Tour of the Gila

It's been awhile. Over the last few weeks I've been busy training for the Tour of the Gila, a five day stage race. I put in a pretty hard month leading up to the Gila. Since I had never done a 5 day stage race, I didn't know quite what to expect. I asked people (like Rob) who had done it before and they gave me helpful pointers, like ride lots of hills. So I rode lots of hills. But even though I built up some decent fitness, I wasn't prepared for the Gila.

My next statement should be tempered by the fact that I've only been seriously road racing for a little over two years. The Statement: the Tour of the Gila was by far the hardest race I've ever done. Of course, it was probably the most rewarding race I've done -- simply because I finished. Some of the highlights underlying the Statement are as follows:

Highlight 1: The TT

Day 1 was a 16 mile TT with "hills." The first 3-4 miles were a steady uphill climb, steepening toward the top. Since the Pros went off first, we positioned ourselves at the top of the first climb and watched the likes of Moninger, Baldwin, O'Neil, Bajadali, Swindlehurst, Creed big-ring it up the climb, even the steep part. Note that because of the fast downhill finish, most everyone was using a 55 or a 56 tooth ring.

I started my TT with a big ring. I figured that if the Pros need to big ring it to get as fast time, that's what I needed to do. So I big ringed it up the climb -- actually not all the way up. At about mile 3 or 4, as I was beginning to bog and as my HR was about to touch 190, I had a revelation: I am not a Pro. Quickly, I shifted down to my 39 ring and tried to go hard and recover at the same time, which is somewhat like smiling and frowning at the same time.

When you are suffering during an all-out 40 minute effort, all of the sudden you have odd regrets, like man I wish I wouldn't have eaten that bag of Hot Tamales yesterday, OR I should have shaved my legs -- how much time am I giving up by having stubble? OR I should have covered the valve hole on my disc wheel. You also make odd committments, some of which included, I am never going to eat sugar again and am going to lose 30 pounds, OR I'm going get a coach, OR I'm never going to get on the bike again.

One of the cool things about the Gila is that in a couple stages you ride the same course as the Pros. One of the not so cool things about the Gila is that you get to compare your times to the best. As a point of reference, Nathan O'Neil's (the Aussie TT Champ) TT time was about 33 minutes. My time, ahem, was about 42 minutes.

Highlight 2: The Climbs

Every stage, including the TT and Crit stages, had hills in them. The road race stages had some pretty serious climbs in them. After the beating I took in the TT, I resolved that I would give it everything I had on Day 2, which had a steep uphill 5 mile finish. On Day 2, I conserved until the end and as soon as we hit the steep climb, launched an attack. This was, perhaps, the most beautiful moment of the whole race because for a few seconds I was off the front, away from the pack, and I had an open road in front of me. It's just too bad that this moment only lasted a few seconds. Shortly after my Valverde-like attack, a group of 10 or 15 riders bridged up. At this point, the moment was still beautiful because there was a small group of us that had cleared the peloton. Things got a bit uglier after that. You can only ride in the red so long, and I learned that my red was only several of the riders' green. As I rode the longest mile of my life, I helplessly watched as other riders rode ahead of me to the finish. I finished 21st that day.

Day 3 and Day 5 also had large climbs in them. Day 3 came as the biggest surprise. It is called the "Inner Loop" race and because it doesn't have an uphill finish or isn't named the "Gila Monster," I didn't give it the respect it deserved. Day 3's race opened up with a very serious climb, one that I was not prepared for. At one point, we were going up a 5% grade going over 20 miles an hour. We had been going all-out for a solid half hour and there were probably only 30 of us left. About this point, I had a full-scale mental meltdown. As we were flying up the grade, I looked at my HR, which read 186 bpm. I thought, wow, I don't know if I can sustain this any longer. Then I looked up and saw a sign that said "1 mile to go to Feed Zone." I thought, 1 mile? And then I remembered yesterday's long mile and my confidence began to crumble. Then I looked over at someone's speedometer, and I think I saw "23 mph." Whether I saw that or not, didn't matter, because since that's what I thought I saw, I thought that's too fast, I definitely can't sustain this. And then I looked ahead and the road steepened. At that point, I crumbled and shot straight out the back. On refelection, I don't know how much was physical or mental -- probably both -- but I'd like to have that moment back to see whether I could hold on.

The consequences of the Meltdown were severe. Since the climb came in the first 20 miles of the race and the race was 70+ miles, that meant that I was off the back, chasing for 30-40 miles. The chase hurt. In fact, it made Day 3 the hardest race I'd ever done. To top things off, after chasing for a solid two hours, I finally caught back on to the group. Just as I began to bask in the comfort of the peloton (about 2 minutes), we hit a climb with a brutal headwind. Since the chase had taken its toll, I went straight out the back again, and had to ride the last 20 miles, which was comprised of three climbs, into a brutal headwind.

Un-Highlight 3: Allergies

On Day 2, I had a weird allergic reaction. Since I had similar reactions living in Las Vegas, I wondered if I am allergic to something in the Southwest desert. In any event, my allergies made things miserable. I took three kinds of antihistamines and after Day 2 had to lie in bed the rest of the day with tissue stuck up my nose. The days after that were complicated by the allergies, and during several parts of the races, I was racing on one nostril. Luckily though, when the adrenaline level my my heartrate picked up, the allergic symptoms would subside so that they were tolerable. My solution to the allergies: ride hard.

Highlight 4: The Crashes

I saw (and experienced) several crashes throughout the week. Perhaps the most unfortunate one was experienced by Matt, who I rode down and roomed with, on Day 2. The guys in front of him weren't paying attention, crossed wheels and caused a pile-up. I watched one rider ride straight into the pile up and launch Superman-style right over the handlebars. I suspect that rider's bike was stopped by one of Matt's body parts.

Because of the wicked climbs in the Gila, there are also wicked descents. I lost my nerve a couple times and was unable to take the switchbacks at speed. On one switchback on the final stage, I completely lost it. I had just attacked a group of 10 riders, had bridged up to a group of 2 riders, and we were working hard to stay away from the group behind us. Going around a switchback, I took a turn too wide and too fast. There came a point where I had 1 of 2 options. Option 1 was to try to turn the bike, but risk sliding out and laying the bike and me down. Didn't want to do that. Option 2 was to take a straight line and hope that I could keep the bike up. I took Option 2, and took a straight line off the edge of the road, fully locked up my brakes, careening through the gravel and bushes, and came to a rest in front of a large boulder. As I came to a stop, I unclipped, lifted my bike over my head, climbed up the enbankment, just in time to join the group of 10 that I had just attacked. I don't know if they were happy, but they surely were amused to see me.

In conclusion, I was thrilled just to have finished the race. I ended up 32nd on GC (out of 75 who started). During the race I swore that I would never do it or anything like it again. . . . I'm already planning for next year.

White Rim, Part II

Chapter 6: Murphy's Hogsback

There are three major climbs on the White Rim Trail. The first comes at about 50 miles and is called Murphy's Hogsback. And yes, it really is as steep as it looks (see pic above). I was a bit startled by the climb. After cruising for miles and miles on flat road, all of the sudden I looked up, and there was this road leading into the sky. I kind of chuckled at the sight of it. My amusement was quickly diffused by the necessity of shifting into the granny and figuring out a way to make it up the climb. For some reason, I was driven to clean the hill -- to ride it without unclipping. And although at one point I think I was perpendicular to the hill, I rode it clean. I think I even saw a heartrate of 190. For a moment, I also thought I saw a unicorn. Lucky for us, we had lunch waiting for us at the top.

Chapter 7: My Hero

While we were eating lunch, we were overtaken by a solo, self-supported rider on a fully rigid single speed. Granted his bike was light, was titanium, was a 29er, and was pimped out, it was still a single speed (34x19). Single speed guy started with 170 ounces of water, took very few stops, and ended up riding the trail in 9 hours and 40 minutes. Tough.

Chapter 8: Riding Next to the Green

After descending the Hogsback, we rode for several miles next to the Green River. Unlike the first 50 miles during which we made frequent stops to see the sights, we rode the last 50 miles like we were on a mission. We lined it up and pacelined it on the trail. It was almost surreal as we cruised over slickrock and sand against the redrock backdrop, along the White Rim, which often dropped off several hundred feet, in view of the snow-capped Lasal Mountains, and next to the seemingly placid Green River. The scenery almost overshadowed the twinges of fatigue.

Chapter 9: The Death March

At about mile 90, the epicness and scenic-ness of the ride had nearly worn off and I had been lulled into grinding out the miles. I was shaken out of this mode when, again, for the third time, I looked up and was shocked to see the road climbing up a sheer redrock wall. At Hogsback, I chuckled. This time, I nearly laughed aloud. We had been riding for over seven hours, we were all fatigued, and now, awaiting us was a steep climb that switchbacked up a cliff of over 1000 feet. Again, I shifted into granny, and spun to survive. Again, lucky for us, at the top was a cooler full of soda and Gatorade. After a nice little break, we saddled up for the last time for the last leg to the cars. The last leg is a graded 15 mile dirt road that was surprisingly challenging, made so by the long miles we had put in that day. I'm not ashamed to admit that when the cars came into view, I raised my hands, pretending I had just won a Pro Tour race. I think I saw Jon shed a tear.

Chapter 10: Is a Bun a Given?

On the way home to SLC, we stopped at Wendy's. For some reason, the employees at this particular Wendy's were challenged. Aside from ignoring us, ignoring sanitary standards, overcharging us, and being unable to fulfill our order on the third try, we learned that getting a bun with your sandwich is not a given. While waiting in line, a fellow strolled in, walked up to the counter and handed the cashier a foil-wrapped sandwich, stating that it was not what he ordered. "What did you order?" the cashier asked. Fellow: "Meat, cheese, and ketchup, not a chicken sandwich" he said, exposing the chicken breast for the cashier to see. A few minutes later, the cashier handed a foil-wrapped package to the fellow, who took it, opened it, and promptly returned. "What's wrong now?" the cashier asked. "Well, there's just meat, cheese, and ketchup, and no bun." "Isn't that what you ordered? Meat, cheese, and ketchup?" Response: "I thought the bun was a given." "Oh," said the cashier, as she again reached for the foil-wrapped, bun-less package.

Epilogue

Several times this week I have had flashbacks of the White Rim ride (no unicorns though). It was undoubtedly one of the top 3 rides of my life. Many thanks to my fellow riders.

White Rim (in one day) = Epic

"To fully appreciate the White Rim Trial means embarking on a three- to four-day trip with stays in designated camping areas along the way. Some elite bikers are quick to boast of knocking of the White Rim in a single day, but they are missing the point. A White Rim trip is more than pounding out an off-road century; you can do that anywhere. You'll want the extra time to bond with the desert, to feel its pulse, and revere its wonderment. . . . [A] single-day trip is an incomprehensible feat for the average biker and one that shatters the difficulty scale."

-- Greg Bromka, Mountain Biking Utah

A bunch of us headed down south to "pound out an off-road century" -- the White Rim. Photos of our ride can be found and, if wanted, downloaded by clicking on the pic below. (Best to simply click on "Slideshow.")

April 1, 2007 -- White Rim

I'm pretty sure that all of us would agree that even though we did it in a single day, we bonded with the desert, felt its pulse, and revered its wonderment. It was nothing less than epic. It was epic in length, epic in scenery, epic in difficulty, and epic in good times. Of course, an epic ride is only so because of its epic chapters. Here are a few:

Chapter 1: The Difference Between DHL and Penske
On the drive down, we stopped at a convenience store. The store clerk and a loiterer were having a friendly conversation. Looking out the window at a large yellow truck, the clerk asked, "is that a DHL truck?" A third person quipped, "nope, it's a Penske truck." Clerk asks, "what's the difference between DHL and Penske?" Loiterer, as authoritative as Dick Cheney, says, "the diffence between DHL and Penske is that DHL is a business and Penske is a delivery company." Satisfied, the clerk said, "Oh."

Chapter 2: Three Guys Two Beds
I was somewhat of a late edition and Dave and Jon graciously offered me a place in their room, a room with two beds. Like any good friend, Jon went beyond the call of duty and offered me a place in his bed. Like any macho guy, I declined, even though the bed looked much more comfortable than my Thermarest on the floor. At 3:30 am, I tossed and turned and rearranged my sleeping bag. At 4:30 am, the bed looked pretty inviting. At 5:30 am, it was time to ride. Note to self: for rest's sake, it might make sense to double up.

Chapter 3: Shafer Trail to Musselman Arch
We rode the White Rim Trail in a counter-clockwise direction. This meant a short road ride to the Shafer Trailhead. The start was cold. I was in full on raingear. To stay warm, we set a fast pace. Ted was obviously prepared with two bananas strapped tightly to his Camelback. Jockstrap Dave (Dave earned this nickname when he told us about how he rode from SLC to Lake Powell wearing a jockstrap. He says he still has scars.), Jon, and I were in tow. The descent down Shafer to the rim was about 1000 feet. A wrong move would have meant a long tumble, and in several places, a long free fall. The picture above is the vista that greets you as you ride to the Rim.

Chapter 4: The Stunt
Musselman Arch is a natural arch that connects two cliffs on the Rim. The arch is about 10 feet across and a few hundred feet long. The arch is suspended above the ground several hundred feet. Walking across the arch gave me vertigo. I wanted to get down on my stomach and crawl across the arch. On a dare, Jon mustered up the courage to ride across the arch. Although it took a few minutes of tense dialogue between Jon and Dave, who discouraged the stunt, Jon went for it when he heard someone say that he didn't dare. A video of Jon riding across the arch is embedded in the photo album referenced above.

Chapter 5: Double Paceline on the Dirt
Most of the guys on the trip are roadies. True to our nature, we rode as such. For miles and miles, we lined it up and, as in the picture above, rode a double paceline. Although it provided shelter from the wind, I learned that dirt pacelining presents certain challenges. Mountain bike tires flip up all kinds of stuff. After getting rocks spit into my chest and sand rooster tailed into my hair, I was forced to give up some of the draft and keep my distance. Another challenge is that in a dirt paceline, it's hard to see what's in front of you. Road etiquette requires that you point out obstacles or road irregularities. This isn't possible on a bumpy technical road. I received many rock, drop off, and sand surprises.

Chapter 6: Murphy's Hogsback

To be continued . . . .

2007 Powderkeg

The following is an interview of SLC Samurai by JLI, a more balanced alter ego of SLC Samurai.

JLI: So, I heard you did the 2007 Powderkeg on Saturday.

SS: Hai!

JLI: You'll have to excuse me, but what does "Hai" mean?

SS: Yes.

JLI: Why do you grunt when you say it, is that some sort of samurai thing?

SS: Hai!

JLI: During this interview, would you mind simply saying "yes"?

SS: Yes, ok.

JLI: So, you're a samurai right? I didn't know that samurais skied?

SS: One of the hallmarks of samurai is adaptability. For centuries Samurai have taken what's good, then adapted, and made it better. In your parlance, Samurai go with the flow, but are good at figuring out how to even go faster.

JLI: Ok ok. So, if you're really a samurai, do you wear one of those dress things when you race?

SS: You mean a kimono?

JLI: Yes.

SS: Apparently, you didn't hear me when I said that samurai are adept at adapting. If you must know, I wore tights. That's what rando racers wear these days.

JLI: Right. So the Powderkeg is a rando race. Can you explain to me what a rando race is?

SS: Sure. A rando race is a backcountry ski race. The race consists of four climbs totalling 5,500 vertical feet. Skiers ski on lightweight alpine skis with lightweight AT boots. To go up, skiers use climbing skins, which are stuck to the bottom of their skis. To go down . . . well, I think you get that part.

JLI: So how do you "walk" while you're clipped into your skis?

SS: Good question. AT bindings, which is short for "alpine touring," release at the heal and pivot at the toe in uphill mode. When you go down, you lock your heel down, and ski just like you would with normal alpine skis. If you want a visual, click here and then click on "Pierra Menta." You can also go here.

JLI: Funny, I've never really heard much about this "rando racing" stuff.

SS: It's a growing sport. In Europe, it's very popular. It started in earnest in the US about 5 years ago. Some advocates compare randonee racing to mountain biking and say that randonee racing is like mountain biking was in the 1990s. As with cycling, I doubt the popularity of rando racing in the US will ever rise to the European level. No matter, it's fun and I hope it continues to grow. It certainly deserves to.


JLI: Is the Powderkeg a popular race?

SS: In the rando race world, it's probably the second most popular, with the first most popular being the national championship race in Jackson Hole, WY. The Jackson Hole race is being held next week, so most of the contenders showed up at the Powderkeg race. I think most of the top 10 were from out of state.

JLI: Did you contend?

SS: For the win?

JLI: Yes.

SS: No, I appreciate that you do not doubt my abilities, but I did not seriously contend for the win. Although, as you see in the picture above, I had a pretty good start.

JLI: Oh, so who won?

SS: Ethan Passant, an avid road racer, took first. Chris Kroger, a Jackson ski patroller took second. And Pete Swenson, a former pro mountain biker, took third. Kroger ate it a few meters in front of the finish line and Passant took the win.

JLI: Wow, must have been exciting. What were their times?

SS: The winning time was about 2 hours and 2 minutes.

JLI: Did they win anything cool?

SS: Probably the coolest thing was that by winning, the top 2 finishers earned a spot on the US National team and will get to compete at world cup venues in Europe.

JLI: Did the winners . . .

SS: Um, excuse me, but do you think we can focus more on the samurai please?

JLI: Ok, I get star stuck every once in awhile, I apologize. So what was your time?

SS: 2 hours and 22 minutes.

JLI: Wow, so those guys put 20 minutes into you huh?

SS: Yes, I gave up 20 minutes. And I nearly achived my goal of finishing in the top 10.

JLI: Oh, so what place did you take?

SS: I took 11th place.

JLI: Not bad. Not bad samurai. So where did you give up time?

SS: It's hard to say. Unlike last year, I didn't have any major mishaps. I think more than anything, I simply wasn't as fast as the frontrunners. They were faster up the mountain; they were faster in the transitions; and they were faster on the descents. Of course, they also had super light equipment. But like cycling, it's the engine that matters most.

JLI: Do you think you can get faster?

SS: I think I could definitely get faster if I specifically trained for rando races. My legs felt pretty decent on the uphill. I suffered real bad on the downhill. I wasted some time getting my skins on and off. Of course, I didn't flub up like the guy who forgot his skin in the transition zone or like the guy whose ski fell off his pack and went zooming 1000 vertical feet down the mountain. Incidentally, his ski ran right over my boots. I caught a glimpse of "MX:20," the name of the ski. Isn't that the name of a missile?

JLI: Pardon me, but I'm the interviewer.

SS: Sorry.

JLI: So it sounds like your race went pretty smoothly.

SS: It went pretty well. I feel like I did the best I could. I had a few mishaps that I'd like to avoid in the future.

JLI: Like what?

SS: Well, I crashed three times. Two were really bad. In the two bad crashes I lost my poles and sunglasses and after I slid to a halt had to side step up the mountain to collect my stuff. The other crash was going up hill. I got a cramp, couldn't move my leg, and then kind of did two somersaults down the mountain in slow motion. And then there were the ice moguls at the start of the race. It was hard skinning up those.

JLI: Why was it so hard to go downhill?

SS: Going downhill was tough mostly because of the snow conditions. I may as well have been skiing on solid rock, bumpy rock. On the decents, I simply tried to stay on my skis, survive, and go as fast as I could. Since the snow was so hard, it was easy to go fast. The control part was the hardest. It felt like someone was hitting my thighs with a baseball bat.

JLI: Ouch. That must have hurt. Did you feel like dropping the F bomb when you crashed?

SS: I'd be lying if I said no. It was frustrating not being able to keep up the speed and was especially frustrating when I hit the deck.

JLI: I notice you're having a bit of difficulty holding up a cup and lifting your right arm.

SS: Yes, I damaged it a bit when I crashed.

JLI: Well at least you're ok. It's getting late and we should retire soon. Let me ask though, do you think you might want to get more into rando racing?

SS: Possibly. I'm looking into getting some super light equipment. It would be kind of cool to contend on a national stage. It's nice because the national stage isn't that big. So I have a better chance of doing well.

JLI: Thanks for the interview samurai. In fairness, I should ask if you have any questions for me.

SS: Actually I do. I notice your hair is getting kind of long. Are you going for the Bruce Lee look?

The Spring Ritual

It's spring. It's a time when life springs anew. Farmers plant their crops, little chicks hatch, high school students go to prom, car dealerships and furniture stores have "mega" sales, the race season begins, and me? I shave my legs. Yes, that's my Spring Ritual. Once a year I pull out the Wahl clippers, shear off the winter's growth, slather shaving cream on the legs, and go to work. The result? Legs born anew.

I don't think all cyclists perform this ritual. That's why the Spring Ritual isn't mainstream and doesn't have an official name or date, like Arbor Day. The reason for this that cyclists generally fall into three categories: hairies, year-rounders, and springers. Because there are these three species, it's hard for cyclists to agree on a set date for the Spring Ritual, kind of like Hannukah and Christmas.

For reasons set forth above, I am a springer (more on that later). Regarding the hairies, I give them props for riding two wheeled machines, although more often than not, they drive big diesel F-250s. Manliness is important to the hairies (hence the F-250), and shaving legs just doesn't comport with their image. I'd like to say that hairies really aren't the racer type, but I have to admit that I've been dusted by one or two hairies in my day. In fact, in my mountain bike days, I used to be a hairy and took pride in dropping year-rounders and springers. I also take great pride in converting hairies to the springer team (yes, cousin Chris, admit it, you like shaved legs).

Regarding the year-rounders, I don't fault them for keeping themselves smooth and silky year round. For me, however, it's just not worth the effort, and I generally do not have the "issues" that year-rounders have -- not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, it seems that most year-rounders describe the shaved legged sensation as "spectacular" and "fantastic," and that's with a lisp. (Ok, ok, I'm being overly-stereotypical. If you take offense, I give you license to stereotype my people, but you don't see me carrying a calculator in my jersey pocket do you?)

And then there's the Springers. Some like to think that Springers (not to be confused with Swingers) can't commit to being hairies, and can't commit to be year-rounders. Springers are often characterized as being in and out of the closet at the same time. It's hard for a year-rounder to take a Springer seriously since Springers are so noncommittal. To the year-rounders, I say, lighten up. As a Springer, I don't think staying smooth and silky year round is worth the effort. Plus, being a year-rounder would negate the magnitude of the Spring Ritual.

Plus, at work, I am openly a Springer, despite the persecution I receive. In one instance, I casually mentioned to a co-worker that I had performed my Spring Ritual. He obviously didn't have the reverence for my Spring Ritual that I have for his March Madness Ritual. Some reciprocation would have been nice. I at least demonstrate interest and excitement when he passionately blubbers about this or that comeback or Iowa Tech this and Nebraska State that (what's that? those schools don't exist? that's how much I really care about March Madness!). And I don't say snide things like, man you must put out lots of wattage being a spectator. But intead, he (who I shall hereinafter refer to as the "Pagan") mockingly said, "did you change teams too?" I diverge.

I shouldn't have to defend my Springer status. I shouldn't let the various categories of cyclists cloud the clarity that the Spring Ritual confers. It's Spring. Chicks are hatching and legs are shaved . . .

Got to Know When To Hold'em, Know When to Fold'em

I had grand plans for a grand ride on Saturday. I was on the bike by 6:30 am and headed up Emmigration. It was sprinkling a bit, but I thought that it was the tail end of the night's storm. However, mid-way up Emmigration, the sprinkle turned into a full on down pour. Again, I though, the down pour was the tail end of a storm and that it would soon clear. It hadn't yet occurred to me that I ought to "fold'em," so I kept going. My thought was that it would soon clear up and I'd dry out on the bike.

By the time I hit Little Mountain, my tires were leaving little trenches in the ice/slush on the road. Since I'd been climbing, I wasn't cold. The problem was I was at a highpoint and my only option was to go down. And I was starting to feel cold. Since I wasn't yet ready to fold'em, I opted to head east towards Mt. Dell, and up I-80. That descent was cold. My soaked clothes turned to stiff frozen clothes.

When I hit I-80, I was too cold to stop. Going down Parley's was a sure fire way to repeat LOTOJA '05 (see pic above). It's hard to ride when you have hypothermia. So, I went up. Yep, I climbed to survive -- and I secretly hoped that the weather would clear up. That hope lasted about 20 minutes. Because after 20 minutes I found myself at the top of Parley's Summit, with nowhere to go but down. That's when I folded, pulled into a cafe, pulled out the cell phone, and waited for my rescue crew to bail me out. I don't know that my fellow diners appreciated me stripping off most of my clothing and laying it out on the table, but at least I didn't get hypothermia.

To recoup my losses, I did the Powder Keg course this morning. I'm going to have to start my mental preparation for that one ASAP. It's going to be a lung burner.

The SLC Paradox

(Click on the picture)

Some would say that a picture of backcountry tracks in the same picture as a large grocery store is a paradox. Not in SLC though.

Due to a lingering sinus infection/stomach flu, it's been tough to fulfill the "training" aspect of this blog. However, yesterday after work, I thought that I might as well contribute to the "adventure" aspect -- assuming that you can call backcountry skiing in full view of SLC an adventure.

We've had a lot of snow in the last two weeks. I think Alta reported that in the last two weeks it has received 104 inches of snow. The avalanche danger is extreme though. Despite the danger, there are places to ski, like Olympus Cove.

So, after work, I drove up to the neighborhood trailhead and started skinning up the hill. From my house and 215 it looks like the point of departure is simple to find. It wasn't. This is because of all the scrub oak at the base of the hill. So, after and hour of world class bushwhacking and wallowing through thigh-deep snow, I finally found a ridge to ascend.

Skinning up the ridge wasn't difficult. Midway up, I was amused by what looked like sled tracks running down the ridge. Maybe it was same guy who became famous after sledding 3000 vertical feet at mach 10 down Superior. What was cool about skinning up the ridge was that I had a full view of the SLC. The descent was ok too. Again, the coolest part was descending with SLC at my feet. I guess this is one more reason I like this valley so much.