Recovery was slow and agonizing. Water gargle beer water gargle beer, repeat.

The only explanation I’ve yet to come up with here is that we had severely dehydrated lungs and throat from the hour and a half plane ride in. We lived. Barely. But what would have happened to someone else? After this experience, despite the novelty and classic moment-ness of running through an airport, I have to advise all passengers against it no matter how much water you’ve been drinking or how fit you think you are. It’s just not worth it.

And besides, we missed our connecting flight.

you know you’ve been riding a lot lately when…

…you find yourself unconsciously track standing in the left hand turn lane of busy intersections…

…people tell you they saw you riding in the rain a you hardly understand why that’s significant…

…you really can’t remember the last time you sat in a car…

…there’s bald spots on your thighs from shorts/pants slowly shaving off the hair with each stoke of the pedal…

…you’ve stopped thinking it’s weird to wear your helmet to the ATM…

…you know exactly how many groceries you can squeeze into your basket…

…you fine tune your brakes with the barrel adjusters while at stop lights…

…your neighbors all seem to recognize you even though you may have never seen them before…

…you think helmet-hair is stylish…

salty tomatoes

My newest, bestest run recovery snack is a sliced tomato with lots of salt. You get calories, fluids, salt, and deliciousness. It’s really the only thing that feels appetizing to me after a long run. Even if I’m dehydrated, which I often am, I often don’t feel like drinking right after a run even though that’s what my body needs most. The advantage to the salty tomato is that it makes me want a big glass of water right after eating, thereby forcing the re-hydration process.

currently reading

Listening to Cougar
by Marc Bekoff and Cara Blessley Lowe, Editors

and

Steep Trails
by John Muir

sunset at sunset

I like riding Sunset Blvd at sunset. Like yesterday, riding from “the cornfields” to Silver Lake after Tour de Fat, which by the way was freakin coolio.

the unbearable lockness of being

One of the coolest moments from this past week went down yesterday evening as I was pedaling to the pub. Lately I’ve been taking the long way there. It saves a couple beers ‘cause if I get there first there are no distractions. “Ticka, ticka, ticka… athousand, athousand, athousand…” Yesterday, though, I took the long way with additional purpose – returning to the scene of the ankle-river-tumble-splashdown incident. Well, the trailhead anyway. When I left there a few days ago after my fall I was less than mindful. I was more just thinking about my foot – footful – and I somehow rode away without securing my coil lock to the bike. I had remembered setting it on the rear rack but discovered the next day that it had gone missing. Not a huge deal – a low-dollar item – five bucks at the pharmacy/general store down the street. But useful and used a lot over the last couple/few years. I carry the D-lock around with me, too, but sometimes it doesn’t span the available lockup. At this trailhead I lock to the oak tree. The tree is huge, neither of the locks span the trunk but there’s a low branch that I wrap the coil lock around. And, lately, I’ve been a bit paranoid in town so I double lock – D and coil. So, I missed my coil lock. I thought about it a lot during our time away. I wondered, would I ever find it? What would become of it? Where was it spending the night? My mission in taking the long way uptown last night was one of rescue. I got to the trailhead and looked around. Also looked along the roadside as I approached. I wasn’t sure where it had fallen off. I looked under and around the oak tree. I looked in the trashcan – thinking maybe someone had thrown it in as trash. But, no. Where was it? Then, there it was, right there coiled up and resting quietly on a knot on the oak branch. Did I set it there? Did someone else set it there, recognizing the loss? It looked like it had spent the night out in the rain on the ground, a little sandy. But maybe that was oak dust. Thankyou, Tree, for watching over my lock. Back on the bungee and holding down the bag in the basket, we rode away, happily together again, into the darkening foggy evening.

don’t go jump in the river – wade

Unless you’re up for a night (and counting) of R.I.C.E. combined with a heaping dose insomnia inducing pain. I’ve been continuing with my repetitions of Devil’s Gate Trail. Yesterday evening was gloomy and drizzly. It had been raining (very lightly – 6mm) all day. A trail run seemed like a nice idea so I rode up there and got started.

When I got to the creek crossing it was semi-flooded. I was surprised by this because the rain was super light and this section of the creek is just below the dam. Maybe they were letting water out from behind the dam for some reason. I managed to pick my way across the first ribbon on some rocks with only minimal amount of water lapping up on the shoes.

The second ribbon (do people call separate paths of a creek a ribbon? I guess I am, here) was a bit more challenging. Had to sort of hang over from a tree trunk hoping to leap across at just the right moment of lean but lost my grip and had to go for it prematurely. A little more lapping there but mostly a solid mud landing.

Then the third ribbon – a lot of ribbons for such a small little creek. I decided to jump it. I didn’t have any run-up space so it was a standing long jump, which I haven’t practiced much since 5th grade gym class. I was pretty sure I didn’t have enough spring in my legs to clear the distance and I was right. I landed two feet full splash down onto the sloping mud bottom just below the surface of the water about a foot short of the bank. Shoes, socks, shorts all soaked.

It’s okay. Carry on. Squish, squish for a short while but eventually fine. Up the rocky steep section of trail that leads over and through the dam. Down the other side to the turn around. Now do it all again in reverse.

I realized that I got a bit lucky on the outward bound crossing the first time and considered taking an alternate route back to the bike but that route is not as enjoyable and adds too much road.

So there I am back at the creek – the ribbon I’d just (almost) leaped across. This time, going the other direction, I had about a one step run-up so I thought maybe I’d clear it. And if not, well, my shoes were already soaked so what’s to lose? Well, again. I didn’t clear the distance. This time coming down on one foot which landed hard on an unexpectedly steep slope under the murky water. Crush.

The ankle only bends so far straight back, toes up until it stops. But all that energy of motion keeps going and smashes everything tighter together. It doesn’t feel good. It makes me feel really stupid. Obviously, I waded slowly through the remaining ribbons of the creek which is what I should have done to begin with, thereby avoiding a jacked up ankle and ending my running week and a sleepless pain-filled night.

Somehow (maybe endorphins) I was able to run the last mile back to the bike without much trouble although now that I think about it that last bit of running probably did the most to start the night’s pain cycle.

Miraculously, the ankle feels a lot better already this next morning. I can put weight on it again. No plan for a visit to urgent care. It’s not ready to be tested in any significant way but I might consider a one-mile ride to the farmer’s market this evening. As for the 10-mile ride across town tomorrow – eh, we’ll have to wait and see – the ride would probably be okay (piano pace, of course) but not sure about the landscaping job at the other end. Not to mention the ride back afterward. I should probably reschedule.

Stupid boy. Too much Mule, not enough Mindful.

The Leveler (stolen from Bike Mag? and Fyxomatosis)

autumnal overlap

Wool again – sweater and gloves (fingertip-less)
for the ride to the trailhead, lock up to Oak Tree.
Cold toes already.
Not sure what the name of that trail is but I’ve been enjoying it lately.
Call it Devil’s Gate Trail as it goes over the dam of the same name.
Short run around Johnson Rock (J-Rock).
Jeans shorts, cotton t-shirt – when it’s cool you can run in anything.
Cloudy, cool, might rain a little more this afternoon.
So hungry – last chance to fatten up before winter.
First day of winter today. Last day of summer this weekend – forecast for 88 degrees. Don’t mind the overlap – nor the lack of autumn.

first rain!

First big drops and thunder and a rainbow! A good omen! It’s going to be a beautiful fucking winter! Drum bun!

currently reading

The Gypsies
by Jan Yoors

and

One Life at a Time, Please
by Edward Abbey

message snippet

What's that guy's name that has ridden with CICLE a few times that you may ride with occasionally on Meridian in South Pas? (Not Nate or Noah.) I've run into him on Meridian a few times lately but can't recall his name. This will probably help you identify him better: he's been wearing a helmet with the plastic shell removed - just the black foam - it actually looks pretty good that way - he may start a new trend - I may be the first to follow it - since my plastic shell is cracking off anyway. Also, looks like he's riding Shimano 600 era aero brakes and downtube shifters. It's no wonder I can't remember people's names and hardly their faces when I'm always staring at their bikes - "hey! eyes are up here, buddy!"

Have a nice weekend.
Have a nice ride.

currently reading

Beyond the Wall
by Edward Abbey

Down the River
by Edward Abbey

why they call them Mary bars

After test riding the flying mule a bit I’ve got an idea of why they call them Mary bars. When they’re upright you feel like you’re flying up above everything – you feel like Mary Poppins. And yes, you do catch a lot more wind, but so far I don’t care – I’m just enjoying the hilarity of it.

the flying mule

Can you ever have too many posts about handlebar grips? Probably not. So, triple layer cake didn’t last very long. It just didn’t feel right. It was mildly uncomfortable. I don’t exactly understand why. My hands are comfortable on the road bars with bar tape, but not on the Mary bars with bar tape. So I peeled all those layers off and I’m back to the old Ergon grips. But not everything is back to normal. While I was tinkering around with the grips I decided to flip the bars upside-down – which in reality flips them upside-up as I’ve been running them upside-down since I got them a few years ago. The difference is that now they are pointing slightly up-wise versus down-wise – you can’t possibly be following this, but oh well. Essentially, my hands are riding higher and my riding position will be more upright. It looks like Mindful Mule is flapping its handlebar/wings and ready to lift off. Ever morphing…

triple layer cake

This might be a window into my insanity but I’ve now got three layers of bar tape on the Mary bars. The top layer is white and about an inch and a half in diameter! It looks like two broken wrists. Maybe I should get people to sign my handlebar casts. It’s pretty ridiculous. It’s pretty awesome.

it’s still good

So I’ve got this old U-lock (actually, I kinda prefer the more English, Canadian, Australian term, D-lock – makes more sense) and it’s been acting up on me. The key gets stuck a lot in the keyhole and takes some effort and patience to get it unlocked. I’ve been a little worried that I’d end up locking my bike to a post forever if I couldn’t get it unlocked. Also, the plastic coating is falling off the lock. I was thinking about getting a new lock – maybe one of those short, thick, single-loop cable locks just slightly larger in diameter than the u-lock. They seem pretty versatile. But if I go to a bike store I’ll also end up getting a new rear light because my current light is extremely Jimmy-rigged with tape and zip ties and sometimes takes a few minutes to turn on or off. Totally frustrating. And I’d probably get new grips even though I’m liking the double wrapped bar tape. And, well, I’m sure I’d find something else I’d really need and end up spending a bunch. So instead I put a few drops of oil into the keyhole. Why didn’t I think of this before? It works perfectly now. It’s still taped up where the plastic coating is falling off and looks like hell but at least I should be able to lock/unlock at will. I should replace that rear light though. It’s just that it’s sometimes amazing to see just how far totally decrepit equipment will hold on.

old white bar tape

The handlebar grips on Mindful Mule are getting a little worn. Not a big deal. It’s not like they don’t work. They’re just a little broken down and grimy. Especially with this heat. Not that it’s been hot. It’s been quite a cool summer. Although it’s “supposed to be” 98 degrees tomorrow. So with the heat rubber grips get a little soft and sticky. I’ve been using the Ergon grips for a couple years now I guess. They’re kind of flattened out to provide a nice platform to rest your hands on that they say is better for your hands and that may be. I’m not sure but I liked them. I took them off today though. And although mtb handlebars have a smaller diameter tube than road bars I wrapped the Mule’s bars (On*One Mary Bar) with old white bar tape from the fixie. It makes for a little bit of a thin handle but seems like it will be okay. It looks and feels okay. Maybe even good. So what else is there? I may add a second wrapping if they’re too thin. I don’t know yet.

currently reading

Earth Apples
by Edward Abbey

and

The Adventures of a Cello
by Carlos Prieto

goatheads!

Two flats yesterday. One on Hil’s bike. One on Mindful Mule. I guess it’s goathead season again (just kidding)(and a pun!). But these were on the road. Three in each tire it seemed. At least I’m getting my tube patching skills refined.

Went into a park to fix the first flat. Got the rear tire and tube off but then couldn’t find the leak. But I know that park well and so walked over to the fountain on the other side. Tube under water makes bubbles at the leak.

Didn’t want to put the rear wheel back on to roll the hundred yards though so just held the wheel in one hand and the bike in the other and walked it over rolling on the front wheel. Reminded me of that Pippy Longstockings scene when they ride partially assembled bikes. How’d they do that? Was she a witch?

Anyway, I guess walking across a park with a disassembled bike draws some attention. Most of the people that hang out (it’s sort of a hangout) in that park probably recognized me as I do some reading and waiting there often, so weren’t too concerned by me. However, just as I was dunking the tube in the fountain a cop car pulled right into the park up on the walkway next to me. Maybe they thought I was stealing the bike or drowning a duck in the fountain, I don’t know. I didn’t look over at them as I wanted to let them try to figure out the situation for themselves without explanation. You know, practice their police work.

It was kind of fun to be under suspicion and be completely innocent. In the end they must have figured it out as they never got out of their car or talked to me. Or maybe they were just like, “There ain’t no law against stealing bikes. Hell, one less bike’s what I always say.” And drove away.

amazing things seen in the Arroyo this week

Life in the (clogged) drinking fountain. Little fish. Actually they’re probably tadpoles. I don’t think they’re mosquito larvae (but probably they are.) What’s a pollywog?

A small landslide coming down the western edge. Amazingly, the empty space created by the loss of earth formed just the perfect peek hole to reveal the moon setting behind the ridge – cosmic timing. A lunar gravitational induced slide.

Brown Mountain biking trail closure extended

For the past year one of the most popular (and best!) mountain bike rides in the area, Brown Mountain and El Prieto, has been officially closed by the National Forest Service due to unsafe conditions created by the Station Fire that swept through the San Gabriel Mountains last August.

The original closure order was set to last through the end of September 2010. The mountain biking community has been eagerly awaiting this late summer reopening date (except for those of you that have been sneaking in illegally.)

However, this patience will need to prevail a little longer. The most recent update issued for the burn area keeps the Brown Mountain and El Prieto trails off limits for an additional five months, until December 30, 2010.

The Forest Service has recently been able to reopen limited areas of the burn area including the Magic Mountain Wilderness, a majority of the Pleasant View Wilderness, the West Fork of the San Gabriel River, Rincon Shortcut Road, Millard Campground, Chilao, Bandito, Horse Flats, Meadow Loop, Manzanita Loop and Coulter recreation areas.

For the next several months those looking for accessible mountain bike trails in the area might consider rides starting at Chantry Flats and/or Monrovia Canyon.