Old School is Back in Session

Just came back in from an extremely enjoyable New Year's Eve ride with BeanSS. She rode her 1994 Cannondale M700 and I rode my even more vintage 1989 Fisher Montare.

I got turned on to singlespeeding in 2000 while living in NorCal. It was largely in response to having demolished my fourth or fifth freehub body - I needed a reliable aft drive mechanism and the BMX freewheels were shit one. An indirect effect of taking up the gearless lifestyle was that every trail felt entirely new again. The solid-feeling drivetrain allowed me go harder, and the lack of a bail-out/granny gear, not to mention the rigid P2 fork my Kaboom came with, meant I had to. The trails were the same, but the way in which I rode them was different. I definitely drank the Kool-Aid, and since that time, I've more or less ridden and raced singlespeeds exclusively. And I'm talking primarily about off-road riding here. My skinny bike is geared, though my commutant is an SS convert.

Anyway, the last time I rode a geared mountain bike in the dirt was 2 years ago today. Riding the old Fisher therefore felt like yet another brand new experience. Rather than attacking each hill with momentum, I just rolled up and downshifted. Moving along the flats and descents without spinning maniacally was nice, too. But it wasn't just having 17 additional gear ratios on tap that felt nice; there was a nostalgia thing going on. This bike, you see, represents the sort of ride I lusted after when I went to Northern Arizona University from '88 to '92.

I'd never really seen mountain bikes growing up in Phoenix, but when I got to Flagstaff for college, the campus and town were full of them. Cosmic Cycles was on San Francisco Street then, next to the Inner Basin, in what was later the Sinagua Cycles location. I remember seeing all sorts of rad (yes, rad) bikes lined up in there. They had Cannondale (those tubes!) and Specialized to cover most folks' needs. There was a classic Ritchey with bull-moose bars hanging from the wall. I saw a Moots frame, and a WTB Phoenix was in there for a time. Yod rode a Mantis Valkyrie X-Frame. And there were Fishers, not the Trek-subsidiary Gary Fishers, but Fisher Mountainbikes. Teal, magenta, aqua, and team tricolors. I didn't know one bike from another back then and I wasn't particularly enamored with the Fishers, but the sport of mountain biking sure got a hold on me. I eventually bought a well-used, low-end Raleigh Mountain Tour with 650B, rather than 26", wheels, and the rest is (my) history.

And so it was that this afternoon's bike ride was both new and old. A fresh experience overlaying a blast from the past. And because I will always be a gear-queer, I'd like to point out some of this Montare's Jurassic-era components: BioPace chainrings; SR Low Fat pedals with toe clips, straps, and my prized WTB Toe Flips bolted up; a chainstay-mounted U-Brake with a shark tooth; an original CatEye All-Terrain cyclometer; and a Selle Italia Turbo saddle that I can't seem to remember having being so uncomfortable back in college.

I wonder how many months it'll be before I click shift on a trail again.

Island Snow

A big, cold, wet storm just passed through southern Arizona. It seemed to have rained almost non-stop in the desert yesterday. It wasn't until this afternoon that the snow-covered peaks of of the Sky Islands visible from our house began to show themselves. The Santa Ritas, Rincons, and the most accessible of the bunch, the Santa Catalinas, all beckon with their snowy heights, but visiting any of them tomorrow is out of the question.

I strongly suspect that it'll be like Memorial Day weekend, when about half of the population of Tucson heads up the Catalina Highway to recreate, except that only about 1 in 1,000 of them will know how to drive in the remnant snow and ice. I may have grown up in Phoenix, but I went to college in Flagstaff, and it never ceases to amaze me how lowlanders just can't handle the white stuff. I expect Mount Lemmon to turn into a large-scale demolition derby for SUVs and minivans by about 9am or so. Its too bad, really, because I was just wondering if I'd ever get to try out my snowshoes. One of my only disappointments about living in Tucson, and there really are only a few, is that its so far from Flagstaff and the Mogollon Rim country, where, weather permitting, winter sports happen in earnest.

There's always hope that we'll have a good, wet winter here in Baja Arizona, so perhaps I'll be breaking out the snowshoes or even the skinny skis before the season ends. If not, I'll have to settle for warm, dry, midwinter bicycling - not exactly a poor second choice. Moreover, while I'm not racing the next 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo, I'd hate for those that are to experience something like the deluge of 2005.

Boxing Day Eve

Ah yes, December 25th, the day on which I always seem to go out of my way to offend the fundies. Seems fair enough, as the continued existence of this celebration long after we ought to have entered an age of reason sure offends me.

Being as I am a ChildFreeThinker, the world, or at least the West Side, is my oyster today. No need to celebrate the fictitious messiah's birthday, and once I get past the children trying out their new bicycles, the roads and trails will be nearly deserted. Or do kids even get bikes as gifts anymore? I understand they may only be receiving video games now.

But in the true spirit of the season (that spirit being orgiastic potlatches of conspicuous consumption), I thought I'd show the last present I got for myself: new (to me) Avid BB7 disk brakes from the November bike swap mounted up to my singlespeed, itself built on a frame from a swap back in 2004. All hail the mighty Bike Swap. The twice-annual events here in Tucson are my x-mas.

916 flashback

Woke up today to the sight of the Tucson basin filled with fog. It reminded me of the nearly five years I spent in northern California. Heavy fog, known there as Tule Fog, after the tule marshes that formerly filled large areas of the Central Valley, is a frequent occurrence during Sacramento's winters. Here's a satellite photo of a typical day in December or January, just after a winter storm has moved through. You can see the San Francisco Bay, Lake Tahoe, and in between them sit a billion acres of fog.



I grew up in Phoenix, where fog was fairly novel, so novel, in fact, that it became one of my favorite adverse weather conditions, if there can be such a thing. When BeanSS and I moved to Sacramento in late 1998 for my job, we found the greyness of our first winter captivating. Only the most proximate of the city's many trees would be visible, looming ghostlike in the air. I worked in a high-rise building for a short time, and the fog would get so thick that it looked like we were floating on a sea of clouds. I fished for salmon and steelhead in the American River, unable to see beyond the current seam I was working, my fly rod dripping with dew. The most familiar bike trails became new and mysterious paths in the mist. The fog smelled like wheat.

The appreciation of fog steadily wore off. What had been new and different and interesting became monotonous and depressing, for my upbringing in Phoenix, while conditioning me to a fascination with fog, had also instilled in me a need to experience sunlight on a regular basis. There would be week long (and longer) periods where the sun would fail to burn through the murk. I couldn't tell if it was midmorning, noon, or 3:oopm. Everything, including myself, was cold and damp. Moreover, Sacramento's higher latitude relative to Phoenix, and California's adherence to daylight saving time, meant that the days were exceedingly short. I'd depart for the office in the dark, view the dreariness from the window all day, and then come home just as what passed for the last few rays of sunlight petered out. To say that my mood suffered the absence of light would be an understatement.

I eventually learned that while the Central Valley might be shrouded in fog, the foothills and peaks of the Sierra Nevada were, between storms, clear and sunny. With our exorbitant rent pushing a grand a month and gas reaching nearly 3 dollars a gallon at times, our discretionary income was limited and trips to the mountains were few and far between. Nevertheless, each escape from the gloom was an uplifting experience.

I distinctly recall one trip where we spent the day Nordic skiing in terrain 75 miles away, 8,000 feet higher, and with weather a world away from sea-level Sacto. We happily pushed through watery slush in the sun and scraped over "Sierra Cement" in the shade all day. As we drove down the hill towards home at the end of it, we marveled at the impenetrability of the fog. It reached from the Coast Range to the Sierra foothills, and went as far north and south as we could see. Mount Shasta was visible far to the north, and closer in, the peaks of the Sutter Buttes peeked through. I also remember that the crystal-clear skies and the sun's low angle, combined with water vapor emanating from our layers of technical clothing, still damp from sweat and the occasional spill into the snow, were turning the cab of our pickup into a sweltering terrarium. We switched off the heater and yet we roasted. Opening the windows was out of the question; we were going 75mph and it was quite cold outside. I think we eventually kicked on the AC to cool ourselves off. It all ended somewhere just below Auburn, where we crossed a distinct fog line, but the positive emotional effects of the several hours of photosynthesis lasted almost all week.

But back to the situation I encountered on this first day after the Winter Solstice in Tucson; the Rincons are still mostly hidden, but the uppermost heights of the Santa Catalinas are showing themselves. The Tucson Mountains are indistinct, but more or less visible. I have the best of both worlds - my "favorite adverse weather" combined with enough photons of light to keep the serotonin levels up in the normal range. And hey, this is the beginning of the end of the short day lengths. Bully for that! Before I know it, I'll be bitching about the monsoon season's heat, humidity, and squadrons of mosquitoes.

Rain, sheep, and resolutions

More rain in the desert - a welcome respite. This afternoon's showers seem to be the first appreciable accumulation of rain since it sprinkled in October, which in turn was the first real rain since the record-breaking summer monsoon season. We desert dwellers always seem to be waiting and wanting for the next bout of rain, though drought is by far the more typical condition. At any rate, this afternoon's steady, cold rain washed away my need to fabricate excuses for not having ridden or hiked today. I did lift a bit, though.

The weekend will be here tomorrow and with it will come less automobile traffic with which I have to share the road. Or, given the season, will there be more cars about? The hordes of addled citizen-shoppers rushing to find, to buy, to consume in time for x-mas will make riding anywhere near a mall or shopping center a suicidal endeavor. Though the average Tucsonan seems to be very aware of cyclists, I fear that the bike-on-road search image is at this time of the year replaced by a full-time scan for clearance-sale signs. I'm lucky enough to live on the Old Pueblo's left side in a neighborhood more or less devoid of retail establishments.

I was feeling my inner taxonomist today, so I subdivided the bike-related web links in the sidebar. I especially recommend that you click through a few of the links in the [advocacy | information | art] subset and then resolve to park the car and ride your bicycle to your job, your school, the store, etc. as often as possible in 2007.

Underwhelming

In recent posts, I lamented that my lack of motivation and cold tolerance was keeping me off the trails. Today, I finally got my poop together and went over to Scarr Pass for a spin. My thoughts:

• The two newer sections of the trail that takes off from the south end of the parking lot towards the TMP boundary were buffed. The remainder of this first section, however, continues to be a babyhead-strewn pitch of fugliness. I can only hope that whomever is cutting the new trails (Parks and Rec, SDMB, quien sabe?) is able to reroute the whole thing, at least to the gate. We wouldn't want the folks staying at the Marriott to be turned back by steep descents and some hike-a-bike.
• Speaking of poseurs who have to outrigger a foot or two on the downhills and walk their bikes up the steep sections, I'm glad my singlespeed is relatively lightweight. It'd be very inconvenient to push it otherwise.
• My punishment for carping on about the cold temps lately was to find myself absolutely roasting in a dark-colored wool jersey as I climbed towards the slot. And even as I found myself starting to sweat profusely, huffing the cold, dry air was making me wonder if I really had left my exercise-induced asthma behind.
  
• I recently switched from rim to disk brakes on my Chameleon singlespeed. The change necessitated that I bolt up a two-tooth larger front chainring so as to create a "magic" gear/chain length combination - the Chameleon has fixed disk mounts and only certain combinations result in the proper fore-aft positioning of the rotor in the caliper. Those two teeth, and the mere 2.9 gear inches they added to my final drive, were killing me. I'm still well below 2:1, but I definitely felt the increased ratio on the hills. And over the rock ledges. And through the sand.
  
• An ultra-rigid fork like the Planet-X Superlight I have on my bike, while almost perfect for a smooth track like Willow Springs, is perhaps not appropriate for a rock garden like TMP. Unfortunately, what's in my change jar won't quite cover a decent sussy fork just yet. Also, I have to remember that a suspension fork will be heavier and make my bike more tiring to push.

This whole damned misadventure amounted to about five-and-a-half miles of riding. Looks like its back to higher mileage and hill work on the road bike. At least I had enough oomph left over afterwards to take the mutt for a couple-mile walk around the neighborhood. BeanSS and I need him good and calm for his dog-sitter, as tonight is movie night. We're seeing some sort of film about dragons and swords.

Gotta' go make myself presentable.

Best laid plans: awry

I am a useless motherfucker. It was somewhat cold (by my standards) yesterday, but I planned on a ride because I knew today would be colder yet, and quite possibly wet. I was all ready to go - air in tires, Camelbak full - and then I just plain frittered the afternoon away. Maybe I was expecting it to get just a bit warmer. It didn't, though it was at least warm enough to get in a decent session with the weights. There was just enough daylight left after that to have taken Clayton for a walk, but he decided instead to body slam and break our aquarium while chasing a toy that he threw.

Its in the high 30s right now and it rained a bit overnight. I could look forward to a dust-free trail ride this afternoon, but we'll have to see about that 40% chance of rain. The fall-back option is to try out my newly thrift-scored trainer. Mindlessly spinning a road bike under the patio roof should be every bit as soulful as swooping through Tucson Mountain Park, intoxicated by the smell of wet creosote bushes.

Up early for down time

A Monday not spent at work is a wonderful thing; staying home Tuesday through Friday is better yet. I'm still in the first part of my three week winter reprieve from being a government biocrat, and I'm enjoying it immensely.

Our new dog appears to be oriented to photoperiod. He's up at first light expecting to be fed and let out to do his business. Once I'm awake for that, I'm pretty much up for the day. This is fine right now, being so close to the winter solstice, but I hope he's over it by summer, when the sun comes up at 4:15am or so. At any rate, following a bit of play time, Clayton heads back to bed to await BeanSS' later rising, leaving me with the run of the house.

I suppose I could have filled up the feeders and sat out front with my coffee and binoculars, enjoying the sunrise and whatever winter migrants might be about, but with the air temperature at just about 40°, I opted to stay indoors. Yeah, 40° isn't freezing cold by a long shot, but this follows on having made an informed decision in early 2004 that I would henceforth genuinely dislike and therefore consciously avoid being cold.

So here I sit at my monitor in my office/den/midden, comfortably warm, surrounded by books, outdoor gear (Who keeps snowshoes inside? Who needs snowshoes in Tucson?), and best of all, framed photos to inspire me. I can look over at a shot of BeanSS descending a moonscape trail at Upper Bidwell Park in Chico and wish I was there, or at least riding something similarly rocky around here. The photo of me resting after a short, but oxygen-sucking climb on the Mud Lake Trail near Silver Lake, also in NorCal, reminds me that while I still lack any sort of altitude adaptation, I very much miss riding in forested terrain. There's also a depression-era photo of my father at ca. 11 years of age, beaming from the saddle of his Monark Silver King, one foot on the running board of a mid-1930s Willy's 77 sedan. There are photos of our first two beloved pets, both now passed; the canary yellow 1973 VW Beetle we had as newlyweds; and an inexplicable one from college showing me shooting my compound bow at the NAU backwoods archery range.

I wandered around the web, checked out Craigslist for bike crap, peeked at a couple of clycling-related blogs and forums, and then decided to bore you with this stream of consciousness drivel. I suppose that by the act of admitting the utter uselessness of this post, I must have recognized that I need to get off my arse and do something with my day. Back to scanning the photographs - there's one I took while riding some possibly off-limits slickrock at Lake Powell - yeah, OK, riding a bike looks like fun, and it might get me out of having to lift weights later on.

Now if it would just warm up a bit more...

The new kid

In the family tradition of having mutts with weird ears and which often beg the question "What the hell kind of dog is that?", I give you Clayton. BeanSS and I are just smitten with this guy.

Also, for any of my shivering, snowbound, midwestern friends that might happen to read this, I'd like to point out that this picture was taken on a shirtsleeve, bluebird of a day in early December. Sorry you guys have to suffer so, but that's the price of being able to have green vegetation and live streams come summer, isn't it?

Endings and Beginnings

Kona
February 1997 - November 2006

At long last, I have a new ISP and with it, access to Blogger Beta, still the radical improvement that it purports to be.

There's so much news to tell, some of it difficult, some of it more encouraging. In my Multiples of 10 post, I stated optimistically that our dog Kona was going to make a run for the decade mark, which would have occurred on (Baja) Arizona Statehood Day, February 14, 2007. Her condition instead worsened, and on November 16th, BeanSS and I let her join her younger brother, Barnaby, in our memories.

We were consoled by the fact that Kona had lived a full life and went very peacefully, freed at last from the pain that had come to affect her. We were further comforted by the arrival soon thereafter of Clayton, an English bulldog/Queensland heeler mix (as far as anyone can tell). I'll post more on this exuberant, one year-old mongrel another time. All I'll say for now is that he has the kindest soul imaginable. That, and he pisses on his feet.

As many cyclists know, mindless stomping on pedals is a wonderful way to work one's way through emotional times. To that end, I kept riding back and forth to work through Kona's rough patches and beyond, right into the first truly cold (by desert standards) days of the winter. I finally wrapped up my work year with 137 round trip commutes, amounting to over 1,200 miles' worth of gasoline left unburnt. Wish I could make a few bucks selling carbon credits; we could use the money to adopt a sister for Clayton.