Each day I wake up, unable to sleep, yet hesitant to leave the warmth, I lay and recall my dreams until I cannot see any more. Shuffling down the hallway, cracks of light escape from beneath a few doors, the rest lie dark and silent. Outside, I step along the balcony to the small room with the large mirror. On my mat I stand, and bend, and lie in awkward positions as my muscles slowly lengthen. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead despite my lack of movement, my breath courses slow and deep through my nose. I am alone, my mind is never silent unless I find it that way, when again it is surprised into thought. Each day is lived as it comes, not necessarily in the moment but without thinking much of the before or after. My forecast is a look out the window, feeling the air on my face. My schedule is always the same; work, ski, at once. When I come here, or to the pages in my journal, my mind wanders, looking at pictures of my own I am taken back, memories and emotions tingle at the base of my spine. Talking with friends, scheming, planning, I look forward and see the future, not as it is or as it will be, but how it exists now in my mind. Ideas are coming to life once more as the sun returns and the reality of melting snow, warm stone, and open roads grows closer. The words are on the tip of my tongue, the spark of creativity once more slowly catching hold of the connections that have been made over the last few months.
I’m looking ahead more often these days, as the time returns for me to leave. Maps and mountain ranges spread out on the desk before me. But before I start sharing my picture of the road ahead, or the musings of all I’ve learned, experienced and seen over the last months, for myself, and you, I’d like to look back once more, on the last adventure I had. It seems, anyway, as the most appropriate way to begin.
In early November, after returning from our Earth-Shattering Trip to Zion, and a short respite taking part in the annual National Avalanche School, I set off alone, north from Salt Lake City, with the intentions of riding my bicycle to Jackson Wyoming and climbing in the Teton Mountains. Solo, on the road, in the cold, the ride was spectacular, the eight days ground breaking, the trip: a failure. It couldn’t have gone better.
Looking back about four months ago now.
I’d been toying with the idea for some time, or a number of ideas to be more accurate. A door-to-door “speed” attempt on a prominent northern Wasatch peak, and a longer, more committed effort to ride and climb in the relatively close Teton range were the two trips that dominated my plans. I was already leaning towards the north and a decent early-season storm confirmed the choice, and the fate of my next week, or at least that’s the way I saw it: I would be heading north in a futile attempt to Wrangle the Gnar. Amos had established housing in Jackson and had weeks until his work began. His stoke was as high as mine for an alpine style attempt under bicycle-power. With a slim window of time until my own work began I scrambled to find and pack the appropriate gear and set off from SLC with no margin for error. In order to make it back in time for work, I’d have to ride three consecutive 90+ mile days, and that would only leave four days to make an attempt. The challenge excited me, and fresh off the stoke of Zion I was ready to test my limits, and my threshold for suffering.
Leaving Alta means riding to SLC. Snow in the mountains broke through to a gorgeous day in the valley.
With snow falling in Alta I packed up and made the ride down the canyon. A trip to the storage unit and some last-minute errands were in order before heading off. With an entirely different objective than Zion I changed quite a few things in my kit. Rock shoes were traded for mountaineering boots, down booties and a pair of crampons rounded out my footwear. The tent was traded for bivy sac and tarp, I opted for the heavy parka and bag, and went light with a canister-fuel stove instead of the Wisperlite. Although Amos already had all the protection and ropes we’d need in Jackson, I still had to bring my personal gear, which meant crampons, ice tools, and harness, a pretty even trade for the rack I rode down to Zion, although it looked way cooler strapped to my bike. New tires, crampons, and picks were needed before heading off on the 600 mile ride ahead, so after making the slushy slide down the canyon I spent the afternoon and evening finishing up last minute errands. Liz and I are fortunate to have friends and family who live in the valley and I took full advantage of this by spending a night with Liz’s brother re-packing and getting my gear ready. After a lot of back and forth I pulled the trigger on some new BD Cyborg crampons, the clip-style allowed me to bring only one pair of boots for climbing and riding and I was able to make the modifications to run mono-point.
Last minute modifications in the in-law’s basement. Cyborg clip’s run mono-point meant I could use one pair of boots for cycling and climbing.
Early the next morning, feeling the weight of the unknown, I set off. Starting a bike tour in SLC has it’s pro’s and con’s, the best of which is any type of food you want, anytime. So I started the tour with a buffet style breakfast from the Sugarhouse Whole Food’s, health trip right? Another nice thing is the bike trails, plenty of folks will tell you there aren’t enough and they don’t go the right way, but after riding the entirety of the Jordan River Parkway, the Legend Trail, and several others, they are the shit. Nothing beats riding on a bike trail, except when cars don’t exist on the road. Of the 90-100 miles I rode that first day, just about the first 50 were spent on completely empty bike trails. I rode past Ogden and up to Brigham City, over Selina Pass and into Logan, where I spent my first night. The weather was mild and calm, the one pass I rode went smoothly and I felt pretty good for having ridden almost 10 hours and 100 miles in one day, fully loaded. But the understanding loomed over my head, I’d have to put up two more days just like it in order to pull this off.
On the Road.
On the way up I chose to go through Logan and straight north through Preston and Soda Springs Idaho. I’m not really sure why I chose this way but it worked out, on the way back down I rode beside Bear Lake and over Logan Pass, climbing it from east to west made me very happy about this decision. The second day was long and grey. I consulted my phone often and considered stopping or detouring for one of the many hot springs, but in the end I decided not to. That day I rode another 90+ miles to the Little Blackfoot River, where I camped, got scared by a beaver, and was rained on. With Jackson in my sights I pushed hard to finish the ride and rolled into the south end of town under the cover of darkness my third day of riding. With all my lights blazing, reflective vest adorned, I rode against the heavy traffic leaving Jackson, my adrenaline pumping and nerves tingling after finishing the day by getting chased full boar by a very large and angry dog. After it made it about 3 feet off my back wheel, and only by giving it absolutely 100% and riding into traffic in hopes it would get run over was I able to drop the dog. I’d be more pissed if I didn’t think the poor thing was probably just getting beaten by it’s ignorant owner.
Beautiful Idaho.
Alone.
Keeping sharp on the ride up.
When we fist saw eachother, Amos and I just laughed, amazed at the unreality of what was happening. Amos rode his bike all the from Alaska, we had rode to Zion and climbed, here I was in Jackson, preparing to climb a giant fucking mountain after riding my bike through snow and rain. We hugged, we cheered, and we agreed at how awesome and limitless life truly is, Fuck Your Car. Amos and his girlfriend had dinner ready, beer cold, and pre-roll at hand, a night on a futon never sounded so good. We comiserated late into the night, or at least till my eyelids wouldn’t stay up, the fumes of the last month feeding our stoke. Before arriving we hadn’t agreed on a plan, wait for the weather, see how we feel, give ourselves some options, cragging, alpine rock, everything was on the table, but once we sat down together there was no debate, with three days of sunshine ahead we’d be attempting a summit, which one? well the biggest of course. Tomorrow we would rest, prepare, drink espresso, and the next day we would climb the Grand Teton.
Jackson Bound.
It might sound silly to take a rest day after a 300 mile ride by cycling around town, but thats exactly what we did, and it was splendid. Nothing beats a cool fall day. We picked up some cord, drank the cool-aid, and packed our bags for the days ahead.
Bike Path Love. Riding into the park..
We planned on a two day assault, day one: ride into the park, stash our bikes, and hike up to around 10,000 feet and a waterside-camp, or thereabouts. Day two: climb the north face, summit, descend, and rid back to town very late. Somewhere between riding to the park and hiking up to the lake we we’re completely beat down. It started early, I’m not exactly sure where, but I think it was solidified when the packed path ended and we were post-holing into dick-deep snow with a sharp crust on top. Shoulder season. We told ourselves we needed skis, we made all the proper excuses, and we walked back to another waterside camp to down some mountain-house and stop thinking. I honestly don’t know why we failed, we weren’t feeling it, and thats about all I can say. We were aiming for an alpine-style effort, and planning for cold and dry weather for dry-tooling and hopefully the occasional runnel of ice. The amount and conditions of the snow were rough, that was for sure, but we could have struggled our way to the summit. I wasn’t feeling outrageously tired from the previous days effort, we just didn’t want it bad enough, something didn’t fit, the timing was off, both ours and the mountains. It was warm but the snow was deep… like I said, excuses..
After ditching the bikes… After ditching the climb….
By the lake we watched the sunset and spoke of dreams, ideas, love and life. Timing, gear, and preperation are key on the bike. There is no driving back to town to grab some different gear, no second chance this time. I was unsure about how to feel yet excited to move forward. I missed my girlfriend, and didn’t want to blow an opportunity working as a ski patrolman for Alta. Also, the ride home was always looming, another 300 miles and the days were getting shorter.
Retreat.
Obey the sticker.
Stepping back into reality is always a shock. Spending time in the silent company of the mountains is humbling. Attuning yourself to it’s needs, it’s reality, and contemplating it’s ascent puts your whole mind into a seperate conciousness which exceeds that of normal society. Speed and distraction are the name of the game today, and traveling by bicycle serves to distance ourselves from this more than anything else, time expands and insulates, the real world seems chaotic and insane. The more miles ridden, the more nights slept under the stars, the farther I feel from the values and understanding around me. Riding into Jackson was no different, the experience we’d both just had outweighing any perspective those outside might have, our lives had turned into nothing short of a spirit journey, and despite our failure, the sight of people living and acting around us was nothing short of shocking.. Town is a sore. Words and isles washed over me. Amos and I looked into eachother’s eyes and knew all that was possible. I left the next day.
Exactly who’s trapped in this picture?
The wind of the road, Radiohead, screamed in my head the whole way home. I rode south through Whyoming to Bear Lake and over Logan Pass. The riding was hard, cold, and windy. The first day I climbed three passes and past one of the largest natural springs in the world. I drank it’s water and felt the cold, piercing strength inside me, spirit water. Each night I slept in a closed campground, shivered myself to bed and woke up with frost covering my face and shoulders. Late in the third day I rode into Ogden and jumped onto the Frontrunner. For less then five bucks I bailed on the last 40 miles of riding to SLC. I finished the ride how I’d started it, Whole Food’s pizza and two beers before swerving back to the Rocco’s. The next day I threw my bike in the back of my buddies pickup and caught a ride up the canyon, the day after that we were reviewing CPR and backboard protocol.
The ride home.
Logan Canyon.
Many paths lead to the source.
Front-running.
And that’s where I left off. The transition so fast and seamless there was little time to reflect or absorb. i guess I’m just catching up to that now… Minus a thumb injury and some random days, I’ve skied just about every day since, and haven’t ridden my bike once. As I lay plans for the summer, and contemplate the ride north after the season, my vision is somewhere between my dreams, and this memory. Skis, climbing gear, the cold, the sun, the freedom, this is what I see lay ahead. Uncertainty and fear fog the clarity of this vision, but excitement shines through. This is the cycle of a seasonal life, of a car-free life. Last week was possibly the best week of skiing in the past three seasons, certainly the best week I’ve ever called work. As the snowpack settles, the spring snow falls, and the sunshine blasts, only more good times lie ahead.
Work by Sheridan Anderson. Pretty much sums up our climb.
The days at hand still dominate, but I feel again as if I’m moving towards something, as if we’re all moving towards something and it’s pretty important. I know it’s important because I feel impatient, as if time is being wasted and we’ve got to act now. Get rid of your car, ride your bike.
Moving quietly. How much could it change you? Brought up this way, the automobile a right of passage. They tell you it’s freedom, and hardly anyone questions it. So that’s what it becomes. Gasoline powered freedom. Go anywhere quickly, but even the fact that transportation is the base is misunderstood. Live here work there. Separate and fragment you life. Specialize, be smart. Work in an office. What do you know how to do? Questioning society is hard, you need to be conscious of yourself. To know the whole requires knowing every part. Take a step back and look at the whole process. Realize your goals are at the end of the journey and it doesn’t start at a certain point. Being born just makes you alive. Use your brain, listen only to everything. Follow things that pull and run from things that push.
Nice Blog…Thanks for sharing it..
bicycle shelters