Dawn to Dusk

Over the weekend I had my first long(er) endurance mountain bike race, the 10 Hour Dawn to Dusk ride... solo. Up until then, my greatest one-day mileage on a mountain bike was about 60 miles, and somehow by February I have to train for my first 24 Hour solo. It's a daunting, exciting task, but considering what I was doing this time last year, it sort of suits me.

I woke well before the sun on Saturday, packed The Fish and some warm clothes, and headed out to my current mountain biking mecca, McDowell Mountain Park. The sun hadn't even began graying the horizon when I walked into the check-in tent and picked up my race number - Number 1. Usually the lower numbers are reserved for the best riders, but in this race, they gave the lowest numbers to the women solo riders, alphabetically. I have to say that it felt both really cool and very intimidating having the number. I made my camp in one of the solo tents and talked to my competition before warming up at 7. By then, the eastern horizon was glowing bright orange and my heart was pumping hard in the cold morning. I was definitely nervous to see how I would fare on the 15.6 mile loop.

We started en masse at 7:15 a.m. just as the sun was peaking over the Supes. We spread out a little bit on the paved dogleg that led to Pemberton Trail before hitting the sandy singletrack. As per usual, we got bunched up again pretty quickly as there is only one good (ie, not a sand pit) line to take for the first few miles of the trail. It was a bit frustrating, especially as the first five miles or so are on an incline and if you lost your momentum (as you do when you are spinning in sand behind a line of 30 other riders), you were toast. Eventually I just bit the bullet and toughed it out in the sand pits, grinding ahead of the line of riders until I came to a spot where we were more spread out. My adrenaline had gotten me past the first five miles of incline, and I reached the first landmark turn to the west before I knew it. The next stretch of five miles is both a blessing and a curse. It has gently rolling hills that are a great respite from the inccesant incline, but also some rocky sections and large uphill waterbars. They didn't bother me at all on the first lap, though, and soon I was on what would become my favorite stretch of moutain biking trail in Maricopa County. It's a tough call, as I absolutely love the 4 mile Sport Loop as well, but this is just pure fun. It's about 3 miles of SUPER fast, winding, gently downhill, smooth singletrack - with waterbars thrown in every 50 meters or so. Wicked, wicked fun. My smile stretched from ear to ear as cranked it in my highest gear and jumped even the smallest of the waterbars. I couldn't help myself. That section flew by, and let back towards the campgrounds through Pemberton Wash, where it looped around the team camping area at Pemberton Trailhead, and finished the last few miles in the sand back to the staging area.

I felt pumped after finishing the first loop in 1:24, and since it was cold I had hardly drank anything, so I had my card punched at the exchange tent, sucked down some Hammer Gel, and headed back out for number #2. Without the distraction of hundreds of other bikers, the first section seemed to take a lot longer, but again, most of the lap felt incredible (the rocky sections were just ok). I finished the second lap in 1:30 (taking into account the brief stops at the exchange tent), loaded up on some more quick carbs, and headed out again. More than 30 miles into the race, I started feeling the incline a little more and was very glad when the trail turned to the west, but still felt pretty good. The rocky sections and tougher waterbars started to show themselves, but the fast descent still made me feel on top of the world, and I still ended the lap with a dust-covered grin. After 45 miles, I knew I had to refuel, so I stopped for a bit longer (10 minutes or so) to cram some ramen and tortillas in my face, refill my Camelback bladder with Heed, and empty my other bladder. The rest may or may not have helped. My butt had actually become numb while riding, but when I got back on the saddle after the rest, it started complaining, and five miles of sitting down on the incline didn't help. Fortunately I have had lots of training with dealing with butt pain, and I just sucked it up until it became numb again. Lap 4 was as much mentally draining as it was physically... I had challenged myself to complete 5 laps, but when I did the calculations after the second lap, I realized that 6 was possible time-wise - if I could hold out for that long. When you realized you are only half-way and have another 45 miles to go... your mind starts to want to quit. But, I enjoy the mental toughness game, and slogged on until I reached the rolling hills. At that point, the rocky sections were really starting to test my mental game, but I dug deep and rolled over every one with flying colors. I was really starting to get tired after the fun section, but the crowds of people at the campground yelling, "Go #1!" boosted my spirits enough to get me through the lap. When I got to the exchange tent, they had set up a good spread of food, so I sucked down a fruit smoothie, some popcorn, and the ever present Hammer Gel before taking a quick break to slather on some much needed chamois butter (no details there!) and hop on for Lap #5.

#5 was definitely the worst. I was at my lowest mentally with two more laps to go, and I developed a cramp in my right hamstring during the incline. I worked it out a bit on the rolling hills, but it certainly didn't like the rocky sections. By this time, the fast section became the section where I barely bunny hopped the waterbars and pedaled only enough to get me to the next stretch of trail. It seemed to take forever to get back to the exchange tent, but I finally did 1:48 later.

Although I was exhausted after biking 15 miles more than I ever had before, #6 was much easier than the previous one. The uphill section still felt endless, but once I reached the end of that, I was stoked. Even the rocky part didn't slow me down, as I knew that as soon as I was finished with that, I was home free. With renewed energy, I flew once more down to the camping area. The enthusiasm at the campground was infectious, and with less than two miles to go, I kicked it back up into my highest gear and pounded out the last miles. I crossed the finish line right at 5... having rode my mountain bike for 93.6 miles in 9 hours and 51 minutes. As soon as I passed through the exchange tent, all my adrenaline faded and I realized how tired I really was. I rolled back to the solo tent as the rest of the solo crowd slowly filed in. I scarfed every bit of food that I had brought, downed about a liter of Heed, and sat down and let it sink in... I had just successfully finished my first long solo gig, and I couldn't have been happier.

After I recovered and packed up a bit, I made my way over to the team camping area and hung out with Mike, Todd, and a few of our Tuesday night riding buddies before awards. I ended up taking 5th of 8 solo geared women, and felt pretty good about it considering the experience level of those ahead of me.

After awards, I tried to stay awake/social for a few hours at the Wild West Rugby Fest social, but I was down for the count by 10 p.m. Surprisingly, though, after a full night of sleep, I didn't even feel sore or tired, so I headed up with Jack and Fuji to watch the rugby matches at CAP Basin. The rest of the day was spent recarbing with Miller Lite, hanging out with the ruggers, trying to convince them that it wouldn't be a good idea for me to play considering the facts that I haven't played in ages and had just finished the longest mountain bike race of my life, and laughing at the drunken fun that is Sunday rugby.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, and this one was no exception. I got a bit shorted on the holiday last year, as I was busy preparing for rowing across the Atlantic, so I was very excited when I boarded the plane in Sky Harbor for a full long weekend with the family on my grandma's farm.

From the moment that I touched down in the brand new terminal in Indianapolis (which is gorgeous by the way), I became a kid again. Since we were really little, Thanksgiving has always been a holiday of food, family, and lots of adventure (real and imaginary) for me, my sister, and all of my cousins. We spent Thanksgiving Day at my Aunt Carol's house. After an incredible meal of turkey, homemade noodles, and all the fixings that could fit in the kitchen, all of us "kids" headed out to the woods where we spent the rest of the day jumping the creek, climbing deer stands, chucking hedgeapples out of trees (actually a really addictive game that we made up... you kind of have to be a rural, Midwestern kid to understand), and just generally exploring.

On Friday, it was back to Grandma's to begin the yearly tradition of making forts. We've done this since we were old enough to walk out to the pastures by ourselves, and I think we'll probably keep doing it until we have kids of our own. As we've gotten older, we've stopped battling aliens and other enemies, but there is just something timeless about designing and building things that I don't think will ever lose its fun. Since the farm was recently timbered, there were several tree tops out in the woods behind the house where we normally build our bonfire, so it was a perfect place to set up this year. We usually all get together and build one huge awesome fort, but since there was so much to work with this year, we all decided to build our own and be creative. Scott and Mitch went underground and built theirs into a pit left from the roots of a fallen tree, Emi got really artsy and wove a circular fort, Devin built a multiroomed mansion, and I opted to build an elevated fort in the cut top of an old hickory tree - which was a lot more difficult that I had first imagined, as it's kind of our unspoken rule that you can only use naturally occurring building materials. By the end of the day, I barely had my floor finished, but it was still a good time.

After supper, we all loaded up to go watch (a.k.a., embarrass) Devin in his final Brazil Christmas Parade as a Northview Marching Knight. We had a great time watching the band and all the cool floats, and fighting little kids for the candy that was thrown from them. We then spent the rest of the night tending to the bonfire out by our forts and enjoying each other's company in the frosty fall air.

Saturday was spent in much the same manner as Friday, with all of us trying to finish our forts. I think we may have to go back to the one fort idea, as none of us were very close to finishing by the end of the day, but we had some pretty cool frameworks built that just might withstand a year of the elements... only time will tell. That evening we took a trip to the Coxville Tavern for dinner, as Emi and I had wanted to go there for a long time. It turned out to be a pretty cool little place full of history there in covered bridge country. After visiting with some of our other family near Rock Run, we headed back to Grandma's and Emi and I curled up in the bunk room one more time.

Sunday morning dawned to about two inches of freshly fallen snow, which was absolutely gorgeous. I really miss the changing seasons, so it was truly refreshing. Emi, Devin, and I spent the morning checking out our forts (not weatherproof) and talking a walk in the lower pasture before heading out. Although the snow was beautiful, it didn't help matters much for getting back to Phoenix, and after several hours of delays, gate changes, and an hour sitting on the runway at O'Hare (I have yet to get an on-time departure from there September-April), I was headed back to the Valley of the Sun.

Catching Up

Yes, I realize it's been awhile since I've blogged... been pretty busy around here, but in a great, fun way. Things are going really well in my life... lots of awesome adventures to be had and awesome results in the lab.

Ben, Josh, and I took a little camping trip the weekend of Nov. 15th up to Bell Trail in the Wet Beaver Wilderness. We backpacked in four gorgeous autumn miles to The Crack swimming hole, where there were several groups of likeminded people with tents and hammocks strung across the rocks and trees. We managed to find an awesome spot, though, and set up on a small beach next to the creek below the sandstone cliffs and caves. After setting up camp, we hung out at the swimming hole. The weather was warm and the sun was still above the canyon walls, so I decided to take one last flying leap off of the rock for the season. The cold water took the air right out of my lungs, but it was worth it. We played around the area for awhile before climbing up and exploring the canyon walls, enjoying the incredible views from the top and scrounging for some firewood. After our exploring, we spent an hour or so trying to make fire out of flint/magnesium and Ben's knife. We got some good sparks in our cedar bark nest, but not enough to explode into flame, and eventually got out the lighter. We cooked up an amazing meal of chicken, pork, and rice and then spent the rest of the night doing our best to polish off a bottle of RC Cola and a handle of Jim Beam. The light of our fire reflecting off of the canyon walls eventually died down and gave way to the light of the moon, and we finally crawled into the tent in the early morning.

We woke in the morning to the sun peaking into the canyon and the sounds of lots of birds and the gurgling creek. Very peaceful. After enjoying the ambiance for awhile, we packed up camp and hiked out, enjoying the perfect weather.

The next weekend was a fun one as well. It was a busy one for Jack, Todd, and the rest of Dragonfire Racing as they premiered Godfrey Film's new movie, Thrillbillies, and also got ready for the Baja 1000 (Jack raced Ironman on his motorcycle, Todd was paired up with another guy in a car).

Saturday was ultimate frisbee fall league finals. Since we didn't quite have the stellar season (2-8), half of our team decided not to show up for the finals, and I was the only girl on my team for our playoff games. We got crushed in our first game, but managed to pull out a win in the second one to a team that we had beaten earlier in the season. It was a tiring way to go out, but it was fun in the end. The good thing about going out earlier in the day was that we got to chow down on the post-season feast and watch the finals while the last four teams were still battling it out.

On Sunday, Ben, Josh, Haydon, Tess, and I headed out to the Sierra Estrellas to climb Quartz Peak. I had tried to do this in the spring, but felt that with a group, better directions, and a fearless dog, we could tackle anything. The drive out there wasn't as creepy as I remembered it, and I actually had a blast taking the Jeep down the sandy dirt roads. The climb up took about 3 hours with plenty of breaks to rest, enjoy the view, and pull cholla out of Tess's paws. The view from the white quartz summit was amazing, and you could see the entire Valley from a totally new perspective. And, I finally got to meet the famous Mad Hiker, Charles, who was also enjoying the summit with a few friends when we got there.

After chilling on the top for a bit, we headed back down and I had a great time taking the Jeep back through once creepy and now familiar territory sand ruts and back to Tempe. All in all, a great weekend.

The Boy in Striped Pajamas

I went to see The Boy in Striped Pajamas Sunday evening. I had been looking up other movies times, and an advertisement for the film caught my eye. Jo had talked about a book of the same title while we were out on the ocean, and though she didn't do a great job in the storytelling, the basis of the book did catch my attention and I made sure that I added the book to my reading list. For better or worse, the current list of books that I would like to read is far greater than the time I have allotted myself for reading them - as the pile sitting on my desk clearly indicates - and I haven't even gotten around to checking out The Boy in Striped Pajamas. So, I decided to find out where the movie was playing. My first guess was correct, seeing that it was a BBC film and I hadn't heard about it yet, so I took a shower to wash off the weekend's grime and made my way up to Scottsdale.

The movie was absolutely amazing. This may be biased, as I haven't read the book, but the movie did exactly what the book was trying to do: make people think. There weren't a whole lot of people in the theater, but we all sat silently as the ending credits rolled. No one got up for a few minutes; the film had been so powerful. No special effects, no crazy cinematography, no stunts, no famous actors, and the film wasn't even based in the native language where the film took place (Nazi Germany, and the actors were British, so it took a bit to get a feeling that they were indeed in Berlin). But it made you think, and that's exactly what I've done the rest of the evening.

I'm not about to spoil the movie, as I'm pretty sure that it will be coming out to additional theaters, and I am going to recommend that everyone go see it, but here is what it made me think about.

Why are we so bad to other people? I am a very fortunate kid. I grew up in a rural Midwestern town, was nurtured by an incredible, loving family, went to a great school, and had lots of freedom to run, explore, and question the world that was around me. That upbringing allowed me to travel, grow, and learn about other places and cultures, and I grew up to be to be an outgoing, adventurous, and fairly open-minded person. But not everyone is so lucky. A lot of people around the world are brought up in homes that limit their thinking, that brainwash them into thinking that one specific religion, one race, or one way of life is above all others and is the ultimate right. They are taught that from such an early age and in such an absolute manner that it is part of them, and they don't know any other way, and more so, do not want to know anything different, anything outside of their own. Their way of life is comfortable to them, and anything unknown to them is uncomfortable and foreign and possibly dangerous. They don't stop to identify with the other, because it is unknown, and learning something new takes courage and effort (and only the greatest of adventurers would be able to do that, to paraphrase the movie). All of their lives they have been taught that their way is the only way, and all others are wrong. They have taken it as truth without looking deeper, without actually looking for the truth.

The problem is not a new one, from warring tribes of the earliest peoples to the Crusades to the Civil War to the Holocaust to the current genocides that are occurring throughout the world, to right here in our neighborhoods, right now. People generally making life a living hell for those who just want to live and love.

For example, the current protests that went on this weekend against the ban on gay marriage. Where I stand on the issue doesn't matter in the context of this essay. What matters is that the two sides don't understand each other. There is a Mormon Church that sits right on the edge of campus that gives $1 lunches to students once a week. As a grad student that is currently paying off ocean rowing debts, I know that I can definitely use the cheap lunch, as can a bunch of my friends. But one of my friends won't attend the lunches because the Mormon Church gave millions of dollars to the Yes to 102 (basically banning gay marriage in AZ) fund. She doesn't know any Mormons and doesn't want to get to know any of them because of what they stand for. I've got several Mormon friends, and they're pretty good people, generally just wanting to live a wholesome life and spread good will to others. On the other side of the story, the Mormons don't know my friend. She's a great person with an incredible personality who is currently working (way) hard(er than me) towards getting her PhD and making the world a better place. But because of their differences, the two sides will never even try to see eye to eye. They will never try to become friends. They will blindly shove blankets of hate both ways, only fueling the hatred more, never learning, never growing, never trying to understand the other side, never actually solving anything. And this is just one example. How many times over the past few months did you hear that someone hated Republicans or Democrats? How many of them actually took the time to understand the other side? How many instances of racism, sexism, or religious hatred, none of which are actually based on any truth? And that's just in the United States, and we're supposed to be a developed society.

It's awful, and we do it to each other every day. How many times have we seen hatred around the world, caused by a brainwashed fear of a difference, an unknown, blind to truth. In the great scheme of things, we're all the same human race. When everything is boiled down: race, creed, color, whatever, we all want the same things: to live, to grow, to love and to be happy in our own right. And to put down a person you don't know, to judge without the truth, to judge a population of people without understanding them, is just flat out wrong. But yet, it continues on, and no part of the world is immune to the disease. Some cases more severe than others, resulting in the deaths of millions, while others kill hope and happiness with hateful words and actions. Both have real and lasting consequences. Humans have been around this planet for tens of thousands of years. Isn't time we evolved from the judgemental creatures that we are, and took more time to actually try to understand things from a different angle, to take time to uncover the truth about the other side? To maybe coming to peace with our differences, forgoing our resilient pride for once, and realizing that the resulting bond is not a compromise, but a realizing of the truth, to see that we're more alike than we are different?

Go see the movie.... and think about it.

24 Hours of Fury

In my quest for bigger and crazier adventures, Jack, Hannah, Todd (Jack's boss), and I raced in the 24 Hours of Fury over the weekend at McDowell Mtn. Park. We raced as a 4 person co-ed team in the 24 hour mountain bike race, which is the first step in my ultimate solo 24 hour stint in the 24 Hours in Old Pueblo in February.

Jack, Hannah, and I joined Todd on Saturday morning, and had no problem finding our camp amid the dozens of tents and small RVs. Todd had brought Dragonfire's MASSIVE trailer out for the occasion, and we dwarfed even the big-name sponsored teams' camps with the tricked out big rig. The front cab had a fridge, microwave, couches, flat screen TV, bathroom, and the whole bit. The back had enough room to ride around in, as well as a loft with more couches and cots. We hauled a couch outside, set up the grill, and just smiled at everyone's envious looks.

The race started at noon, and similar to last year's 24 HOP, I took our team's first lap. It was a mass start (no lemans), and although the first 20 minutes or so were crowded on the first bit of normally fun, fast singletrack, by the time I got past the Pemberton Wash, the field of 100 riders or so had thinned considerably. The back stretch after the major hill (about halfway through the 10 mile lap) on the course seemed rockier than normal, but I got through it without too many problems and finished my first lap in 1:06. Hannah took off for the second lap as I got some cold fluids into my hot, dusty lungs and hung out with the rest of my teammates and our fans for the next few hours. Todd and Jack both rode two laps during their turns, so my next lap didn't come around until 6 p.m. For my first night lap, I felt fast, but came in much slower than my first in 1:12. I was feeling a bit tired after the second lap, so got some nourishment in me and watched Cars with Rudy on the screen that the race organizer had set up. After the movie, I crashed onto the couches in the trailer for a few hours in preparation for my next night lap. Jack had had a rough second lap, so I woke up and got ready to take Todd's place after he finished one lap, but when he came through, he waved me off, saying he'd be fine for one more. I chilled in the trailer with Angel and Rudy while my teammates slept and then headed up to the start again at midnight. Todd didn't come in for another half an hour, having had a very tough lap that involved two crashes and a pretty hard bonk. I headed out into the cold darkness, my HID headlights illuminating the kangaroo rats hopping across the trail and leading me on to the next hill. The field had spread out considerably in the course of 12 hours, and it felt like I was the only one on the course, alone with the vast desert and a full sky of winter constellations spread out to all horizons. Those stars are old friends that have watched me during many of my adventures since I was a kid staring up at them from our frost covered roof, and their faithful eyes smiled down at me as I made my way through the course for the third time. Although I was pumping hard and my lungs burned with the cold air, I felt completely at peace, completely in my element. It was late and I was tired, but the joy of the challenge welled up in my heart, and I could not have been happier. Unfortunately, Fish wasn't quite feeling it, and the chain problems that I had experienced earlier in the race became more pronounced as the cold derailleur cables refused to shift. It made the bigger hills more frustrating, but even that could not quell my happiness, and I rode into the staging area feeling like I could ride forever. The lap ended up being my slowest (1:17), but I have to say that it was my favorite one.

I slept again while Hannah, Jack, and Todd each took a lap, and then strapped on my helmet just as the first bands of gray etched the eastern horizon. Sunrises out on the ocean were some of my favorite times, and sunrises in Arizona are just as spectacular. The arrival of the sun means warmth, light, and a renewed sense of energy. By the time I reached Pemberton Wash, I was able to make out the trail ahead of me without the aid of my HIDs, and my speed increased dramatically. I rolled back to the start in broad daylight and handed off our timing chip to Hannah and went straight for the pancake breakfast that the race officials were putting on. Two blueberry pancakes and a short nap later, I was feeling on top of the world. Our day laps were much faster than our night laps, but the team behind us was slowly creeping up on us, a mere 8 minutes behind as the boys took their last laps. We were in third place, so wanted to maintain the lead as much as possible, so when I took off at 10:30 a.m. for the last lap of the day, I was definitely on a mission. I had an incredible lap, powering up all the hills, bombing through all of the rocks, and kicking it up into my highest chain ring for the majority of the ride. I finished in 1:07, which left us solidly in 3rd place for our category.

I downed a liter of HEED, munched on some cookies, and found my way back to camp, where I scarfed down some more calories (eggs and sausage) and then celebrated with the rest of the team with some champagne. It had been an excellent race, and we were all happy with the finish. Although none of us won anything in the raffle, we did take home a great plaque for our efforts. Jack and I were exhausted and spent the rest of the afternoon passed out on the couches. I rode 50 miles in a little more than 5.5 hours, so it's just the first step in my long endurance races. Stay tuned for the next step, the Dawn to Dusk in December!

Halloween

All of the election discussions that had been going on in the weeks leading up to Halloween had put more than the coverage of the war and the state of the European economy on the back burner. By Thursday night, I still hadn't decided what I was going to be for Halloween, so I was saved when Jack brought home an energy drink cooler. We spent Thursday evening knocking out the top and bottom and scraping out the insulating foam before I slipped it over my head and was transformed into a... Monster!!

Halloween night was spent at Cripe's house for a party with the majority of VOTS and a few fellow grad students. We've got a pretty creative bunch, with several Michael Phelps, a group of droogs from Clockwork Orange, the cast of Kill Bill, and many others, but Josiah definitely took the cake with his speed camera costume. After a good evening hanging out at the house, we took a stroll down Mill Ave. to admire everyone else's costumes. All in all, a very fun night.

Even though it had been a late night, Jack, Hannah, and I still got up (not so early) to go biking at the McDowells. We parked at our normal spot along the road, snuck under the fence, and were almost to the trail when we looked out over the course to see that it was filled with bikers. We had figured that there might be a bit of traffic in preparation for the 24 Hours of Fury (which we were also training for), but we weren't prepared for the massive multicolored string of riders along the course. As soon as a few bikers got close to us, we noticed the race plates on the bikes and realized that we had forgotten about the Dust Devil race that was going on... on all three of the competitive loop trails. So, we got in the mix of racers and made our way to the parking lot and headed up instead to Pemberton. I was feeling great, and rode ahead of Jack and Hannah enjoying the beauty and solitude of the empty trail. Hannah was feeling a bit under the weather from the Halloween festivities and it got pretty warm through the course of the late morning, so we took plenty of breaks and had an excellent ride along the easy trail. I had never been down the back stretch of Pemberton, and though it was a bit rocky, I absolutely loved the fast downhill, and Jack snapped pictures of our awesome verticals (ok, more like 6') as we hopped over the waterbars. After a good 15 mile ride, we took a Jeep trail back to the truck, got smoothies at Jack-in-the-Box on the way home, and called it a day.

Round #2 of Halloween commenced Saturday evening at Josh's house for the SoLS grad student party. It was another great night of awesome costumes ranging from a group of cross-dressing Red Hat Society ladies, Team Zissou, and a massive eyeball.

After two late nights, I was tired on Sunday, but exhaustion has never kept me away from my true love. I headed out in the late morning to work on the Fire and spent the rest of the day making her look good, putting in the new hatches, and taking measurements for the new equipment and final repairs. No crazy adventures, but a good weekend overall.

Finding Fall

Those of us here in Phoenix don't get the autumn season the same way that the majority of the country gets it. We don't get changing leaves, harvesting of crops, toasting marshmallows over a big bonfire, or huddling together at football games in your favorite hoodie to keep you warm. For us, fall means that monsoon season is over and you will no longer get scorched or drenched when you walk outside. Nice, yes, but I really do miss the Midwest this time of year. So, in an attempt to enjoy the fall, we went looking for it.

The closest place to find the fall around here is Sedona, and that is exactly where Jack, Hannah, Angel and I headed over the weekend for some mountain biking adventures. We woke up far too early on Saturday morning after a fun night of carving pumpkins with some fellow grad students and headed north on I-17. We arrived at the Bike and Bean shortly before 9, got some advice on a good day's worth of trails, and then headed over to the Bell Rock Trailhead. Out of the 2.5 years that I've lived in Arizona, I've only ever been to Sedona twice, and have never even begun to explore it. The amount of people that flock there has deterred me in the past, but in the lull between seasons, we were hoping that it wouldn't be as crowded. It turned out to be absolutely perfect: mostly sunny with a few clouds scattered about and the crisp cool air being moved about by a light breeze. We started off on a long uphill stretch on a wide multi-use trail to Bell Rock and then took off to the singletrack Templeton Trail headed to Cathedral Rock. The scenery was to die for, and I couldn't get enough of it. At one point, as we were going down a small gravely hill, I couldn't help put take my eyes from the trail to marvel at the red rock and blue sky around us. I was talking to Hannah about just how awes... Crash! I skidded out mid-sentence and rode the rest of the day with a scraped and bloody right leg and elbow, but I just laughed it off and kept going. As we made our way to Cathedral Rock, I got my first taste of riding on slickrock, and I have to say that I am well and truly addicted. The stuff grips like crazy, and is just a blast to ride on. We wound our way around the rock formations and down into a small wooded valley where we found fall nestled in Oak Creek. The leaves were changing brilliant colors and we even found a rope swing and played like kids the big kids that we are in the beautiful area. As we made our way along the creek, Hannah had an amazing catch to what could have been a really dangerous crash over several big boulder steps. Her bouncing over her handlebars and catching herself upright and dodging the next drop was spectacular. We rode several more incredible miles around in a loop until it brought us back to the creek and around Cathedral once again. I can't begin to describe how fun, beautiful, and relaxing it was to be riding up there. Maybe those people who talk about vortexes are on to something... or maybe just that it's an incredible place, but either way, I was in heaven.

We continued back towards the highway for a bit until we found the H.D. Trail that would put us back on the northerly part of the Bell Rock Trail. From there, we took off on Little Horse Trail that offered some more slickrock, wonderfully technical bits, and lots more fun as we explored the northeast part of the trails around several red rock formations. Eventually, we came out to a Jeep tour area where the trail/Jeep road was made up almost entirely of slickrock. It was a blast to gain experience on the stuff, and makes me really want to go up to places like Moab and Fruita. We had been biking for about four hours when we all became ravenously hungry and found our way to Broken Arrow Road that led us to town. After a short stint on the dangerously busy, shoulderless Hwy 179, we turned into a little shopping center to find a Mexican restaurant, where we downed multiple Cokes and big juicy burgers. Hannah and Angel had to rush back to Phoenix, but Jack and I took it easy back to the truck (by necessity, as Jack's tubeless tire had a not-so-slow leak). We wanted to stay off of the busy roads as much as possible, so we tried to find an aptly named Mystic Trail that was supposed to start just outside of town. We finally found it at the end of a maze of new construction and multiple Lutheran churches and took it back to where it met up again with Bell Rock Trail. The last mile or so was incredible, with a very impressive view of the red rock and ALL downhill. Poor Jack had to limp down the beautiful doubletrack, but I fairly flew down, smiling from ear to ear as I jumped small waterbars and ate up the wonderful speed.

After an incredible day biking and soaking up the fall weather, we headed up Hwy 89 to Flagstaff. Jack's nephew, TJ, is a freshman at NAU and it was going to be his first game dressing for the Ice Jacks hockey team. After chilling with him pregame at one of the bars near campus, we headed to the rink. It's been awhile since I watched Chris play hockey in Chicago, and I found that I really do miss it. There's just something hardcore about the game that I really enjoy. TJ got several minutes of playing time each period, and the Ice Jacks whooped up on Santa Clara 13-0. TJ didn't score, but he had a lot of good looks, and Jack and I had a great time watching.

It was a late night up in Flag, so I slept in on Sunday and then spent the afternoon working on the Fire most of the day and just hanging out. All in all, a fun, relaxing weekend, and gave me plenty of energy to tackle the busy week ahead.

The Call of the Ocean...

It's been just over a year ago since the Unfinished Business team came together to complete our dreams of rowing across the Atlantic. Since we finished at the end of January until just about two months ago, I had taken a complete hiatus from the sport that I had grown to love since my first timid strokes on the Wabash. After taking several million strokes over the course of 51 days, I was in need of a different kind of adventure and a break from the past seven years in which rowing had been my number one priority. As the saying goes, if you love something, let it go... And like the truest form of old love, even after months away from the oars, the passion is definitely still there. I really can't live without rowing, and it was only a matter of time before I got back into it. As a testimate to this passion, I've done the one thing that I never ever thought I would do... joined an erg class. Yes, erging... for fun... by choice. My friend Kelly teaches an erg class down at the lake, and Jack and I have joined once a week. It's modeled after a bike spinning class, and we row at different stroke rates with accompanying music, and I have to admit, that it really is.... (gasp) fun. I don't think that I've ever thought erging 10k was fun. Satisfying and competitive? Yes, but fun? Never until now. Maybe I've matured since the days down in Lambert Fieldhouse, or maybe the stakes in our little competitions are much lower when the outcome won't decide whether you get kicked out of the varsity boat or not, but either way, the hour-long workouts are very refreshing. Strokes at high ratings remind me of every single piece that I ever pulled out in the musty basement of Lambert, the collective power of the few dozen girls sweating beside me rising above any pain that we experienced, knowing that we would turn that power into gold medals in the spring. Strokes at low ratings with the resistance set high and a good chill song take me right back to the ocean. Looking out over the dark rippled reflections of Tempe Town Lake could almost be the vast expanse of the Atlantic, and an unexplainable calm that just feels like home washes over me. There is no doubt that rowing is in my blood, and will be for the rest of my life.

On the adventure side of things, it also feels incredibly good to be involved in another ocean rowing project. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love all of the smaller adventures that my friends and I find ourselves involved in on the weekends, but for the past five years of my life, I have been involved in one ocean rowing adventure or another. Although finishing the '07 race brought so much incredible pride and joy into my life, now that it's over, I've had to fill a void in my life, and the '09 project suits that spot perfectly for this point in my life.

Anne came in from Colorado for the weekend, and she, Mia, and I worked on the Fire most of Saturday. It was a long, productive day epoxying, sanding, cleaning out the cabin and hatches, removing old sponsorship stickers (and reminicsing about the stories behind each of them), and pouring over equipment lists and the plans on how to procure all of it. I gave them a tour of the West Marine store, and I think that they felt exactly how Kohl and I felt when we first started looking for equipment: like kids in a candy store, oogling over everything from bilge pumps to electrical panels to lifejackets. The sun set on us while we were still working on removing old stickers, so we called it a day having achieved quite a bit. I'm definitely enjoying the project manager part of ocean rowing, and watching Anne and Mia learn and grow is an incredible feeling to have, knowing that they're following in Kohl and my footsteps.

We had a good night out on Mill Ave with a few of my grad school friends before Anne left early Sunday morning. I had planned on going out to join some friends up on the Verde River where they had been camping all weekend, but as I've said before, ocean rowing is addictive, and I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon looking up equipment and trying to figure out potential sponsors. Then, in the evening, I joined Hannah and several of my other mountain biking buddies including Scooby, Chris, Ryan, and Josh for the first team meeting of ZumBala. Although I enjoyed my year with Missing Link, they're more of a social team than a racing team, and if I want to get better at biking, I'd like to be with people who can teach me, so ZumBala was a natural choice. All the guys are incredible people, and excellent riders. We already have some great sponsors set up, are planning on having support at all the races, and foster a family-like atmosphere that promotes both racing and the comradarie that is so special to me in the community of mountain bikers. And, one of our guys, Bruce is head of a company called 360 Adventures that does guiding for mountain bike, climbing, and hiking tours throughout the Valley, and as members of the team, we have the option to become guides for them (ie. get paid to do the adventures that we would normally do anyways). All in all, a great meeting and I'm looking forward to racing and riding with the new team.

Beer, Bikes, and Boilers

After another long week and another presentation for lab meeting (this time explaining all of the nitty-gritty details of our plant expression system), I headed home and looked forward to an enjoyable, non-competitive weekend.

My original plans were to go to Tour de Fat on Saturday, volunteer with the recycling group on campus to get free beer, and then go hiking somewhere on Sunday. You know what they say about the best laid plans...

Since most of my crazy ultimate friends (with whom we had dressed up last year) were in Colorado for a tournament and my grad school friends were being lame, I was just about to head out the door in normal street clothes for a full day of debauchery involving bikes and beer in Tempe Beach Park when Hannah called and changed my entire weekend plan. Rick from Sierra Adventure Sports had e-mailed us (Team ODP), and asked us if we wanted to defend our Extreme Heat victories in the last race of the series. After the Gilmore AR disaster, we had decided not to enter any more adventure races until we got some more training under our belt, but we couldn't refuse a free race. It was SAS's first night adventure race, and we were excited to say the least.

I still had until 3 p.m. to enjoy Tour de Fat, so I headed out on my bike towards Tempe, tried to adjust my seat while I was still riding (not recommended), and promptly rammed myself into a parked car, bruising my right thigh and crumpling to the pavement not 100 ft. from our house. I returned to the house, cleaned up the new gash on my left knee, and headed out again. Tour de Fat is one of my favorite events of the year, and this year was no exception. Although I had missed the bike parade, there were still thousands of people at the festival enjoying the lovely combination of New Belgium's finest beers, the comradarie of fellow bikers, and several really fun bands. I met up with several of my grad student friends, some ultimate frisbee buddies, the Missing Links guys, and some STP racers that are part of my new mountain biking team, Zumbala (more details to come). Even though I was no longer going to be able to volunteer with the recycling group, I had friends that had taken a morning shift and had been given too many (!) beer tokens, which they kindly donated to me. With a race that evening, I couldn't enjoy more than a few of New Belgium's fine brews, but that didn't stop me from trying out all of their amazing bikes. We all had a good laugh attempting to ride unicycles, shoe tire bikes, miniature bikes, bikes that had springs for their frames, and all sorts of other very unique cycles. All in all, it was an incredible event with lots of good bikes, beer, and friends.

I rode home without incident, and made it back to the house to get ready to head out to the McDowells. Hannah and I got to the Pemberton Trailhead shortly before the pre-race meeting and joined the 15 other teams as the sun sank lower in the horizon and the cold started to settle on the desert. The race started like an Easter-egg hunt with all of the teams scrambling for 5 points positioned near the staging area, and then performing a somewhat chaotic frisbee-throwing mystery event before turning on our lights, jumping on our bikes, and heading off into the last glow of the sun. The trail is gently inclining, and we started picking off teams one by one until we were leading the pack. The checkpoints were all on the trail, and though my knee and thigh were sore from my run-in with the parked car earlier, we were both feeling great and had only one team pass us. After a few checkpoints, we turned off of Pemberton to an amazingly smooth, winding downhill trail filled with perfectly spaced and elevated waterbars. I was completely in heaven, jumping down the waterbars with my headlights shooting into the darkness ahead and a full sky of stars above. Before we knew it (and after only one minor wrong turn), we were back at the TA, where we performed another mystery event involving transporting ourselves around the TA on blocks of wood. Then it was on to the trekking part of the race. We started out good enough, hitting the first checkpoint right out of the TA, and finding the second one after a little bit of searching before heading down a wash to the third point. Unfortunately for us, we couldn't see in the dark that the wash split into two, and we took the wrong fork of it. We only realized this when we found ourselves back on the main road, but it didn't take us long to find our way back to the trails where we found the next point, although our mistake cost us a few race places. The next section took us along the technical loop of the competitive track, which we followed out to the Pemberton Wash and the next few points. Finally, we found our last point while hiking along with another team, and began to make the last push for the finish line. We got back to the TA 3 hours and 21 minutes after the race had begun, very satisfied with our 4th place overall and 1st place women's team placing. As all of the teams starting coming in, we kicked back with some Coke and enjoyed each other's company in the warmth of the mystery event's wood fire. It was a great comradarie of all the teams that had gone through our first night race, and it seemed that everyone had enjoyed themselves out on the course. We stayed and talked to Rick for awhile after the race to thank him for inviting us out and then headed home, with our 1st place finishing dog tags around our necks.

My body was definitely worn out, and I woke up early Sunday morning with my knee and thigh sore from the day before's injury and my entire body begging me to just stay in bed. I had plans to go on some sort of adventure, but the sleep monster won again, and I slept in until mid-morning. I took the day to relax, read (for fun!), and just hang out. I didn't have the heart to watch football, as Tiller's really having it rough in his last season. I still do and always will love Purdue, though, so it was nice to hang out with some fellow Boilers in the evening. D, one of Kohl and my old friends from our crazy college days, was in town for the weekend, so I fixed dinner and the three of us hung out in the evening, sharing new stories and reminiscing about our wonderful days in West Lafayette.

So long, sweet summer

It was a long week in the lab, made longer by the fact that I didn't have any good pictures of adventures on the weekend to keep me going coupled with the fact that I had exams to proctor in the middle of the week and a lab meeting to prepare for on Friday. It was the first lab meeting I have given this year, and now that I am a third year grad student, I felt amazingly confident giving the presentation. It was a great feeling to have, and gave me promise as I start preparing for my comprehensive exams this spring. As soon as the meeting was over, I rushed happily out of the lab, loaded up the Jeep, and headed east. Pierre and Evelyn beat me out of the Valley (as I couldn't exactly leave before I was done presenting as they had), but I followed soon after, driving into the sunset-glowing Superstitions that I had looked so longingly at on Sunday. We were all headed up to Show Low for Epic Rides' Tour of the White Mountains, which promised to be an incredible 60 miles of beautiful singletrack in the heart of the mountains. There are two ways to get to Show Low, and since I had been through Payson many times before and was in dire need of an adventure, I decided to stay on Hwy 60 and travel through Globe. On the map, the route appeared shorter than the Hwy 87 route, but I came to the realization as to why it wasn't "the way" quite quickly. Construction and the long winding hills for 100 miles kept my speed under 50 the majority of the way, and I didn't make it to the Show Low Bluff until Todd had finished the pre-race meeting.

No matter, I checked in, and followed the sound of Bill's voice to the Missing Links area of the campground, which ended up being a field of large volcanic rocks. That, coupled with the fact that the temperatures were below 50, finalized my decision against setting up the tent. I hung out with the guys before Pierre and Evelyn returned from dinner in town, and then curled up in the back of the Jeep for a bit of rest before the big ride.

The next morning dawned cold and a bit cloudy, but we were all excited about the day ahead of us. The ML guys were all riding the 30 miler, and Pierre, Ev, and I were going to tackle the 60. We met a few of Landis guys at the starting line, said good luck to everyone, and were off. On the map, the first 30 miles were to be up and the second 30 down, so I was mentally prepared for a tough start. After a short ride on a Jeep road, we started climbing. Ev and I stayed together for the first few miles, but her triathlete fitness soon prevailed and she passed me before the 1st aid station. At Mile 7, I grabbed a few orange slices and some HEED, and set out to catch Ev. A mix of rolling single and doubletrack made up the next 8 miles, and though I could definitely feel the effects of elevation, I was feeling pretty good when I rolled up to the 2nd aid station for some Oreos and some more HEED after 1/4 of the race was completed. The next 12 miles were mostly up on a Jeep road, and I just cranked it up the many hills, passing slower riders and really getting into a good cadence. The miles flew by, and before I knew it, I was at the third aid station, downing pickles and pretzels and feeling on top of the world. Unfortunately, I wasn't at the top of the world yet, and the next 3 miles or so were very steeply inclined. The loose forest soil made it impossible to ride up the slopes, so for two long, steep mountains, I pushed my bike to the top. But, at the top of the 2nd peak, the race was supposed to be all downhill, and I couldn't have been happier. The descents were fairly technical (sharply curving switchbacks and lots of roots), but very fast, and I flew down. For several miles, I rolled along the singletrack, on top of the world. It wasn't all down, however, and there were still plenty of smaller hills to tackle. I was mostly on my own for this part of the ride, and I got to enjoy the serenity of the tall dark pines coupled with the bright contrast of white shaking aspen displaying their radiant yellow foliage as I rode along. It was 17 miles along this stretch until we got to the next aid station, and after about 13, I was ready to see some people again. In the last 4 or so, one rider began to have bike problems, and he and I leapfrogged each other, wondering aloud to each other where the aid station was supposed to be. Eventually, though, we found it around 2 p.m. It couldn't have come sooner, and we began devouring goldfish crackers and gulps of HEED as the clouds that had threatened rain all day began to become more ominous. I began to feel the effects of the long ride about 50 miles in. I had mentally prepared myself for a nice, fast descent on the back side of the course, but it couldn't have been more different. The mountains are essentially a volcanic graveyard, and for what seemed like miles on end, the trail consisted of washes filled with oddly shaped baby heads (large annoying rocks about the size of a baby's head). My physical state was completely in tune with my mental one, and as long as I kept myself fed and watered, my mind could tackle the torturous rocks. But the more miles I put on, the more tired my body became, and turning a corner on a rare smooth spot on the trail only to reveal an uphill battle with the baby heads almost made me want to cry. The fact that I hadn't seen anyone since the aid station wasn't positive either, though I didn't feel much better when a pro-looking girl passed me as I was bumbling up a particular tricky part of trail. I sucked it up though, and just kept rolling/bouncing along for the next 5 miles. Just as the boulder forest ended, the skies opened up. It had been sprinkling for the last hour or so, but it began to pour with about 4 miles to go to the aid station. By this time it was already 3 p.m., the race cut-off time, and my spirits were pretty low as I wasn't sure if they were even going to let me finish the race. The next four miles were tough and... well, heavy. I almost wished for the boulder fields to return as the trail became a ribbon of peanut butter which stuck to my wheels, brakes, gearing, and all parts of my body. Every few minutes, I had to stop to scrape everything down just to continue. By the time I reached the aid station, I had resorted to pushing my bike up the hills as it was too heavy/caked to even try to ride. The guys manning the checkpoint were lot letting people continue, and several riders who had arrived before me were busy wiping mud off of their hands to cram some Oreos down before the rain got to them. Although I was disappointed that I wasn't able to finish, I still ended up riding about 59 miles, as the course was actually 68 miles long (much to the chagrin of those with bike computers). I got sagged back to the finish line just as the last of the ML guys were leaving (as they had only ridden 30 miles and had gotten done before the rain). I found Pierre curled up in his car, but Evelyn hadn't arrived yet. The course was a complete mess, and riders in varying states of mud and exhaustion were scattered all over the place, with several completely caked with their bikes draped over their shoulders marching numbly into the finish. When we realized that Ev wasn't being sagged in, we went out to go find her and set out marching ourselves into the muck. We met her about two miles from the finish, carrying her broken bike (she broke her back derailleur in the mud) across her back like Jesus carrying His cross. She kindly refused our offer to help, and was determined to make it across the finish line. She was one of the more ambitious ones: frustrated racers were ditching their bikes off the trail, just wanting to get to somewhere warm and dry. We walked along with her and gave her company and encouragement during the long, rainy trek to the mucky finish line. Once we all stopped hiking, it got really cold, and we headed to Epic Ride's tent to warm up. Even though I don't normally drink coffee, the warm, black liquid that they were serving from the camp stove was incredible. The majority of the race fleet that had returned to the starting area packed camp and headed home, leaving only a few dozen supporters and weary racers huddled in the tent and scattered about the camp area. The Epic Ride staff scurried around trying to get a handle on the situation, the first-aid and rescue workers bandaged and blanketed injured riders, the bands that were supposed to play the post race party were long gone, the New Belgium guys watched their kegs of Fat Tire collect rain water, and the poor barbecue cooks huddled miserably under their tarp, graciously feeding those of us who remained. Even though we hadn't paid for the meal, they served us up with massive helpings of pulled pork, beans, and potato salad that warmed our bellies and lifted our spirits. A change of clothes made all the difference in the world, and after sun set and the last mud-coated rider limped his muddy frame across the finish line to our cheers, the New Belgium guys dragged a keg over to Epic Ride's tent and Pierre, Evelyn, and the Epic staff hung out for a post-race "party." It wasn't quite the way it was supposed to go, and Todd was visibly stressed to the max, but once everyone had some hot coffee or cold beer, the blood starting to flow again in our tired bodies, and the stories started flowing from the long day. We talked and laughed until the three of us could no longer stand in our exhaustion, and then wearily left the warmth of the camp stove and made the long trek across the cold, soggy volcano field back to our cars where we crashed immediately.

We woke to a surprisingly clear, sunny, albeit 40 degree cold morning. After a breakfast of freeze-dry noodles and Oreo cookies, we did our best to brush the pounds of mud off of our bikes and packed up. It wasn't the end of the adventure by any means, though. I bought the Jeep specifically for times like these and wasn't worried about getting out of there, but Pierre and Ev's Ford Taurus wasn't exactly built for the "road" ahead. In between our camp and the paved road lay a mile of super-thick sticky mud and deep puddles bordered by a fortress of volcanic rocks that were strategically hidden in the tall pasture grass. We made it about halfway there, when a 4WD vehicle heading the opposite way stopped Pierre and warned him of the carnage that lay around the next bend in the road. We parked off of the muddy tracks and walked down the hill to see several cars stranded in the middle of the road and off in the marshy field. The mud and rocks had stopped several 2WD cars in their tracks, and a towing service was charging over $500 to get them out. We scouted out a safe path for Pierre to drive and rolled rocks out of the way before heading back to the cars and trying it out. He gunned it across the field and made it across the sloppy drainage culvert without problems, and I followed behind, immensely happy with my 4WD's performance.

The temperature wasn't breaking 50 in Show Low, and the skies had turned gray and were leaking once more. The cold and wet had seeped into my bones, and my mind could not fathom that it was warm anywhere in the world, much less in the state of Arizona. None-the-less, I headed down to Tonto Creek anyways to join Hannah and Angel for one last summer hike through the water. When I arrived, it was like I had traveled to a different planet. It was in the 80s when I pulled into the dusty parking area at the trailhead and pulled off my fleece and changed into some boardshorts. I squished back into my muddy Solomon's and headed down the trail to find my friends, carefully peeling prickly pears as I went for an early lunch. I passed only two other groups before I found them crawling along the edge of the granite banks.

The warm sun and beautiful surroundings warmed my psyche, and before long, all three of us were scrambling up the smooth cliffs to my favorite jumping cliff at Tonto. Since the water level was a bit low, we picked a shorter cliff to test the depth before shedding our packs and swimming around the cool, deep pool. I climbed back up to the top again and jumped off a few times, reveling in what I knew were going to be some of the last jumps of the season. Even though my body was still very tired from the day before, I couldn't have been happier. We continued upstream to our slide rock and the waterfall, and then scrambled up and over it to explore a bit further into the canyon as I had only once before. There are miles of pink granite canyon beyond the waterfall, but alas, Hannah had to get back to town in the evening, and we cut our exploring a bit short as the sun began to throw longer shadows on the towering walls and a brisk wind cut through the canyon, signaling that summer was over and we should probably get back to the Valley for the rest of the season.

I got back to Tempe in no time, washed down all of my gear, made a big pot of macaroni and cheese, and relaxed a bit after an incredible weekend of adventure.

Wake me up, when September ends...

Sometimes it seems that my life is just one big adventure, and I know it seems that way to many of the people that know me. My labmates are always eager to hear about the weekend's adventures on Monday morning, and I rarely cease to entertain them about either an amazing new spot that I found or some crazy debacle that I found myself in. It seems to be the story of my life, and one that I am quite happy with.

But, a few weeks ago, during a conversation with my dad, he asked me if I ever got bored or jaded with the adventures. I responded with the negative, but then it got me thinking... I somehow manage to get myself into some sort of adventure pretty much every weekend, and haven't really had a week without one in a long time. So, I decided to take it easy over the weekend and see what it would be like.

I had an enjoyable night hanging out with friends up in the north Valley on Friday, but ended up staying much later than anticipated, and woke up grumpily on Saturday morning to Hannah's knock on my bedroom door at 6 a.m. Fortunately, Jack had had a late evening as well, and so I wasn't the only one groggily loading my bike into the truck as the three of us headed up to the McDowell's to meet Angel for a morning ride on the competitive track. The sun was shining brightly, but it wasn't terribly hot as we warmed up on the backside of the long loop before we made our way to the parking lot. By that time, I had shaken most of the sleepy out of my system, and was happy to be out riding. We had a great trip around the 9 mile loop, stopping occasionally to wait for each other at the top of the long hills, and then returned to the parking lot where Jack took another long loop, Hannah and I took the sport loop, and Angel played around the area before heading back to her car. The sport loop is like mountain biking candy, and I can't get enough of its easy rolling hills, fast curving descents, and all-around flow. Yummy. After a successful 15 mile ride, we headed back to the cars and waited for Jack to return before having a filling post-ride Denny's breakfast.

I spent the remainder of the day watching football, reading, and napping. Even in Tiller's last year, my Boiler's haven't changed much... they looked great in the 1st half, but I almost couldn't watch the 2nd as they fell apart against the Fightin' Irish's offense. In the evening, a whole bunch of my grad school buddies and I headed out to Tempe. Even though my once staple Mamacita's has changed hands and no longer offers $2 Coronas or good music, it's an old habit that we can't seem to break, and we started the night there before lots of pool and dancing down on Mill Ave. until the wee hours of the morning.

On Sunday, I stuck to my guns and didn't go out on any adventures. I slept in, which I have to admit was very nice, read a lot, got things done around the house, and went to the lab and even worked for a bit. As the sun began to set behind the White Tanks, I left the lab and headed to the grocery store to finish off the day. Looking east, the sun reflected beautifully off of the Superstitions, and I felt more than a tinge of guilt that I hadn't taken advantage of the beautiful day. I immediately wanted to hop on my bike and at least get in a Greenbelt ride or something that would absolve the feeling of a wasted day. Alas, the sun soon faded with the day as I left the store, and I headed home without any good adventure stories for the weekend.

It just goes to show me how adventure and nature, and just getting away from it all is so important to me. My adventures relax me and reenergize me for the week ahead, and without them, I just don't feel the same. So long as I keep them varied and new, I don't think I will ever get jaded with them. And fortunately for me, Arizona and the West have plenty of places to get lost in, and I look forward to exploring as many as I can while I am out here. Until next weekend...

Blunders

Sorry for the long hiatus between posts... been a bit busy here in the crazy life of this crazy rower.

Friday (Sept 19th), was a bit of a bittersweet day. It was Matoba's last day here at ASU. Matoba has been one of my mentors since the beginning of my PhD, and his advice and understanding have been instrumental in my growth as a scientist. After seven productive years at ASU as a post-doc and research professor, he accepted a tenure-track position at the University of Louisville and the Brown Cancer Center, and though we are all excited about the new opportunities he and his family will have there, we will also truly miss him. Friday night we had a party to wish him well. It was a grand affair at the Mor residence with the entire lab and some of the labs over in Biodesign, as well as all of their families. Lots of eating, drinking, and playing with the plethora of kids. Oh yeah, and spiking Matoba's hair into a mohawk. Good times.

After the festivities, I joined Hannah and Angel and we drove up to Prescott to set-up camp for the Gilmore Adventure Race. When we arrived at the transition area in the middle of the cattle ranches, a full horizon of stars greeted us in the cool (although a little smelly from the cows) air, surrounded by mountains. It was a wonderful contrast to the hectic weekday life, and I snuggled into my sleeping bag happily excited about the next day's adventure.

We woke to a prodigious day full of bright sunshine and dozens of teams milling about getting ready for the big day. Everything was looking great until we realized that we didn't know where the keys were to the car's bike rack, and both Angel's and my bike threatened to become immortalized on top of the little Subaru. For better or worse, the locks on those things aren't the greatest, and I managed to loosen the bolts enough that we got them down without too much hassle (let that be a lesson if you think your bike is safe in a Thule rack). And then the day went down from there...

I still don't like talking about the actual race, as it ended up being such a disaster. Most teams are made up a diverse group of people who each have a special skill or talent to bring to the team. Our talents are... well, special maybe, but not in a positive sense. I have special navigation skills that were responsible for making us trek several extra miles in the first leg of the race and completely miss one of our first points. Hannah has special running skills that make her legs fall to pieces. Angel has special biking skills that allow her to be shaken to bits on her fully rigid bike. The ODP Special, ladies and gentlemen. We had joked at the beginning of the day that things couldn't have gotten worse than the blow-up self-bailing kayak fiasco of the Lake Hodges Adventure Race, but after 8.5 hours of getting lost, scratched up, losing/finding a camera, trekking ~8 miles, dodging giant kamikaze grasshoppers, biking ~20 miles, hike-a-biking down a 30' waterfall, and finally rolling into the finish line 1/2 hour late with only 4 navigation points checked off for the entire day to the applause of the entire crowd of seasoned racers - I definitely felt that we had outdone ourselves. Hannah has a very good description of the race, but for once, I'm going to be trite on the subject and just leave it as a good training day in controlling frustration in a very beautiful setting near Granite Mountain in Prescott.

In the end, I did win a small first aid kit in the shwag raffle, so the day wasn't a complete loss. We headed back to the Valley munching on the best tasting gas station nachos in the history of processed cheese food, and then spent the evening watching the Lady Blues battle Coast Rugby at Chaparral. Even after such a crazy adventure race, Angel played almost the entire game. I don't know how she did it, as I was completely whooped and as soon as the game was over, I barely had time to take a shower before I fell asleep.

I took it easy on Sunday, hanging out with Kohl, watching movies, just generally relaxing, trying to forget about the previous day's blunders, and looking forward to the next adventures.

New Adventures

It is nearing the end of monsoon season here in Tempe, and by now I have become accustomed to the frequent storms that dot our landscape in the evenings. On Wednesday night as I was leaving campus after a 12 hour day, the streetlights were reflected from the low lying clouds and it was just sprinkling as I left the building. It doesn't just sprinkle during monsoon season, though, and before I had gone a quarter of a mile, the sky opened up, soaking me in seconds and leaving me no choice but to continue the rest of the four miles home in the downpour. The ocean has taught me a lot of things, but one of the biggest things that it taught me was to find humor and joy in every situation. So, as I sloshed home through the flooded streets for the second time in three weeks, wiping my eyes every few seconds to see ahead of me through the blinding drops, I smiled and reminisced about the days on the ocean and how it all came about.

At the end of the summer of 2003, I was sifting through an Oxford Street bookshop in London, searching for a book to read on the flight home to the States after an incredible summer abroad. I was looking forward to going back to Purdue, hanging out with my friends, resuming practices on the Wabash River, and starting my junior year of college. What I didn’t know was that one of the books that I would purchase that day would forever change my life. As I sat in the tall grass of Hyde Park that evening and watched the planes circle around Heathrow, I opened up Debra Veal’s, Rowing it Alone, and got goosebumps in the warm August twilight. Her story captured me, and though at the time I never fully understood the reason for those goosebumps, I knew that deep inside of me, I wanted to row across an ocean. By the time that I landed two days later in a stormy Chicago, I knew that I was hooked. The beautiful blend of rowing, adventure, and the unknown held me in its grasp, and I could not stop thinking about it. For months, my obsession grew, and the more I researched, the more I talked to people, and the more serious I got about actually partaking in the adventure, the more I knew that I could not live my life without making the dream real. When Kohl and I registered for the race in January of 2004, we could hardly contain our excitement, looking forward the absolute adventure of a lifetime.

Now, five years later, the adventure is coming full circle, and I am happy to be helping the next generation of American ocean rowers. Anne came in from Colorado over the weekend with two of her friends, and from the moment that I opened up the door on Friday evening, I could feel the exact same excitement emanating from her as Kohl and I felt when we were first starting out. It was infectious, and I recalled my days when the adventure was new and the dream began all over again. We spent the entire night looking at pictures and sharing stories about the row.

The next morning after some pancakes, we headed out to see the American Fire. I remember the first time I saw an ocean rowing boat, the American Pearl, with Mack, and then the first time I saw the American Star in Toledo. Both times, I was overwhelmed by the tangible hold that the boat put on the adventure and I could not stop smiling. I think that the feeling is universal for those who are truly passionate about ocean rowing, as Anne had the exact same reaction when we pulled up to the boat. We spent several hours going over the boat, telling more stories, and letting Anne get a feel for life onboard in the late summer heat. By the time we went to lunch, where Kohl joined us, Anne was truly hooked. As Anne shared her own story of her original teammate dropping out, we suggested a few others who might be interested, and Kohl texted Mia. A few more texts and a phone call later, a partnership was born, and within the hour, the new American Fire team was finalized. We went back to the boat, where the four of us equally shared in the new excitement. Kohl and I looked on like proud parents as Anne and Mia crawled into the cabin and all over the boat and started talking about how they were going to go about their adventure.

That evening, we headed to Hannah’s to watch Ohio State get clobbered by USC (it was pretty much a bad week for the Big 10), before going over to Jose’s for an ultimate Frisbee party to celebrate the start of the fall league. It was an excellent way to end an exciting day, and I look forward to watching the campaign grow each day until Kohl and I are standing in the Canaries, watching our boat and new team as they row into the horizon.

Anne and her friends left early on Sunday morning in order to get back to Colorado by Monday for work, so I decided to join Case, Fife, Trish, and Cody for a trip to West Clear Creek near Camp Verde. I had heard a lot about this gorgeous canyon, but had never actually been up there, and I was excited about the day ahead. After a few miles on the dirt roads, we arrived at the trailhead near the namesake creek underneath the yellowing cottonwoods. The five of us started out along the creek before the trail meandered up to the desert floodplain. Almost immediately, Case picked up some Indian pottery shards along the path, and for the rest of the trip, we all had our eyes peeled for the artifacts. We explored an old settlement ruin and then made our way back to the creek where we were greeted with a beautiful outcropping of red rock that boasted some excellent jumping cliffs and a large rope swing. Even though the water was still cool from the night before, it didn’t deter us from using the cliffs and rope for the purposes that their creators intended: living life to the fullest.

After a good time at the outcropping, we pulled our Camelbacks over our shoulders and continued along the dusty trail, finding plenty of artifacts along the way. There was a rumor of a sliderock, but the trail didn’t follow the creek exactly, and we meandered along the red canyon walls crossing the water only occasionally. Several miles of the beautiful landscape passed and I took notes in my head of places to explore further on the next trip out there before we came to the last creek crossing. We stopped for lunch and a dip in the clear water to cool our sweaty bodies before resuming the hike. Seven miles in, we were supposed to follow the trail up towards the rim of the canyon, but the trail conveniently disappeared. We hunted for it among the cacti and until we finally followed a wash to where the trail reemerged from the scrub. It was a long, strenuous hike up to the rim, but I found a whole arrowhead in the scree, and the view from the top was spectacular. From the top, it was another three miles along a dirt road to the next trail, which wound its way back to the car as the sun sank lower behind the mountains to the west. I almost stepped on my first tarantula as the September harvest moon starting rising out of the eastern rim. We lost the trail once more in the last half mile, and walked the remaining bit of the hike with the moon lighting our way back through the tall cottonwoods. All in all, it was an excellent, scenic hike, and I can't wait to come back to explore it some more.

We ended the weekend at a local pizza joint in Camp Verde before making our way back to the Valley. When I got back home and plopped down on my bed after a very full, enjoyable weekend, the moonlight streamed in through my window. I can't help but think that the same moon is shining down on the Atlantic somewhere, waiting for new adventures.