Hills, part deux: Mary's Peak

As if the two mountain bike rides and speedy hill run weren't enough, I got Bill to climb Mary's Peak with me on Friday night. I was sad earlier in the week when the powers-that-be decided that the Mary's Peak HIll Climb, a time trial style road bike race traditionally held in August would not be held this year.

Aside: Reason it is not being held- impact on the mountain. I think the parks department made a rule that no races could be held on the road in July and August... since there is still a good chance of snow on the road in June and in September pretty much all road racing is done for the year... you get the picture.

And so, on Friday afternoon/evening at 5:15, Bill and I were heading West on HWY 34 and the start of the Mary's Peak Hill Climb 2008. Now, for the non-Corvallisians, Mary's Peak is the highest mountain in the Oregon coastal range, 4,087 ft. high, and the road from the "base" (you have to climb about a 1000 ft on HWY 34 before getting to the entrance) is 9.5 miles. It has a few dips to break up the climb, including about a 0.75 mile downhill around mile 4, and a nice 100 ft. gravel section about halfway that surprises you out of a turn. But the steepest part is the beginning and especially once you get in a rhythm, you can really enjoy the climb by checking out the periodic water falls and parts where a break in the trees reveals just how high you've climbed. On a clear day you can see the ocean to the East and the snow covered Cascades to the West (It was not clear when we climbed it, next time).

Bill and I stopped at the entrance to the park to refuel and drop off extra bottles and clothing that we wouldn't need (lighten the load and it hadn't gotten cold as fast as I thought it would at dusk). He coached me on the course with tips about the grade and certain sections. I was planning on taking it easy, but as we headed out Bill says "If you are feeling good, you might as well see how fast you can do it." Everyone feels good at the bottom of a climb, so I started my stop watch just to see how long it would take me, dropped the Dean into the lowest a gear (a 25) and took off.

At first, Bill and I were climbing together, but then I started to feel like Sastre on the Alpe D' Huez. Legs pumping, I slowly pulled away from Bill, all the while singing Rihanna's "Umbrella" in my head. "You can stand under my um-brella-ella-ella-eh-eh-eh..." That eh-eh-eh part happens to be perfect for my cadence. Eh?!

About half way, I realized that I was making pretty good time and I got it into my head that I could maybe beat the women's winner's time from the 2007 hill climb which I thought at the time was 53:47. So I started really pushing it, timing my breathes with pedal strokes: breath-in-right foot-left-foot-breath-out-right-foot-left-foot. I pedaled through the downhills to keep blood in my legs for the last climbs. I came upon the two-mile-to-go-sign around 44 minutes and almost quit (I had to average more than 10 mph for the last 2 miles uphill!). But I got a surprise with the appearance of two short downhills that brought up my average speed... still it was going to be close. As I hit the final parking lot and the sign announcing the summit of Mary's Peak (a very welcome sight), my lungs and my legs were burning and I was getting a little light headed, but I managed to stop my watch at 54:14! Not bad at all. I'll take that (it was not until later when I rechecked the result that I discovered the 53:47 belonged to 3nd place last year, and the winner actually went 47:46). So, I would have been 4th place, but first in the Cat 4 :-) It's all good.

At the top, we were disappointed not to be able to see either the coast or the Cascades...darn Oregon weather! But Bill had phone service (I did not..hhhmmm, "Eh, Verizon, you have a cell phone tower on Mary's Peak and I still can't get service!") so he called Erika to meet us at Gathering Together Farms because it was getting dark (it was 8:00 after all). And we headed down the mountain.

But before we clipped in, there had to be a small measure of trash talking. Bill told me his PR for the downhill was 18 minutes. I told him he had an aerobike and about 30 pounds on me. He told me he would give me a handicap. I said I wanted three minutes.. he compromised with 1:30. I took off before he changed his mind and tried my hardest to be in the most aero position possible... think Big George Hincapie. He is built like a sail and can downhill with the best of them. Why can't I? Because I am chicken. But, I still took sweeping turns and came as close to the center line as I dared. And Bill still caught me about halfway. It was thrilling! In and out of the trees, sunlight dappling the road. Only one car passed on the downhill and he very politely waited until a straightaway and got all the way over on the left. Very decent of him.

I hit the bottom in 21:59 and was really proud of my descent. There was only one tight turn where I almost crossed the double yellow. Bill was happy, too because he hit every turn perfectly and came really close to breaking his best time. But by then, it was starting to get cold and we had hot burritos and cold sodas waiting with Erika (best sag-wagon ever and a welcome sight when we got back into town). So, we packed up our stuff and hit the mad descent down HWY 34 with almost no cars on the road at this point. That descent is super fun without cars and Bill and I played a little Tour de France again.

Wouldn't it be cool... if there could be one or two days a week where the prettiest roads in the US are closed to cars. On my list of roads:

Left-Hand Canyon, Boulder County, Colorado (Ward and Jamestown)
Alsea Highway, Oregon
Big Sur, California
Peak-to-Peak Highway, Colorado
Arches National Park, Moab Utah
LaSalle Mountain Rd. Moab, Utah

Got anymore to add?

Hills

As the Tour de France entered the Pyrenees, I, too, felt compelled to pedal or pound up things.  Because, it seems like every time I ventured out for an athletic adventure, it involved lots of hills. I shouldn't complain, normally I love hills, Thursday night, I was beat and ready to not see another hill for... well... 24 hours. At least.

It started on Tuesday. I joined the OSU cycling club for a little "no-drop" mountain bike riding on the Kona Nunu. Bike number five had just arrived from Colorado (thanks Jimmy and Sports Garage for packing and shipping it!). I hadn't actually ridden it since Crested Butte X, 2007. But it had been ridden by Schivonne in the previous six months (evidenced by the North Dakota Fat Tire Festival 2008 tag on the top tube... awesome) and it seemed to be working fine.

We headed out toward the 29th St. entrance to Chip Ross and bumped up Horse Trail. At the top, various suggestions were bounced around (me just listening), and the consensus seemed to be trails called "Bee Sting" and "Endo" and "Bombs Away". Now, anyone who knows of my mad mountain biking skills knows that I more comfortable on trails called "Stroll in the woods" and "Your grandma's trail"... if such trails existed. But the mountain biking community being what it is, the more rocks, roots, steep descents, downed trees, and otherwise "trail furniture" in the way, the better. So, the boys and me and Sandra on her cyclocross bike headed out on the scary sounding trails.

I was fine as long as we were climbing on fire roads (and climb we did... lowest gear on the mountain bike, out of the saddle most of the time). But I did okay. I almost ate it on a trail so benign as to be called "connector". Yeah, that's right. And then we hit the gnarly stuff. I did okay, I just walked the sections I wasn't comfortable with. Laid on the disc brakes. And generally just talked myself through sections that were too steep to get off the bike, but to technical to let go. I kept repeating "you're okay, you're awesome, you can do this". And it was fine. But at some point we got to a trail that as I started down, thought better of, dismounted, heard Sandra yell from behind me "I'm coming, MOVE" and watched her basically skid down the incline on locked up cyclocross tires. Miraculously she kept rubber side down until almost the very bottom, laying the bike sideways to avoid taking out Scott at the bottom. Unfortunately, what seemed like a soft dirt/leaf patch, was in fact a nice rock patch. Ouch!. I watched all this transpire from the top as I wrestled my bike down the trail. After that, I was sort of spooked and couldn't wait for the time when I could stow the bike in the garage forever.

On Wednesday, I was stoked for a run on Baldy.  A nice easy run to recover from the intense muscle recruitment the day before. But sometimes I get out on the run, and my legs just carry me faster and faster and before long I find myself running sub-7 minute miles without much effort!?  And this up hills.  I started tempoing every time a hit a hill on my snaking, figure-8-like route around Bald Hill.  And then I started aiming to push it over the top of the hill for another minute.  And then I was just running too fast to stop.  It is a good thing I was alone on this one, because I know several people who would have been seriously pushed at me if they had been along.  But I also know a few who would have loved it.

Anywho, so the next day, I was starting to feel a little on the not-so-cool side of the energy hill. And the mountain bike and running shoes were safely stowed at home as I went off to work.
But that was not to be.  Because, several of my lady friends here made sure that I knew about and went to the Beaver GGGRRRirls' ride on Thursday night. And at the last minute, I consented. And it was much better mentally than Tuesday. Though, there were still so many hills to climb, I still had my legs under me and went up them mostly easily. We circled around Uproute (a dirt single track that is enjoyable up or down, with minimal roots but lots of switchbacks), then came down Extendo (with the exception of the first 20 yds and a tiny bit in the middle which I will attempt next time, is my kind of ridable trail the whole way).  Pam and I weren't ready to be done once we got back to Oak Creek, so we said goodbye to the other ladies and turned up the fire road to Dimple Hill and road Dan's down through Chip Ross and out to campus as the sunset chased us out of the woods.  After that, I can see why someone would want to ride a mountain bike every once in a while.

Water Sports.

Take 1:

As a triathlete, I occasionally want to get out into the open water that I race in, freeing myself from the black line on the bottom, the endless flip turns, the chlorine, and the lane ropes.  I want to swim in which ever direction I choose and have it feel as if it is going on forever.  So it was that last Saturday  at 5:45 am, I met up with the usual tri-spects to drive out to Foster Lake just East of Sweet Home, OR for a little be-wetsuited frolicking far from the pool.

It was so nice to get into the water, stretch my arms and practice a little sighting.  Ever since my shoulder injury, I have really had to work on swimming in a straight line.  So, even in the rare air of Colorado, I was able to alternate breathe (breathing on both sides of my body, for the non-tri crowd) every third stroke and sight slightly above the water-line on every sixth stroke (my shoulder never did get strong enough to allow me to sight on that side).  And in case you are wondering, I breathe before I sight so that the head motion naturally turns to the side, sweeps in the direction of motion to look and then down back in to the water.  Some people site the opposite way, but I have always felt that it is more important to breather first.  In this way I have saved myself from veering off-course too much and often kept from following wayward feet in an arc around buoys.  Which is why it surprised me when JoeM told me I was all over the place when he was trying to follow me on Sunday.  Qui?  Ah-hah... actually, I had been doing backstroke when he was on my feet, to which he replied "that's why I was looking at the top of your pink toes...." (Doh!)

Take 2:

Rope swing.  'Nough said.  To escape the heat of the valley, a bunch of runner/cycling friends of mine headed toward the Coastal Mountain Range and the Alsea River after work on Monday. I was really proud of myself for having my lab meeting presentation mostly ready to go for Tuesday, so I decided to join.  Having left my phone at home that morning and needing to make some phone calls anyway, I biked home at lunch to get it and figured I might as well pick up my swimsuit while I was at it.  We drove to somewhere around mile marker 28 on the Alsea Highway... and there it was.  A three-inch diameter rope with knots strung up along it's length to the top of a huge tree, two different height platforms for jumping, and a deep pool in the Alsea River below.  The water was chillingly refreshing and the rope swing was amazingly sturdy.  Thanks so much to whomever maintains that thing!  It is awesome.  We played around for about an hour and a half before heading back to town and Monday night festivities.

Next day.. arms and abs hurt like no-other.  I need to get in the weight room again!

Aaaa---yeah!

Reverse backflip trickery!

OMG... Caution, major props ahead.

My former MU Track and Field teammate and first-year triathlon pro, just won a race in my old Boulder, CO stomping grounds.  But, not just any race, the Boulder Peak Triathlon.  This race is hard!  95 °F temps.  A bike course with an 11% grade, mile-long climb at mile 5 .  A run course with about 5 ft of shade.  Awesome.  And she ran down some major contendors.

Congrats Angie!  Your dream will come true sooner than you think!

The town I live in.

Cow-town. That's right. I live in the Oregon equivalent of Greeley, CO. But, talk to any resident of Greeley (ahem, Leah) and they will extol the virtues of their town. So, I will attempt to give the city-girl impression of Corvallis, OR now that I have lived here for a bit.

Aside from the lack of a 3-second delay (very key in Colorado) between when my traffic light turns red and the opposing direction turns green (making running yellow lights on a bike a bit treacherous), the absence of many big box stores and a shopping center (Target is the most notable of these... even though there is a major distribution center just 15 miles East... Go figure!), and the complaints I hear about how far "Southtown" (the part I live in) is from town proper (a beautiful 15 min bike ride through two riverside parks or a scarce 7 minute drive from the city center... please, let's redefine "far").  Yes, despite all these minor complaints...

Impression #1: Saturday Market. Boulder had one of these. I went occasionally, but often it seemed to me that the produce I got from the market (with a few exceptions) was the same quality I could get from Whole Paychecks or Wild Oats anytime of the week and no cheaper. I went mainly for the ethnic food and the periodic art festivals that sprang up among the food vendors. And it was crowded. Corvallis on the other hand is set on a fairly wide street. It boasts some of the best people watching I've ever encountered. There is cheap, farm fresh produce, meat, wine, cheeses, jams, honeys, eggs and flowers. All brought to you by rough hands and carharts. This is where I saw my first green eggs, got my first taste of marionberry jelly, nibbled my first sheep cheese (once you go sheep, you'll never go...). And lest I forget, you can also meet a black guy.

Jeremy and Tara Stand of the Bronx, with 1-year-old son Osiris, pose with Corvallis resident Jeff Oliver at the Meet a Black Guy booth near the Saturday Corvallis Farmers’ Market. -Corvallis Gazette Times

Coming soon: Meet a Missourian

Impression #2: Berry Picking. Rare is the backyard in this town that doesn't have a blueberry bush, a cherry tree, apple trees, rasberries, or strawberries. I heard a story last Thursday from a guy who had seen a cherry tree overhanging the fence of a friends backyard. So, the tree didn't belong to the friend, but the friend urged this guy to go ahead into the neighbors back yard and pick as many cherries as he wanted... "they won't mind". So this guy takes a bucket over to the tree one evening and starts picking cherries. The residents also come out and pick some cherries this evening and they run into each other in the backyard. Rather than be angry or bemused at the finding a person in their backyard, they realize that they know each other, happily pick cherries, pit some, munch, and chat well into the evening. This also illustrates another small town fact that the "seven degrees of Kevin Bacon" is more like the "three degrees of Kevin Bacon" around here.

Blueberry picking at Anderson Farms, 0.5 miles from Corvallis.
Total haul: 5 lbs (for $6.25) in my bucket. 1/2 lb in my belly.

Impression #3:  Workaholics.  These are a rare breed.  The halls of the office are vacant by 5:30 pm.  Everyone is instead, very efficient at work in order to get out the door to berry picking, family, the rope swing on the Alsea river, or to hit the trails.  You will see people making a conference call from a camp site after mountain biking for five hours.  Stopping in at a wifi hot spot to send off a work e-mail.  Or my personal favorite, pull up on a road ride for a few minutes to send off an important text message.  Because I frequently use my runs and rides to think through science questions as work or organize my thoughts on a particular experiment, I feel a bit of kinship for this type of work ethic.  I call it the Get Out approach to working.  Enjoy your work, but enjoy your life more.

So Corvallisians, I get it.  The never-ending rain (to bring on the fruity bounty), the eight hours of daylight in the winter (more than compensated for by the 16-hours of daylight in the summer), and the 30+ coffee shops in a town of 50,000 (to fuel the awesomeness to be had in 16 hours of daylight).  Props for sticking out that winter.

Homage to Vaca

Thanks to everyone I got to have coffee with, breakfast with, lunch with, dinner with, chat with, drink with, party down with, ride along with, bike with, run with, swim with, get nails done with, get dessert with, happy hour with, and shower with (kidding).  My vaca was epic and it is going to take a long time to recover.  So, Colorado, thank you:

Two "Hotlips" and a "Hawkeye"

 at the CB annual costume party and funky dance fest (a.k.a. Featuring 70's TV show characters and Jane Fonda).

2008 CB 4th of July parade

"What if I don't want to get wet?" - Too bad

"Watch out for the fire house" - Sorry Adam

"Where can I get a water bucket?" - Steal that house's garbage can.

An "easy" 1:30 with the Fleet Feet runners at Switzerland Trail.

Amber and Eric

The two best friends a single gal like me could ever have.

  Thanks you two for a such great memories!

It still tastes good.

Ready to swim at Flatirons... am I really smiling without coffee,

 before jumping into a swimming pool at 6:00 am?

Slurpee Heaven

Did you know that Sonic has a happy hour?  1/2 price slushies and cream slushies from 2-4.  Of course, I never knew this because I can't remember a time when I was not working or training or cleaning my house during this time.

But when you are on vacation, especially in the town where you used to live, you discover an astonishing subculture coexisting, facets of society that I never encountered before.  Sitting on Pearl St. in the mid-afternoon, I observed a strange mix of second-hit-of-caffeine-suits (or what passes for a suit in Boulder) on coffee break, parents taking kids to the small play-parks that dot the walking street, those lucky people who work from home, and tourists (in which group I guess I fall).  This last group are particularly easy to pick out if you are a professional people watcher like me.

And people-watching, incidentally, is one of Sarah and my favorite pass-times. So, last Wednesday we spent an afternoon browsing the offerings at Urban Outfitters, having barguments (arguments best had after 2 beers, on sunny afternoons on a park bench, or after three cream slushies at the Sonic), and observing and commenting on the downtown fauna.  We also did a fair amount of what the French call faire du lèche-vitrine, or literally translated as window-licking.  Finally ending up in the Borders, our second bookstore of the afternoon.  And if you know me, you know I can't pass up a good bookstore... 

I am now the proud owner of "Portrait of an Unkown Woman" by Vanora Bennett and "A Year of Food LIfe" by Barbara Kingslover.  When I will have time to read these, who knows.  But I finally finished "The Birth of Venus"by Sarah Dunant and it was wonderful.  A light-hearted read that seamlessly weaves references to Renaissance artists, political figures, and historical events.  So that I almost felt smarter for reading a historical romance.  

Orange, Strawberry, and Grape cream slushies.  For the record, grape tastes like you would think it would (not like a grape at all) and orange is the best.

Thanks Sarah for an awesome afternoon!  It was just like old times and a veritable shot in the arm for me!

Rave Run: Hall Ranch

Thursday night I had a date. A friend date with Amber and Eric. Men take note.... this was pretty close to a perfect date (aside from the obvious lack of smackers).

We had decided earlier in the week that Thursday would be our night. A 1:30 trail run was on the Ironman training schedule and a quick consultation of my training plan (primary goal: enjoy vacation to the max) revealed that our objectives coincided beautifully. And so at 5:00pm MST, A&E picked me up at the World Headquarters of Zeal Optics (where I had just secured an awesome pair of Zeal Zektor sunglasses in wood/green, the latest addition to my collection of sweet eyewear), and we headed North to Lyons, CO and the Hall Ranch Trail head.

Rave run background: Hall ranch is a popular destination trail for Boulderites and the pride of the Lyonsians. It is far enough out of the way (a few miles West up St. Vrain Canyon) to make it relatively uncrowded most of the time. E and I took bets on how many bikers/horseman/other bipedal transporters we would see on this particular evening. He picked eight bikers, I picked two bikers and two horseman. I think he had inside information.

There are a couple of ways to run Hall Ranch. We chose to run up the Nighthawk Trail, a no-bikes-allowed-unless-you-swear-that-you-walked-it-the-whole-way trail that winds somewhat gently uphill for four miles, traversing high desert prairie and the occasional scrub pine stand. It has amazing views of the red mesa cliffs carved by the St. Vrain creek and I had to stop on more than one occasion to "drink in the view" (code for drink in some oxygen while "gasping" at the view).

Up top of the mesa, we wound around Nelson Loop, choosing the westerly route for its views of the old Homestead (I am pretty sure each side of the loop is equally beautiful and equally downhill). We saw our first bikers on the loop... six to be exact. I had already lost my bet with Eric, but I was beginning to wonder what was going on, especially with what I remembered of the trail ahead.

We proceed along the Bitterbrush Trail, the mountain biker access trail to the Nelson Loop. More mountain bikers passed us on their way up. With just a few miles to go, the trail which has been rolling gradually downhill to this point, takes a sharp dip down and looks more like a bouldering adventure than a running or biking trail. And then I see it, an "emergency access and authorized vehicle only" fire road that MTBers can take to completely skip out on the expert section of the trail that would keep riders like me off of Hall Ranch. Ahh-hah! You still have to ride up a steep hill, but you don't have to have full pads and major kajones to ride up or down. There were a couple of brave MTBers trying to ride up the hard stuff as I bombed down the trail on foot. And then as I came around a bend, I almost ran into a couple of horses and riders in full gallup mode. There was never any danger, but jeez-my heart-rate went up a few beats. So, at least I won that part of the bet with E.

Back to the date: We all finished somewhere around 1:30 and piled into the car. Nearer to town, we soaked our legs (and, yes, washed off the sweat and dirt all over) in the St. Vrain Creek. We then descended upon the Oskar Blues Pub/Microbrew for some fine dining and even finer microbrews. Though, I've always been a fan of their beer, I've never been to the pub (that I recall) and I drank in Leroy's Brown, an ale that is only offered in the pub, and munched on Nachos Blue and a perfectly spicy chipotle burger with sweet potato fries and black bean salad. Yum-yum!

When Friends are Family...

Being in Boulder this week has been a whirlwind, but it ain't over yet.  I thought I was going to have time to read, do some hiking, catch up on my Facebooking/LinkedIning/Gmailing (Collectively referred to as inter-comming: Communicating with the internet).  But, oh, I was so wrong.  It seems that face-to-face friend time is still worth a thousand phone calls and emails. No matter how hard we try to embrace the digital age, there is something biologically important about the proximity of loved ones.  I call it Friendergy.

It started with my return from Crested Butte (it's really ugly there, never go for a visit).

See what I mean, just UGLY!  (Elizabeth 

and I ready to ride Snodgrass)

 

I hung out with Amber and Eric on Sunday evening.  I had gotten a brief glimpse of them when I came into town for the wedding three weeks ago, but brief glimpse is never enough of the BFFs.  Over grilled salmon and steamed broccoli with almonds, we talked about the week (The upside of this conversation:they are in the middle of a tightly regimented build to Ironman Canada and I had no idea how the week would unfold).

Monday:

I decided to make it a little bit about Sunny.  I headed into Boulder and took in a familiar trail loop that started at Chataqua Park, wound up along the Mesa Trail, dropped down along North Shanahan Ridge, hit Lehigh where I watered from the hose at my old house (I hope Steve doesn't mind), bounded up Skunk Canyon and finished up back in the parking lot in the foreground of the Flatirons.  Exchanging my running shoes for Teva flipflops, I was astounded at how torn-up my feet had gotten at Pac Crest.  In need of caffeine as well, I boogied over to Café Solé for latté and, just three doors down, Posh Nails for some foot-lovin'.  Afterward, with my toes transformed into "Flashbulb Fuchsia" awesomeness, I walked around town just drinking in the sites and sounds of my former hometown.  I also stopped by Colorado Multisport to say "what up?" to Ryan, Offersburg, and Hershey.  It was great being in the shop again and seeing how much things have grown and changed!  Later I spent the evening hanging with Vern and Joe grilling and watching Le Tour and Le Bachelorette.

Tuesday:

5:32 am.... time to swim with Wolfgang at Flatirons.  And surprisingly, many of the ladies that I used to welcome the dawn with were there.  I got a few "where have you been?"s and "Oh, Oregon"s.  But otherwise, it was just like old times.

Afterwards, I hopped on Amber's Green Dean and rode over to Amanda and Michael's house for some oatmeal with rasberries, coffee, and the best gossip around.  Amanda and I and my skirt even went for a great little short run around Wonderland Lake and over to the Frontage trail.  Finishing it off with a ginormous smoothy of Amanda's invention (think peaches and blackberries, etc.)

Showing some leg after our run.

In the afternoon, I got a little nap-action before trucking it to Fleet Feet to meet up with Matt and to say "yo, hommies" to the peeps at one of the greatest sponsors a girl could have.  I talked Olympic Trials, running, and triathlon with Jay and Lilly and a newbie customer that is doing his first tri ever in Leadville, CO this week-end (props for the 10,000 ft above sea-level) while Matt was out running.  Then he and I and Seth occupied a table at the Mountain Sun over beers and Jalapeno burgers.

To be continued....

Bike crashes and a marathon.

I was going for a "Day one", "Day two", etc. play-by-play for the week-end, but spotty internet, continuous activity, a serious lack of sleep boloxed up my plans.

But the highlight real goes something like this.

July 4:  The fun started at 6:00 am.  The Rocky Mountain Biological Lab (RMBL for short) hosts a point-to-point "marathon" from the town of Gothic to Crested Butte that starts at the garden hose at the drop of the butterfly net.  After a night of debauchery (including being the last female standing, or sitting depending on how you look at it, in the poker tournament), I was feeling less like a spring chicken than I had hoped, but I was able to put together a convincing win over the locals.  Not that winning matters in this race where the race categories range from "Most Patriotic Costume" to Youngest, Oldest, and Traveled the Furthest (I did not win this).

The race was followed by hearty brunch and a trip back down to Crested Butte from Mt. Crested Butte (where we were staying) to watch the 4th of July parade.  The CB parade is less parade (there are no marching bands) and more opportunity for the town to  celebrate it's uniqueness.  And celebrate it did.  From the "Red Ladies" who were dressed head-to-toe in red costume to protest mining at the Red Lady Mine, to the RMBL employees looking like Survivor contestants in costumes made out of leaves.  On a second pass through town, the parade becomes a giant water fight and the object becomes to steal a fire house from the firefighters and turn it on them.  Good fun.  Be ready to get wet if you are in the water-zone.  Our group successfully doused several look-i-loos and curious tourists.

July 5:  I found my new favorite sport.  Fly fishing.  We took to Spring Creek in an attempt to fish off our hang-overs from the glow-in-the-dark frisbee/ frozen margarita party that is our 4th of July tradition.  I had no luck actually hooking a fish, but I did tease a brown trout into jumping out of the water for my fly!

I did manage to go on three mountain bikes rides, each more better (hehe) than the one before.  Upper Deer Creek on Thursday, and Snodgrass on Friday and Sunday.  The wildflowers were out in full force all over the mountains and the trails were just the right amount of tacky for some awesome speed.  I even managed to crash once on each ride and I have the bruises to prove it.  But, I also have Amber to thank for letting me borrow her wickedly awesome mountain bike.  I'm not so afraid of the big rocks anymore now that I have gotten a taste for full suspension!

Thanks to everyone on the trip (friends and friends-of-friends, and f-o-f-o-fs, etc)  for an awesome time.  It would take me hours to thank everyone for good conversation, hot-tubbing, breakfasts, runs, rides, pictures, fishing, poker, costume contests, skits, Simon-says, naps, Tour de France, sunscreen, advil, Speed Scrabble, night frisbee, and on and on.  Happy Independence Day!

Pizza and Beer

Day 2 of vacation:
I started the day off with a little latte from a locally-owned Broomfield coffee shop, some crossword action from the Rocky Mountain News, and a JACS paper on thiamine pyrophosphate riboswitches, just to kill time before the girls picked me up for the drive to Crested Butte.

The drive was gorgeous and my plan to read during the trip turned into a 3.5 hours stare out the windows at the massive amounts of snow still left on the mountain peaks, the roughness of the Rocky Mountains, and the rivers and streams overflowing their banks with snowmelt. We stopped briefly at the top of Cottonwood Pass to take in the view and resist the temptation to throw a few snowballs (it wasn't safe to go clamboring on the snow fields).

We arrived in CB with enough time to get a late afternoon MTB ride in, but we were turned back from the Snodgrass trail by a sudden storm, and decided for safety-sake to leave the awesomeness till Thursday. Besides, people were continuing to arrive from Boulder throughout the evening, the pizza had been ordered, and the beer had been chilling all afternoon. Someone brought along the Rock Band video game, complete with microphone, guitar, and drum set, so we all set about perfecting our uncoordinated strumming, drumming, and off-key vocals in pour imitation of the Ramones and OK Go.

Most of the night, I wandered around catching up with various people late into the evening and eventually found my way to my twin-sized, but oh-so-comfortable bed.

Nann and Saag

Day 1 of vacation:
I arrived in Boulder just in time for an afternoon rain shower. But in Boulder, you never get wet when it rains, so it was all good.

Eric met me at the bus and we dropped my stuff off in his car and parked ourselves at Sherpa's. If you ever visit Boulder (or live there and haven't been to this restaurant yet), go for the lunch special. So, good.... Nann is this tasty flat bread that is used for dipping into sauce, soup, or piled high with the Saag, a spinach and mustard leaf curry dish, that accompanied by a little chicken, makes for a tasty, and very green (almost iridescent with all that chlorophyll), lunch.

Then it was off to Sunflower Market for a little grocery shopping for my CB trip and his 4th of July festivities. I stocked up on all the necessities: Cherries, blueberries, PB&J, stevia, eggs, old fashioned oats, and dark chocolate. Yeah, baby.

By the time we were done shopping, the combination of the great food, traveling, the dry heat, and my all-nighter was sending me into a stupor. And so it was that as soon as I got to A&E's house, I was only able to read a 1/2 page of my book before falling into a two-hour refresher nap on the spare bed (so comfortable).

I spent the evening dining with an ex-flame over perfectly marinated and BBQ-ed steaks, broccoli, merlot, and a rasberries-ice cream-and shortcake dessert.

Day two I'll be traveling through the mountains of Colorado to CB!

The All-nighter

There are some experiences in life that even sleep must step aside for.  One of those things is Track and Field.  The Olympic Trials in Eugene, OR to be exact. I know on TV you get a much better view, it's up close, it has commentary (not always a good thing).  But they will cut away from a 5K showing only the beginning and the last straight-away, if they show it all, and there just isn't anything like being there when it comes to running races.

And even though I had to catch the HUT shuttle from Corvallis to the Portland airport at 2:30am and I wasn't yet packed for my trip to Crested Butte and Boulder (save for my MTB shoes and pedals), I decided that as soon as I got off work, I would be making the 40-mile drive to Eugene and Hayward Field.

Hayward Field, a week before the trials.  Tool and I drove down and touched the track.

The line-up for Monday night went as follows:  Women's steeplechase (which I missed thanks to the high-caliber individuals at security who couldn't decided if my folding chair was a weapon or not), Women's 800m final, Men's 800m final, Women's 5000m semi-final, Men's 5000m final. Yeah, baby.

I didn't have a ticket, but there were still individual tickets for sale scattered along the back-stretch.  I sprinted through the festival area and entered the stadium right as the steeplechase was ending.  Oh, well.  I had a seat in the front row, but decided to meet up with Paris and Nick and Friends, people that I run with occasionally in Corvallis (only occasionally, because they are so much faster than me, no joke).  They were sitting in a higher row and had a better view of the entire stadium.

The women's 800m was exciting, but predictable, and weird for me because there are people out there racing that I lined up with on the track in when I was in college.  No regrets, but still.

Hazel Clark took the first 200m out at a blistering pace ~26 seconds.  To give some perspective, she averaged 30 seconds per 200m for the race (and the men would go out in 24 seconds later on).  The field hung right there with her, and the finish came down to whoe could sprint through there butt-lock the best.  Hazel was able to lead wire-to-wire and hold on for the win, just under 2:00 at 1:59 (smokin' even with the crazy 200m start).  And Alice Schmidt, formerly of the UNC track team (there's some history there), ran the race like a champion and just came up short.

But, the men's.  OMG, what a nail-biter.  And what a crazy race!  If you didn't see it, I order you to stop reading now and paste the words "800m Men's Olympic Trials" into the search on YouTube.com and watch it over and over again.  Then come back.  Better yet, here it is:

Nick Symmonds made the perfect move (he is the one who won).  Andrew Wheating did the same thing he did at the NCAA championships, a come-from-behind-blast-them-put-of-the-water-go-go-gadget-legs-move that I have done and have seen so many times in an 800m.  This youngin' has an awesome future ahead.  And Christian Smith chose the perfect moment to take a face plant on the track.  You know the best part about this race, those guys all train together in Eugene, local boys, and they came out to the concert after the meet to mingle and talk it up with the fans.

But that wasn't all.  I got to watch both women's 5000m semi-finals from start to finish.  Lauren Fleshman, Shalane Flanagan, Molly Huddle, Sarah Slattery, and Kara Goucher all made it through to the finals on Friday.  Showdown!  They made a 15:30 5K look easy.  Sarah didn't look all that sharp, but I've seen her pull out all the stops for big-time races (Bolder Boulder 2006).

The Men's 5000m was...strange.  Brent Vaughn took it out hard in the first 3-4 laps and lead the field by almost 40 yards at one point. Then there was a lot jostling and fighting for position, Adam Goucher dropped out (??!!).  And Mat Tegenkamp almost ate it on the final turn before firing off the adrenaline rush for a 2nd place finish.  No meet record, stadium record, or trials record.  Prefontaine's 5k Olympic Trials record still stands for another four years.  I think some people in the crowd almost breathed a sigh of relief when that happened.  People, records are meant to be broken.

After all that, I hung around Eugene until 11:00 am or so.  I drove Paris back to Corvallis, dropped by my house to pack really quick and drove to the HUT shuttle stop, glad I had booked it at the last minute because I thought I would probably fall asleep driving myself.  However, I was so wound up, that sleep wouldn't come and I ended up surfing the net and reading all the way to Portland and then on to Boulder.