Moab, on the Road

So it's been a couple of years since I've been to Moab. It's an incredibly beautiful town, surrounded by mountains, canyons, and desert. It's a mountain biking mecca and an awesome place to road ride as well. I had some time off of work (between jobs, really) so I decided to head down for a long weekend with some friends.

Sabrina and I headed out Friday morning, and of course we got about 2 hours away before I realized I had forgotten my bike helmet. D'oh. I was not surprised; that's what I do. Fortunately Sabrina has a friend who lives in Eagle, about an hour down the road from where we were, so we stopped by to borrow a helmet from her. I also realized I had forgotten my headlamp so we borrowed a flashlight as well which subsequently got taped to my head at the campsite that night.

We pulled into Utah around 4 pm after enduring some hellish road construction on I-70 which made our trip 7 hours instead of 5. Down the old highway to Moab and Sabrina made an impromptu stop at a local winery. We bought some bottles and the nice guy at the counter gave us a free corkscrew since we were camping.

Then the search started. Ugggggh. Free camping in Moab does NOT exist anymore. All the previous free camping spots were either paid now or had "no camping" signs up. We must have stopped at 10 places, it was getting dark, we were sick of driving, and there were no free spots. We were walking around contemplating our next move when a guy walked up to us and said that we could stay at his site with him and his friend. Eric and Sloane were from California, on their way to Denver, and it was fun to share the site with them for a couple of nights. Thanks guys for saving our tired asses. =)

The next day Sabrina and I set out for a road ride. We had decided to do a 70 mile out and back to Dead Horse Point, which overlooks Canyonlands National Park. 35 miles of climbing. =) I soon found out my tender bum was not conditioned for that long of a ride, even though I've been riding all summer my time was limited to rides of a couple of hours, not 7 hours. It was incredibly beautiful and felt great to be out on my bike all day long.

Sabrina

Me

About 4 miles before the top we decided we just had to stop and stretch, so we did... right in the middle of the road. A few cars holding tourists with befuddled looks on their faces went around us, and a few stopped to ask if we were all right or needed a ride.


We had cooked spaghetti the night before, and I decided it would be perfect ride food... only I forgot an eating utensil, so I ate spag-from-the-bag. It was delightfully yummy and kept my legs going throughout the ride.

The view from the top was pretty amazing. I haven't seen many canyons, not being from the desert and all, and this was pretty spectacular. We kicked around at the top for awhile before heading down, knowing we would lose daylight quickly and although the way back was predominately downhill there were still some significant climbs we would have to do.




We made it back into Moab at sunset, with about 20 minutes to spare before the desert would be plunged into darkness. We stretched a bit so we would have some hopes of being able to walk (or bike) the next day, and then it was off to the grocery as I had developed an intense craving for tuna about halfway through the ride and decided I had to have some. Meanwhile Sienna and Jeff had made it into Moab earlier in the afternoon, and we met up with them for the drive back up the canyon to our campsite.

Sabrina chasing shadows

Heading for the sun

Pulling into Moab, 70 miles and some very tired legs later, greeted by some beautiful alpenglow.

TBC...

stagnating

I am burnt out... again. (Doesn't take long, I reckon.) I am sick of studying... sick of memorizing (I HATE memorizing), sick of regurgitating useless ultrasound parameters that I'm never going to use. Am I not smart enough? Am I studying the wrong way? The wrong material? When I'm in the clinic, I feel competent, efficient, alive. Well, my practice exams don't think so.

Am I deluding myself into thinking I'm a good physical therapist when I actually suck? Will I EVER be ready for the licensure exam, or am I doomed to fail yet another (this time very expensive) practice exam? Am I doomed to work as a PTA for the rest of my life?? Not that there's anything wrong with being a PTA, but when I've dedicated the last 3 years of my life to attaining a Doctor of Physical Therapy degree, somehow being a PTA doesn't seem like enough... I want to start my career, take my professional life off the shelf... I was supposed to be working towards my OCS by now, dammit!

All of my friends and classmate/colleagues have moved forward... passed their exams, gotten jobs, etc. I'm stuck in the world of prn PTA work. I'm losing my eval skills every frickin day. I am wasting my life not doing what I'm supposed to be doing... or maybe it's not, after all? Only time will tell... meanwhile, my $1300/mo student loan bills are knocking at the door...

Ok, obviously, I'm frustrated. My life doesn't really suck. (just this part, currently.) I'm not generally a whiny little bitch. But seriously, this is getting old.

Nearly a month...

until Thailand. I am excited. Not just for the fact that there is to be incredible climbing, and that with this trip I am admitting to myself another addiction that threatens to take over my being and find me longing for that 'other' life that I could have had, had I not gone to graduate school... not that I would take that back... but also because all of Asia is an unknown world to me, having only traveled in Europe and the South Pacific, and I am curious to observe the culture and the way of life in a place so different from my own. There are mountains here, too, although different kinds... behemoth limestone cliffs rising up from the sea as though they had sprung up from a different world far below. I have heard many wonderful things about Ton Sai, and I am excited to be able to float for awhile in a place such as this.

a fortuitous early release

Yesterday it was slow at the Bent Gate. Painfully slow. Balls slow, even.

So I got let out early. Usually when I have the opportunity to leave early, I turn it down... I need the money, you know, and at not much per hour I can't afford to miss many hours.

But for some reason, I left. I wasn't sure what I was going to do... wander home, I suppose, maybe play with Cody.

Then I remembered the winery. A small winery appeared in Golden a few months ago, and caught up in the rush-around daily life so many of us succumb to, I had neglected to stop in, even though I love wine and used to love stopping time to taste some good wines. Really, it always seems like time seems to stop in a winery. A winery is a magical place, I suppose...

On a whim I steered my bike into the left turn lane (likely causing some annoyance to the driver I accidentally cut off- of course since this is Golden where cyclists are more prevalent than drivers he couldn't really do anything about it). I cruised down the block and rode up to the winery.

As I walked in I closed my eyes briefly and my nose took in the scenery. A hint of strawberry- a strong hint, actually. Sangria, perhaps. A sharp cheese. I opened my eyes. One couple canoodling at the bar, two winemakers stirring something in the back. A fifty, maybe sixty-something woman at the bar who greeted me.

I quickly engaged the woman at the bar, who turned out to be the owner of the winery, in a conversation about the art of fermenting a crisp white and the intricacies of Riesling. Soon three glasses were produced, each with a sampling of a different shade of delicious. A sweet pear Riesling, a light wispy Verdiccio, and a Pinot Gris I could taste before I stuck my nose in the glass. Then the specialty Sangria- ah yes, I knew I smelled strawberries. Made with sparkling water instead of soda, it was not sickeningly sweet like many Sangrias I had tasted. Ok, that's a lie. I've only tasted a couple, but they were more easily forgotten than remembered. This Sangria was as complex as a line from a poetic Shakespearean tragedy mixed with a faint hint of days gone by- a flashback from a party in college where I may have spent a semi-blurry evening discussing the meaning of life with the Russian exchange student tripping on mushrooms. Or something like that. Anyhow, too complex for this simple evening off.

I chose a glass of the Verdiccio. Tasted like cirrus clouds and a hint of rain. Or maybe I was just wishing for rain. Damn, it's been hot here. As I sipped the Verdiccio I conversed with Nancy, the owner of the winery. Turns out the winery was supposed to be a joint venture with her daughter who backed out a week after the winery opened and Nancy had already signed a 5 year lease on the building. Not given many other choices she decided to make it work. She seems to be doing a damn good job of it.

Over the next hour and a half I realized that Nancy had lived quite an amazing life. Married at 22, she was with her husband for 16 years and 3 daughters before he told her he didn't love her anymore, they divorced and Nancy had to figure out a way to support herself and her family. Being a stay-at-home mom for 15 years had left her without a lot of experience in the working world. So she decided to become an airline pilot. Everyone told her she couldn't do it- she was almost forty years old and had never really worked. She did it anyways.

As her kids grew older she started piloting international flights and seeing the world, staying in places for weeks at a time. She told stories of her experiences in Peru, Indonesia, Mexico, and Korea. We talked about life, people, marriage, children, business, and taking chances. The wine and the conversation flowed freely until I realized there were people waiting for me back out in the real world, that time really hadn't slowed to a standstill in the magical winery although I always feel that it does...

In the end I left feeling my life was richer for having met Nancy. It was a certain sort of interesting to experience a moment of connection with someone forty years my senior.

I guess you never know what may happen on a night taken off early.

My Morning Jacket

Wow, I have not written here in a REALLY long time... been super busy! Anyways, I am now a Doctor of Physical Therapy. Pretty sweet, eh?

BUT I am so excited for the My Morning Jacket show at Red Rocks on August 21st!! They were awesome there when I saw them opening for Bob Dylan last summer, and now they're headlining... definitely going to be one of the highlights of the summer.

goodbyes, and a philosopher's metaphor

Wow, I am a slacker on writing! Actually I've been really busy, but that's no excuse...

Today I said goodbye. Again. It was my last day at Denver Health Outpatient PT, and once again I found myself cleaning out my things, tying up loose ends, making sure everything was in its place (or delightfully out of place), and saying goodbye.

As I walked out of the clinic, I looked around at the quiet, still room that is usually so full of life and energy. The room where I have spent the majority of my time for the past 3 months. The room where I have shared in my patients' frustrations and fears, their joys and successes, however big or small. So many special moments exist in the energy of that room, still palpable even after everyone was gone. Memories of patients long passed through, on to bigger things and new lives. How many patients have had their lives changed by one of the therapists there throughout the years- and vice versa?

Goodbyes. I digress. As I stopped in the loo on my way out of the hospital, I reminisced on all the goodbyes I have said in the last few years. College is full of goodbyes. It's funny, I've only been out of college 4 years and I don't even know anyone who lives in Fort Collins anymore. My last friend there committed suicide over a year ago now. I guess everyone leaves in one way or another. I don't go back much now, although my favorite mountain biking trail in the world is up there. Funny how I had so many friends in college and now I only keep in touch with three of them. Was I sad to leave and let go of college and all the fun I had? No, I was ready to move on.

The past three years have been full of goodbyes, some more difficult than others. Goodbyes of all types. Doing clinical internships bring on most of them. Saying goodbye to my patients at the end of my internships before they are ready to move on is hard. I feel a responsibility to them to help them and do my best for them, and leaving before they are ready to go is difficult for me, even though I know they are in the caring and capable hands of my clinical instructors. Saying goodbye to my coworkers who become my friends, while still bringing a twinge of sadness, is something I have gotten used to. Saying goodbye to my classmates, some of who have become my closest friends, will be a little harder. Those are the people I have spent most the hours of most my days with for the last 3 years... 36 months... 9 semesters. It has gone so quickly, and now the time has nearly come to say goodbyes again. I wonder how many friends I will take away from this period in my life? I am curious to find out.

The act of saying goodbye always gives that twinge of sadness and nostalgia for me, but at the same time I know it is time, every time. No person, no experience stays in one's life forever. Everyone and everything I come into significant contact with plays a part in shaping my life, in carving the inner structure of who I am, and they are always with me, even if they are no longer in my life and even if I only think of them occasionally, when there is a faint special smell that comes in on a western breeze or I come across a certain leaf blowing a curious way on the sidewalk or beer bottle cap bent just so, that will remind me of someone long buried in my past, and it will inspire a brief moment, maybe even a smile, as I remember that certain person and how they have touched me. Even now I remember a tidbit long forgotten about someone still in my life as I smile at my run-on sentence that has somehow turned into a paragraph. Little things... memories I don't even remember I have, stored somewhere in one or two of the billion cells in my body. What an amazing existence we have!

An author/philosopher who I once read likened people to a huge, blue, expansive sky; and the people, things, and experiences in one's life to the clouds that float through it. Some clouds are pretty and light, some are dark and ominous. Some stay for a long time, building on themselves and on others. Some float through quickly on a high wind. However, all clouds eventually pass through. None of them stay. All that is left is the sky, blue and clear, in the end, and that is just how life is. It's not worth fighting the natural flow of things to keep them around, because they are not meant to stay any longer than they do.

In the beginning, when I was born, it was just me coming into the world alone. When I die, it will be just me again, alone, passing through. I myself am merely a cloud in the earth's big sky. Too many people today cannot sit quietly in a room by themselves. They do not like the company they keep. Too many people count on others for their happiness and don't want to be alone with what they see when they look within. True, most of us would not be happy in a vacuum. However, throughout the years I have discovered much greater satisfaction and contentment when I have not tried to hold on to things and people who were never meant to stay. I recognize and treasure these experiences for what they are and how they have touched me, and I let them go. I have found peace with goodbye.

Sack.

It is February 26th. I cannot sleep, and when I do I have weird dreams. Sack. Maybe I need to lay off the... oh wait, that doesn't work. Nothing to lay off. I think I need more exercise.

Anyways, I went skiing a lot over the past month. I skied some good pow. Pictures will come. They want to come now, but I should go to bed... although I am not tired. However, I know I will be tomorrow when I fall asleep on a stool in front of a patient. That might have happened, although I'll never admit it.

My brain needs a tranquilizer. So does my dog.

Cody!

So it's been awhile since I've actually written anything... I wish I could say I've been out playing in the snow, but that would be a lie... I have fallen in love, and my new object of affection has been taking up most my time lately.

It has been three weeks since I returned from Texas, and two weeks since Cody came into my life. Cody is a now 10 week old Australian Shepherd mix puppy that we got from the Colorado Puppy Rescue, and he is the cutest thing ever. He has tons of fluff, endless energy, and loves to play in the snow. I can't wait until he's bigger- he will make a great backcountry ski partner for Jamie and me. Unfortunately he has been sick which is the reason for my being stuck at home. Of course I don't mind taking care of the little dude, but it would be better for all of us if he wasn't sick. It was hard to see him so miserable when he's usually so full of life.

He's feeling much better now- got most of his energy back and no yakking all over the place, although he's still on his drugs. We're trying to keep him pretty quiet until he's done with his meds.

Housetraining has been a bit of a battle, as he knows it's a good thing to go outside, but doesn't realize it's a bad thing to go inside. We have gotten pretty good at figuring out when he's about to go, but I think we've gone through at least 1.5 giant cases of paper towels in the last two weeks! It's been a long time since I've had a puppy (I had my last dog for 13 years, don't remember too much about his puppyhood since I was so young) so I'm not sure when he will decide to start whining or something when he has to pee.

Yesterday he was feeling good enough that we were able to take him for his first "hike." By hike I mean a 15 minute walk on a trail about 2 minutes from our house. Good thing Golden has lots of trails close by as we don't want to wear him out yet! He had a great time running along (he takes about 10 steps to our one) and he hasn't quite figured out ice yet as he toppled over on his side on more than one occasion. Then he proceeded to sleep for the rest of the day.

Side note: My friends Katie and Bill are engaged. Yay, congratulations! They celebrated by skiing 2 feet of powder in Steamboat. I was only slightly jealous until I saw the pictures at which point I wanted to kill them. They met on the A-basin ski patrol, when Katie first became a candidate and Bill was her trainer, and it has been fun to see their relationship progressing over the past few years. They are two of my favorite climbing partners as well and it's fun to see them so happy. May they ski pow, climb rocks, ride bikes, and surf wind together until the end of time. =)

Here are a few pictures of Cody, in the first couple days we had him.

Rolling in the towel after a shower

He thought it would be fun to take a shower with me.

Up at A-Basin: future backcountry ripper!

Our friend Gary thinks he looks like an Ewok.

Jamie playing tug-of-war with his favorite toy (which is ready for replacement after only 2 weeks.)

Me and Cody

Playing in the snow on the back porch

Visiting Jamie on patrol at A-basin

He does not like that doggy in the window.

account of an avalanche survivor

Avalanche danger in the Colorado backcountry has been pretty consistent for the last month or so. Two people have died in the East Vail area alone since the first of the year, and reports of both natural and human-triggered slides have been almost continuous. This chilling first-hand account and reflection from an avalanche survivor was sent to the CAIC (Colorado Avalanche Information Center) a few days ago. The dude is lucky to be alive and it should serve as a good reminder to all of us who like to play in the snow to play it extra safe until the snowpack stabilizes. As you will read near the end, the danger rating for that day was moderate below treeline, and this hard slab was triggered just below treeline.

Avalanche in East Vail Backcountry, Dec 18 2007

1 Skier caught

THE ACCOUNT
I am not a stupid man. Nor am I an inexperienced backcountry traveler. Yet on December 18th, 2007, I nearly lost my life to an avalanche while telemark skiing in a backcountry area known as East Vail, Colorado. There are several factors that led up to this accident that I’d like to write down, in the hope that others can learn from my mistakes, and so that I can learn myself, and express my thoughts more clearly.

I have spent the past twelve years skiing in Colorado’s backcountry. By definition, the continental snowpack that exists here is full of weaknesses. Because we deal with such cold temperatures, moisture is often sucked out of the snowpack, leaving behind weakened crystals that cause avalanches. I know this because I have spent the past four winters and one summer working as a ski patroller dealing with avalanche mitigation at Keystone, Colorado and Queenstown, New Zealand. Since many Colorado alpine areas are above tree line with heavy wind, my work and recreational skiing has often dealt with hard slab formation. Hard slabs become a fact of life. I think that one contributing factor to the incident in East Vail was a feeling of familiarity and therefore comfort with hard slabs. When I went out onto the slab, I was trying to trigger instabilities and make the slope safer for my friends and I to ski. My miscalculation, based on previous experiences with the same slope, was that my ski cut would release a small, shallow hard slab up high and it would flush out below me, leaving me standing on top and ready to ski. That was wrong. A big hard slab with a four-foot crown ended up releasing above me with a lot of energy, propagating in both directions. As I looked to my right and then left, my second mistake was revealed.

I left myself no escape route. The terrain below me was a narrow choke, which caused the sliding snow to accelerate just as a river does when it approaches a narrow point in a canyon. I always thought that if I were involved in a slide, I would just point my skis straight downhill and get myself out of trouble. After this ride, I no longer believe that the mind is capable of processing information fast enough to accomplish what the body needs it to during a high-energy slide with a fast bed surface. I was at the choke almost instantly after the initial fracture, and when that happened the snow got real deep and real pushy real fast and knocked me off my feet. After that happened, I was in front of and under the snow, going for a ride.

It sounds strange, but at that point, I felt a real sense of calm. I felt acceleration and speed, but all I thought to myself was “well, this is what it’s like.” I knew that I had four of my best friends above me, and that they would find me quickly if I wasn’t buried too deeply. I was getting pummeled by hard slab chunks, getting snow packed in my mouth, and then I was swept over the first cliff. It would seem like being swept over a cliff is a bad thing, but I think it saved my life. It gave me a couple seconds to clear my airway, and sort of get it together before the pummeling began again. I hit my head on a couple rocks while going over the first cliff, but didn’t lose consciousness. I think that getting taken off the cliff also “fluffed” me back up to the surface, for lack of a better word. After the second cliff, I had the feeling of my right ski ripping off my boot. Soon thereafter, I felt the slide slowing down and starting “swimming” for the surface. I ended up on the surface, about 800-900 vertical feet below the original fracture, pretty shaken up but with no major trauma to my body. The slide continued below me, but at that point much of the original slab had been deposited on the two benches above the cliffs and it was more of a loose snow slide. I lost one ski, my hat and goggles, both poles, and my backpack had been ripped open and my shovel handle and probe were ripped out of it.

In the past week, I’ve been thinking a lot about the decision-making process that led to the accident. Years ago, I read an article by Ian McCammon about group dynamics and the role they play in avalanche accidents. It is a great read and can be easily found online at http://www.snowpit.com/articles/traps%20reprint.pdf. Our group was five men and two women. The two women split off before our ski run and skied some mellower terrain further skier’s left in Benchmark Bowl. That left us five guys. Skier A had seen a line through the trees lower in the bowl on the previous run, and we were trying to figure out the best way to get there. Skier A skied down to the first bench, but gave us the signal from there that the line he skied involved mandatory air with cliffs over 20 feet. We proceeded to move further to skier’s right, past some old growth spruce that were “safe”, but tracked up, toward the choke that Skier A and I had skied on the previous run. The plan was to ski down to the first bench, cut through the woods over to the left, and then meet back up with Skier A.

There were a couple reasons why I had a false sense of security. On the previous run, Skier A and I had cut in below and to the right of the pillow that would rip out on me, avoiding the “sweet spot” that I hit while cutting. On this run, we planned to ski a choke one over to the left from the one that Skier A and I skied. I had skied this very choke on several occasions in years past, once with my friend Skier M cutting in the same manner that I did when I went for a ride. I think that this is a red flag in terms of avalanche safety, basing a decision on experience from years past rather than making a critical evaluation of the terrain in front of you. It was my most critical mistake, and it’s surprising that I made it considering that I usually approach things in a much more analytical manner. I think that’s where group dynamics come in. I was with such a strong group that I probably had a tendency to let my guard down a little bit, figuring that they were thinking critically about the terrain and snow conditions and so I didn’t have to think quite so much. This illustrates how communication within a group is critical for sound decision making. In reality, Skier B thought that the slab looked very ominous, but we didn’t talk about it before I dropped in. Had we communicated, I may have done some things differently and not almost smoked myself.

In addition to thinking about the slide itself, I've spent the past week reflecting on life and death (of course), because realistically I should be dead right now. Many people have been in much smaller slides and not lived. I think the thing that saved me was being taken off the cliffs, but it still seems unbelievable. Another lucky thing is that while under and being transported I didn't get a hard knock and lose consciousness, even though my head was battered against rocks, stumps, etc. My friends thought I was gone for sure. The whole event still seems surreal. Skier C was the first one to get down to me and he was as freaked out as I was but still managed to give me a big hug. Lots of people seem happy I'm alive and that’s nice. Medically, I just have a huge bruise on my leg that could have just as well been a broken femur, but am able to walk, ski, and breathe in and out.

When I close my eyes, I can still see that sort of weird color of blue that is the color of the snowpack when you are under it looking up. At the end of the slide before Skier C got there, I stood there realizing I was still alive and not badly broken. I just looked around, at the Gore range in the distance, the perfect Colorado blue sky, and just had a moment of perfect awareness or presence in the world. Maybe another way to put it is “clarity”. I don't really have the vocabulary to describe the feeling, maybe the French do.

I'm still not sure what it all means, big picture-wise. If anything I am even more convinced of what Camus called "the benign indifference of the universe". I am overwhelmed by the love shown toward me in the past week by my friends. I realize that I have not spent enough time "in love". If karma exists, then I've just taken a huge withdrawal from whatever karmic account I had accrued, so I should be very nice to people for a while. That should be easy to do since I am genuinely happy just to be alive, which is a great feeling. Since I should be dead, everything from here on out is just a bonus. Life was always all a bonus anyway I guess.

Since I wrote this, two men have died in East Vail, just to the skier’s right of the area that I discuss here. From all reports, their groups sounded experienced and prepared, just as mine was. I feel very sad for these men and their friends and families, realizing that it could have just as well been my friends and family going through such a difficult time. If you are their friends and reading this, my heart goes out to you. Though I wrote this as a personal piece for myself and friends, I’ve decided to edit it a bit and submit it to the CAIC, in case it helps other people think about their decision making process more critically. East Vail is dangerous and easily accessible, but also provides great backcountry skiing. We could all ski on green runs at the ski area and live long and boring lives, but they would be lives without adventure or challenge. I can’t pretend to know how the other two men felt about backcountry skiing and riding, but for me, it’s how I breathe.

CAIC COMMENTS
Party members reported the close call to the CAIC the following day. They included sufficient details, and the Vail Summit Zone forecast for the 19th had this to say:
“On Tuesday a skier triggered a good sized slab on a NE aspect just below treeline near Vail. The gentleman was carried by the slab, which failed about 20 feet above him, for about 800 feet. Escape routes were not present so he had no option but the ride which had him buried for most of the ride, but he popped out just as the slide was coming to a stop. This ride took him over at least one 15 foot cliff, but he ended up with only some impact bruises to his thigh, lost a ski, one pole, hat and goggles. Crown was 4 feet deep at the deepest, and about 60 feet wide. This was a wind slab created from recent moderate to sometimes strong westerly winds.”

DANGER RATING
The danger on 12/18 was “MODERATE with pockets of CONSIDERABLE on north through east through south aspects above treeline. MODERATE on all aspects at treeline.”

Logan 20080116

The ASPECT Journal

For those of you interested in skiing, the mountains, or just good writing, check out The Aspect Journal. It's an online publication devoted to grassroots ski writing, exploring the various aspects of skiing and skiing culture through storytelling. There is a short story section, a long story section, and a theme section. I love reading the short stories; they don't take much time out of a busy schedule but make me remember why I do what I do... they really capture the passion and personality that is prevalent in the sport of skiing.

Check it out at www.aspectjournal.com, or click on the link on the right hand side of my blog.


Here is one of my favorite pieces from the short stories section.


The Call
The annual softening of a harsh modern world.
By R. ALAN KUEHN

Summer lingers before the fade begins. Before senses become filled with the change that overcomes the mountain. It is childlike and primal. It is without fault and full of wonder. It is innocence incarnate. Somewhere, sometime late in August one feels the change while still sweating on the line or hiking a trail. Far north it begins, up in Alaska. The cold builds and gathers before the push, the march to the lower 48.

I don't recall exactly when it was I felt it first. Early in years. Walking forest paths and mountain trails with my father. Looking upwards to him and the peaks above timberline beyond. Wanting so much to go with him on his hikes to Tuolumne meadows in those years before one could drive there. The granite above the valley calling me even then. But the true siren was higher still, beyond the glacier polished walls and soft flow of the Merced. I know it was early in life and has persisted since.

The call. Vibrations maybe more than actual sounds. They penetrate flesh and mind to travel to heart and soul. It is felt more than anything else. Waking cold and peering out frosted windows. The smile widens at the sight still. Transformation and silence. Harsh edges of a modern world softened. Now, so much older it is the squeak of boots on sharply frozen crystals in the last few minutes before dawn. The reassuring click of boots locking into bindings. The squeaking of metal as the toe piece of my Fritchis move up and down...up and down... Pole plants in the almost-darkness. Nothing but the wind and my heart pounding blood to awakening muscles. Body alive. There is a scent from the snow and the firs and hemlocks as they stand in dormancy for the season. Old partners now. We nod at each other. A gloved hand with pole waves at branches that do the same. It is the wind too. Sometimes soft and caressing as the touch of a lover. Other times piercing. Testing. Hard. Still cared for and loved.

It pulls me inside it. And below voices begin to echo up the bowls and ridges. Motors turn cables that pull chairs into the gray of the storm. It is the embrace of these mountains. They that have called to me and held me and watched me grow. It is winter. It will linger well into summer before the fade.

Rediscovering Home

We shall never cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
-TS Eliot

Well, after a few long hours on the open road, I am back home in Golden, Colorado. My San Antonio adventures are over. While I was sad to leave all the great new friends I made in Texas, I was excited to be back in my beloved mountains. Knowing I almost left for good makes it all the more special... like I really appreciate all this again, for the first time. Like I am seventeen again, just out of high school, moving across the country with everything I own in the backseat of my car, entering a new world, living in a tent, wanting nothing but to explore, feeling fully alive for the first time in my life.

I see everything with new eyes now... I notice things I never saw before: the way the light casts the shadow of the huge monolith over Golden valley in late afternoon; the sharp frozen feeling of the winter air in the morning when I step outside that makes me gasp for a breath; the way the ice melts in patterns on the sidewalks. The huge mushroom that has been growing outside my window, and the little squirrel that comes every day to nibble on it.

The pounding of my heart and aching in my lungs as I turn my pedals faster on my bike to keep up with my friend Sabrina as she powers up the hills. The failing feeling in my legs as I realize I am no longer used to high altitude. Remembering when she and I used to ride for 60 miles up and down the mountain roads last summer and think nothing of it. Knowing it will take a lot of work to get that back again, and knowing I have to.

And the best feeling of all: the icy cold blast as I step out of the warm car at the top of Berthoud Pass... the tiny flakes biting my face as I strap the skins to the bottoms of my skis. The flush of excitement as I poke my pole through the snow and realize that at least a foot of fresh powdery snow has fallen overnight. The quiet intensity of a storm day, dark skies and snow falling all around... I have found the whiteroom. Getting hot as I grind uphill, the wind and snow stinging my face and flying down my jacket. Getting cold again as I strip the skins from my skis, strap on my pack, lock my boots down and get ready to go. The complete and total euphoric release as I push off and fly through the bottomless powder, bouncing over the deviations in the terrain, barely avoiding trees as I go way too fast for my Texan legs. For those moments when I am flying through the snow, time stops and this is all that is real. In those moments I have never felt so alive. Coming to the end of the run, looking up, and seeing my partners flying through the trees, whooping and hollering, shit-eating grins on their faces that only comes from this experience. Looking in their eyes and seeing myself staring back at me. We all know without saying just what the other is thinking: Life is so fucking beautiful.

Welcome home.