Back Home Again in Indiana

Although I now spend my time exploring all that the Arizona desert has to offer, I owe my adventurous spirit to the woods and rivers of southern Indiana. I was happy to spend the holiday weekend back in the hills of my youth for a few days with my family and the natural world that gave me the inspiration to continue my explorations for the rest of my life.

I got in on Friday night, and by Saturday morning, my dad, sister, and I were on our way to the Clark County State Forest for a hike on the Knobstone Trail. Emi and I have wanted to hike the entirety of this famous trail for a long time now. The Knobstone Trail runs from Delaney Park in Washington County just north of Salem and ends 60 miles to the south near Deam’s Lake. It's the longest continuous trail in the state (plans are in the works to extend it another 80 miles), and many people use it as a training run for the Appalachian Trail. The trail snakes along through the Karst topography that makes the southern part of the otherwise flat corn-growing state so beautiful. The Knobstone trail exhibits all that I love about southern Indiana - tall trees, lush forests, rolling hills, and gurgling streams - and my sister and I were eager to see if it held up to our expectations. I have to admit though, our desire to hike the whole thing is tempered by the experience of two guys that we picked up a few years ago at the Henryville Forest fire tower. After two days of hiking they were jaded by “all the trees that just look the same," and we wanted to check out if it was true or not. Starting out on the border of Washington and Scott Counties, we hiked up to the top of the ridgeline from the creek bottom, with our hearts pumping and my lungs trying to adjust to the humidity in the air. The trail was all that we had hoped it would be, providing awe-inspiring vistas that looked out over the surrounding forested hills all the way down to Louisville. Wildflowers and GREEN blanketed the entire scene, and I was in heaven. We hiked for 11 miles along the ridges, through valleys, across clear streams, and deep into the southern Indiana forests, enjoying the lush diversity of flora and fauna along the trail. To my surprise, the woods were FULL of blueberry bushes, which until Dad bought the new farm in Crawford County, I would have never believed, as I spent a decade in the woods just north of there and had never seen them. But sure enough, half the bushes were filled with little green berries that promise to be tasty in about a month. By the last few miles, we were started to get (just a little bit, I really do love the woods) tired and jaded with the trees, and finally came out to the small clearing where we had parked the other truck. All in all, it was a great day, and I would happily hike the entire trail, and hope to do so in the future.

The next morning, we packed up the red canoe and a cooler, and headed to Milltown for our annual canoe trip. When I was very little, my favorite book was Three Days on a River in a Red Canoe, and I would spend many hours dreaming of my own trips down rivers. Shortly after we moved to the farm, we bought our own red canoe and my dad and I packed it for a 3 day, 60 mile canoe trip down the Blue River, starting at the bridge on our farm and ending near Corydon. If I had to give one defining moment in my young life that led me to my adventurous lifestyle, I would have to say that it was that first trip downriver. Although the first day started out sunny and in the shallow waters of the upriver Blue, it ended in a lightening storm a few hours before our intended campsite. I paddled my little heart out through the torrential downpour, pounding thunder, and log jams until we finally curved around a little bend in the river at Fredricksburg where I scarfed down the best soggy cookies ever and helped set up camp on the sharp boulders underneath the bridge. Never had I been more appreciative of warm food and a dry clothes. When we set out the next day, we had to abandon our dry camp and paddle back out into the rain, instantly soaking our bodies once again. But, the rain had raised the water levels considerably, and the skies cleared to reveal some incredible rapids that we flew through all the way to Milltown. By the last day, we had gotten really good at scouting the rapids, and I was absolutely hooked on the thrill of speed and adventure. I left the river that Memorial Day with a smile on my face, and with the exception of one or two years in college, I've been doing it every year since. Although we only took a day trip this year, it was still just as fun, especially considering that over the last few years I have graduated from the simple paddling in the front of the canoe to steering in the back - which is a total rush to feel the control you have as you maneuver through rapids. I held the rudder position the majority of this year's trip, with Emi sitting up front and Dad relaxing on the cooler in the middle of the boat - much to the amusement of some other paddlers on the river. We loved it. The river has changed considerably in the 12 years that I've been running it, and they now have commercial canoe trips on the lower part of Blue River, but we still were able to enjoy the peace and tranquility of the river after we passed the majority of the novices. We saw deer, turtles, ducks, snakes, and all sorts of wildlife along the banks, sipped from the springs that flow out of the hills, and just drank in the beauty of it all. Much to the confusion of my family, I tried to take pictures while steering, and at one point, had the canoe pointed into the rocks just as we were about to enter a set of rapids... oops. After lunch, Dad took the back seat and I sat up front while Emi took pictures in the middle. We ended the day dropping over the edge of the ruins of an old dam near Corydon (my favorite one, the river drops several feet in the course of about 20 meters, and it feels soooo good to run it), and finally portaged south of Harrison-Crawford State Forest after a fun full day on the water.

On Memorial Day, I spent the day watching the rain from the front porch, eating good home-cooked food, and playing with the half dozen baby ducks that my dad brought home from my grandpa's. They're the cutest things, and by the end of the weekend, I had them following me around the yard like a momma duck. Alas, I eventually had to leave the land of rain and green, and we headed to the airport in the evening. And since Louisville is the home of Yum! Brand Foods, my sister and I couldn't leave the airport without hanging out with Colonel Sanders of KFC fame. After some Asian tourists got done taking pictures with the statue, we sat down on the bench next to him, much to Angela's embarrassment and our delight. I love my family! Overall, it was a great to see my family, hang out in the southern Indiana wilderness, and spend a relaxing holiday weekend at home.

"It's waterproof"

After a busy week of ultimate frisbee, climbing, (not purposefully) injuring Hannah while mountain biking at Papago Park, and a full week in the lab trying to get my plants to express gp41, I was certainly ready for the weekend. On Saturday, after a quick trip to REI for my first garage sale (they're crazy!), Kohl and I headed out to the Verde Valley for some relaxing in the Hot Springs and Fossil Creek. Kohl had never been up in the area, so the drive up there was an adventure in and of itself. We were going to try to see what fun Sycamore Creek could offer, but our scouting reports from the highway above didn’t offer much promise for water, and we decided to keep going and tough out the 20 or so miles of rough road to the hot springs. When we got there, the usual crowd of rednecks abounded (much to our humor) as we hiked across the Verde to the springs. Always looking for an adventure, we decided to hike up the ridgeline instead of crossing the river, and ended up walking along the edge of a cliff before sliding down the scree that finally shot us out to the base of the springs where a (ubiquitous) naked drunk guy welcomed us to the area. But, he soon left and we had the place to ourselves for a bit while I showed Kohl all around the little oasis and we alternated between relaxing in the pools, cliff jumping, swimming through the rapids of the Verde, and splashing in the hot water that falls over the edge of the banks. It was great laughing like old times and just being our crazy selves. Of course, I was documenting the whole thing taking loads of pictures. As we were sitting by the pool with the camera, I mentioned to Kohl that it was ok if it got wet, as it was waterproof. For some reason, I tell her this every time we're near water with the camera. "Really, it's waterproof...? I didn't figure that out when we used it every day on the Atlantic." I don't know whether I forgot about rowing the Atlantic, using the camera out there, or the fact that Kohl was never further than four feet away from me during the entire trip, but I have stated the obvious to her on so many occasions that it's become a running joke.

After we had our fill of the hot springs, we made our way back downriver, taking a few minutes to ponder exploring the old ruins of the power plant before driving back to Fossil. At the trailhead, Kohl and I thoroughly explored the creek's many pools, swimming and just basking in the beauty of it all. I absolutely love the area, and it was great being able to share the joy of it. We spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring and swimming and jumping in the blue green waters. We didn’t even make it up to the bigger of the small falls, but I got to see pools that I had never swam in before and it was well worth it. Once we had exhausted ourselves in the pools, we played like little kids in the small puddles that line the creek and watched the tadpoles and other small creatures swimming around. We couldn’t resist bringing some home to attempt a little aqueous biosphere (I’m afraid it didn’t last too long). After a long day, we came home and had an excellent meal of potato soup and I prepared for the next great adventure.

On Sunday, a group of 12 intrepid Phoenicians drove out to the Salome Wilderness in Tonto National Forest out near Roosevelt Lake for a little canyoneering trip in Salome Creek. Armed with ropes, harnesses, belay devices and a whole lot of excitement, we hiked out a few miles from the trailhead to the creek. It was all desert before the creek, and unless you knew what was waiting ahead, you would have never thought that an oasis was tucked in below Dutchwoman Butte. The trip would have been perfect, but one careless mistake cost me one of my favorite and most versatile piece of outdoor equipment. With my camera tucked snugly in the pocket of my boardshorts, I excitedly half jumped/half fell into the creek and started walking along the creek for a few feet before the bottom turned to algae. Not wanting to get caught up in the muck, I started swimming. A few feet later, I remembered about my camera, checked my pocket, and realized that the indispensable piece of equipment was no longer there. It may have been waterproof, but it certainly didn't float. After 10 minutes of fruitless fishing through the muck, we had to continue on without it. I was heartbroken and quite peeved at myself. That camera had lasted me dozens of trips, taken thousands of pictures, and survived several falls to the bottom of other creeks, drops off of rocks, and an ocean. I was devastated at the loss. Alas, Salome Creek was as good of a distraction as any, and it was gorgeous - plus I try to always carry an extra camera and photographer, usually in the form of Hannah. After snaking our way through several boulder fields and small waterfalls, the creek entered a narrow canyon surrounded by pink granite walls. We swam, jumped, and slid our way through the deep clear pools, waterfalls, and slick waterslides. It was better than a water park, and much more awe inspiring. It was certainly an adult playground, and for hours we splashed through the canyon, our laughter echoing off of the ever growing walls. After a few miles of incredible fun, we arrived at a large pool surrounded by perfect jumping cliffs and ending in a 30' waterfall. While Bill set up the ropes for the rappel, Haydon and I launched ourselves off of the walls and plunged into the cold pool. Finally, we started one by one down the rope into another large pool below. Once we were all safely to the bottom, we swam out to the end of the canyon with huge smiles on our faces. In a bit of reverse karma from losing my camera, Hannah almost became a casualty of a splashing war between Pierre and I. Fortunately for all of us, the massive rock that I threw (narrowly) missed her head. The hike back out wasn't too bad, as our waterlogged bodies fought off the evening sun with great efficiency. We ended the weekend with a meal in Tonto Basin and drove home happy with another great adventure in the books.

Lovely Month of May

May is one of my favorite months, mostly for the change that it brings. I thrive on change and new experiences, so with the advent of summer months, I'm a happy kid. During the last week, the campus filled with stressed students taking exams, then filled with throngs of parents and families in town for graduation, and then... emptied. As a graduate student, I really do appreciate the summer months - even with the Valley heat. There is truly something relaxing about biking to work without having to worry about dodging cars careening through red lights, hippy kids on longboards, or clueless girls on cell phones who haven't quite mastered the idea of moving two wheeled objects. It's also nice to be able to go to Sack's once again without having to stand in line. The full time residents of the university have the place to ourselves once again, and life is good. Without regularly scheduled lab meetings, seminars, or colloquiums, we are also given the complete freedom to work more efficiently. It doesn't mean that we necessarily do, as the academic atmosphere is much more relaxed during the break, but the freedom and the lazy days of summer do make for a very enjoyable few months.

I started my first day of "summer" on Saturday with Jack, exploring the desert that surrounds the area known as Pima Dynamite in Scottsdale. Jack used to ride the sandy singletrack quite often to train for dirtbike races, but many of the trails are now closed to motorized traffic,* so he can no longer ride his favorite 70 mile loop. It's too bad, as the trails are incredible, though tough for those of us whose two-stroke engines don't require a gas-oil mix. It took me at least half an hour to warm up on the surprisingly difficult trail. Although the trails didn't appear technical, the sand coupled with boulders and a little bit of elevation made the first part of our first loop tiring. It was definitely worth it though, because after we rounded a small mountain, the trail was all down. Jack and I had a blast zooming around boulders and down and around a hard packed rollercoaster surrounded by red blooming ocotillo and yellow palo verde. As I was following Jack and enjoying a particularly winding downhill section, a baby fox that wasn't much bigger than two fists darted across the trail and stopped scared in its tracks right in the middle of my line. I tried to brake, and let out a scream as I felt a bump under my back tire. Jack doubled back, assuming by my fearful scream that I had gotten bitten by a snake, while I hopped off my bike and watched the little guy limp off into the bushes. Although we both tried to scrounge him back out of the brush to make sure that he was ok, all we managed to do was startle a rabbit, so we had no choice but to hop back on our saddles and continue along our way. I felt really bad for the baby, considering that I spent much of my childhood watching my mom (Happy Mother's Day, I love ya!) move turtles off the road and having never hit anything bigger than a toad with a car, much less a bike. The rest of our first lap went without mishap though, and we had so much fun that we took a second one around some different singletrack. After more than two hours, Jack's tubeless back tire had started to deflate, so we took one of the fire service roads along the powerlines back to the truck in the company of dozens of dirtbikers, quad riders, and mountain bikers happily sharing the beauty of the trails.

Saturday afternoon was spent at my advisor's house for one of his incredible parties. He provided his house, pool, and a grill FULL of marinated beef and chicken while the rest of my lab provided a keg of Newcastle, dozens of side dishes, live music (provided by Ryan and his band), and lots of party spirit. We spent hours eating, playing with the lab's many kids, swimming, and sharing stories of the past year. Towards the end of the evening, Dr. Mor broke out the champagne to toast our graduates (we had five this year, including a master's and four undergraduates). And then, after much anticipation, he revealed to us that... he HAD indeed acquired tenure at ASU. All of us erupted in a huge, relieved applause. I was so happy for him and the rest of our lab, as ASU has some pretty bad politics revolving around tenure, and had he not been granted tenure, all of our futures at the university would be in jeopardy. Our celebrations went long into the evening until I pulled Dr. Mor's youngest shivering son out of the pool and headed back home. Hannah, Ryan, the keg, and I spent the rest of the evening chilling at the house.

On Sunday, I had planned to get some work done around the house and American Fire, but I am a water baby through and through, so all it took for me to abandon my work was a phone call from Suda promising a free day at the Sunsplash Waterpark. It was Honeywell's employee appreciation day, and Brandon, Phil, Suda and I had a great day being kids - racing down waterslides, relaxing in the lazy river, screaming on a free fall tube ride, getting shot around a really cool water cauldron, eating popsicles, and just generally having an incredible watersoaked day.

After a fun, exhausting day, I went home to change, grabbed my climbing harness, and headed back out - this time to Camelback mountain to join Pierre, Evelyn, Hannah, and Erika for a bit of climbing and rapping on one of the many boulders in Echo Canyon. Pierre taught us how to tie brakes, attach ropes, lower ourselves down, climb up, and belay on the real rock. For hours we enjoyed scrambling all over the boulder and drinking tea until we had to break out headlamps and head back down to the parking lot.

Overall, it was a great weekend with lots of diverse fun. Wanting to squeeze one last adventure out of the weekend, and taking advantage of the fact that neither of my roommates were home, I decided to do a little bit of experimenting with my Indian cooking. I won't go into great detail about the disaster that ensued, but I will just say that I learned many lessons from my ordeal: a). you are supposed to roast sooji before you boil it, otherwise it turns into a mushy paste that looks (and tastes?) like glue, b). I haven't quite figured out which Indian spices go with what, ie. mustard seed goes with everything, garam masala doesn't, c). gluey paste mixed with spices and chicken still doesn't taste good, and finally, d). a hefty dose of ketchup will save just about any meal. Satisfied with a jam packed weekend, I went to bed with a gurgling stomach and a happy heart, excited about the first week of summer ahead of me.

* As it turns out, Saturday was the last day for ANY motorized traffic on ANY of the Pima Dynamite trails, due to the lobbying of the Sierra Club. It's really a shame, as the motor guys out there are respectable riders and are the ones who made and maintained the trails in the first place, so they don't deserve a $1200 fine for using public land.

Dad Vails

This will be the first time in seven years that I won't be spending the second weekend of May in Philadelphia as a rower, speaker, or coach at the Dad Vail National Championship Regatta. Vails has been one of my favorite events since I was a freshman at Purdue, and I cherish a million memories from the infamous race on the Schuylkill River. Along Boathouse Row, home to the Schuyhkill Navy, you can feel the presence of the thousands of rowers that have graced their hallowed walls and docks over the last 150 years. As you walk past, you can't help but feel overwhelmed with an incredible sense of pride and tradition that accompanies the sport. The Dad Vail represents the culmination of an entire year of blood, sweat, and tears: from long - if not idyllic - fall days building our endurance base, to cold winter mornings trudging through the snow to the musty basement of Lambert Fieldhouse to pound out hours on the ergs, to the toughest week of the season spent on Lake Hartwell in Clemson hammering out piece after piece in preparation for the races ahead of us, to the entire joy that is the spring season with its share of tough battles, poignant victories, lessons learned, and bonds forged with the strength and commitment that it takes to propel an 8 oared shell across the water. As you unload, rig, and walk the boats down to the docks that line the Schuyhkill, you realize that you are representing not only your crew and university, but also the very spirit of the sport, as every action you take is one that countless oarsmen have taken many times before between the river's shores. Warming up on the far side of Peter's Island, basking in the sweet smell of the locust blooms during the last few minutes before the race, lining up alongside some of the best club teams in the nation, putting all of your focus on the rower in front of you as the official raises his flag, channeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins into those first few strokes, rowing into oblivion as your legs and lungs cry out for oxygen, and finally slumping over your oar after seven minutes and 280 strokes of anaerobic hell. Lather, rinse, and repeat a few more times until finals on Saturday, and you have the Dad Vail Regatta. For those of us who have had the honor to row in the regatta, these battles are a microcosm of our lives, and they mean the world to us. From my innocent days as a novice, smiling on the winner's dock with my coach and eight teammates after an unbelievable, undefeated season. To my first year on varsity, Kohl and I posing with our silver medals from two different boats for a grainy picture that would later end up on the front of The Exponent for our first American Fire article. To a disappointing loss during the semifinals of my junior year that resulted in the most disheartening 2nd place finish in the petite finals. To a tumultuous senior year with a new coach and my teammates of four years being split between two different boats for the last race of our collegiate careers - ending it as we began, together with gold medals on the winner's dock, surrounded by the best friends a Boiler could ask for. When the 14 of us seniors locked hands and jumped off the launching dock into the muddy waters for the last time as members of Purdue Crew, we were all taking a bit of each other with us to the next stages in our lives. For me, that next stage of my life nearly ended it, and by the time I arrived on the banks of the Schuyhkill a year later, I was a much more mature person, delivering not a portside Power 10 through the Strawberry Mansion Bridge, but an inspiring speech to the graduating class, as Olympic team coach Mike Teti had done for me and my own class the year before. For the first time, I sat in the alumni tent with my former teammates and finally got to enjoy a beer while watching the races. Though we had looked forward to that day since our freshmen years, we felt out of place, and would have gladly traded traded places with those in unis for one more shot at the glory of collegiate rowing.

The circle was finally completed last year, with me in khakis and an embroidered polo, pushing my novice kids off of the dock after months of learning and growing on all levels. In them, I could see pieces of myself five years prior - young and wide eyed, scared but proud and prepared to leave everything on the water, knowing that their teammates were doing the same. Although the closest they came to the winner's dock was rowing back up towards St. Joe's boathouse, I still couldn't have been more proud of them. Together, as a team, we had overcome hundreds of obstacles to get there, and our little crew from the desert proved what it took to be a Dad Vail rower: hard work, faith, teamwork, dedication, and perseverance. The next day, we sat in the bleachers and watched as Purdue set a precedent by winning both the men's and women's varsity 8's races - a first in the history of the Dad Vail. As they hoisted the team points trophy over their heads as my own teammates and I had done in years past, I was overwhelmed with an amazing sense of admiration for my Purdue team, my ASU team, the sport of rowing, and the spirit that encompasses the whole of the Dad Vail Regatta.

Dad Vails is an incredible place, full of pride, pain, guts, and glory. Although I will personally miss the regatta this year, I wish the best to every coach and athlete that will be participating, and especially... Boiler Up!

May Days

When you were a little kid, you never thought of your teachers as real people with real lives... they were just your teachers and that was it. When the end of the school year came around and you celebrated the sweet summer ahead, you figured that your teachers just crawled back into their caves and waited around for the next three months dreaming up place value worksheets and scheming up other evil ways to torture you when you returned in August. You would have never conceived that they were celebrating much harder than you were at the advent of summer. Well, it's completely true. Now that I'm a grad student and (a little bit) closer to the top of the academic food chain (see here), I get to reap the full benefit of the prof's celebrations in the form of free drinks at the School of Life Sciences End of the Year Happy Hour. I hadn't planned on drinking at all, and was content with my massive plate of Mexican happy hour fare, but since it's bad etiquette to refuse a tequila shot from professors, I had to oblige. Let me just say, it is awesome to sit around with your friends and watch normally conservative, intellectual professors take shots. Priceless. When free alcohol abounds, so do the stories that you'd never hear during seminars, and I couldn't resist the combination of the two. Between Macayo's and Mamacita's, we had plenty of both in a wonderful Cinco de Mayo night of debauchary.

Although Coronas are an excellent tool for having a great night out, they don't do much for installing new brakes. After I biked home from the bars, I dug out the brand new brake pads from my bag and put them on around midnight in anticipation of a ride around South Mountain in the morning. Needless to say, they did not pass the 6 a.m. quality control inspection. I groggily repositioned and tightened them before heading out to meet Jack and his buddy Josh for a Mormon/National Trail loop. One of my old coaches in high school always recommended that if we practiced with people that were better than ourselves, then we had no choice but to become better ourselves. Well, it was true for the shortest JV forward on Eastern's basketball team, and it's still true today. Jack is a better biker than me, and Josh is an absolutely stellar mountain biker who practically lives on South Mountain. By 7:30, I was completely regretting my decision to drink the night before, as even the fire road to the trailhead was laughing at my attempts to keep up with the guys. Things didn't get much better once we got to Mormon. Jack and I both struggled up the infamous, aptly named hill, "The Widowmaker," while Josh raced ahead and waited for us every few hundred meters, giving us great advice for tackling different switchback sections. I appreciated the advice, but my head was pounding and all I wanted to do was go back down and take a nap. Although the majority of the way out was up, both Jack and I learned a great deal about how to tackle some of the rough sections, and by the turn around point on National, we were definitely ready to head back down. The return trip was incredible, and both of us stayed on the bike the majority of the time, with the exception of the waterfall, which I didn't even get to see Josh bomb down because he was so much faster than us. Even though we were much slower than Josh, both Jack and I felt that we had improved a great deal since our first National run, gaining both control and confidence in our skills. The trail really is addictive, and I can't wait to get back out there again.

After the ride, I headed up to Scottsdale and met up with Angel and Christie. After a short detour to REI, we headed to Fossil Creek. The area had been so beautiful last weekend that we just couldn't resist going back up there. It was midafternoon by the time we arrived, so we hoisted our heavy packs and made our way to the first of the big falls without stopping. It had been a year since I had been to the oasis, but it hadn't changed much and was as incredible as it was the first time I saw it. Loads of water cascaded over the travertine cliffs, and we played in the deep blue-green pools to our heart's content. After playing around for awhile in the waterfall, we continued on upstream until we found a good spot to camp. Our choice was a good one: a small sandbar with plenty of hammock trees just upriver of a smaller fall with several swimming pools, and adjacent from some gurgling rapids. I set up my hammock and gathered firewood while Christie and Angel put up their tent and hammock. In no time, we were feeling at home. Although we didn't have enough time to hike up to the Flume Falls, we continued exploring upriver for the next few hours, swimming through the rapids, hopping the boulders, and admiring the amazing geology that adorned the cliffs. We've been to the Fossil Creek area several times now, and I had never noticed the quartz/gypsum structures in the rock before. The formations appeared as though lightning had struck and melted the quartz, leaving smooth pockets of layered glass-looking rock. It was the coolest looking thing, and for the rest of the trip, I would keep my eyes peeled for unique pockets of the natural glass. After a little more hiking around, we headed back towards camp, making sure to play in the pools, rapids, and waterfalls below our camp before the evening became too cold to swim. When we could no longer stand shivering behind the falls, we changed into dry clothes and started a fire in preparation for dinner. It was the first real camp fire we've had while backpacking (usually its too dry to have one), and it was a very warm, welcome change. For dinner, we had bread and cheese as appetisers and then baked vegetables in tin foil in the fire for the main course. Coupled with a package of Mountain House noods 'n' chicks and topped off with a few liters of pinot noir, it was an excellent meal. After several servings of wine and a few hours listening to gurgling spring and tree frogs while watching the stars through the trees, I curled up in my hammock and was rocked to sleep. Curled up in the cocoon of my hammock and sleeping bag, I couldn't hear or see anything, and I didn't end up emerging from my bed until the sun had filtered through the trees of the valley. The three of us ate oatmeal and had spiced cider for breakfast, once again enjoying the fire and the peacefulness of the area before breaking camp. Once we had packed up and hidden our packs in a small thicket, we did what I never thought I would willingly and knowingly do again: we hiked up the hill across the creek to the Flume Road. The first time we attempted this, we failed magnificently, and were rewarded with cactus in places that we'd rather not mention. The climb was still long, steep, and prickly, but the fact that we knew there was a road up there did make things easier. We did eventually get up there, and then hiked along for another 3 or 4 miles to the Flume Falls. The power plant and associated flume on the springs had just been decommissioned a few years ago, so the riparian areas surrounding Fossil Creek are still adjusting to the differences. Last year when we went to the falls, the dam itself was dry enough to walk across. This year, water poured over the berm, and we had to cross downstream of the falls. The place was as gorgeous as I remembered though. I swam through the deep pools, up the strong rapids, under the hole in the rock, and out into the still pool across from the falls before diving off of the rocks and swinging from the rope swing. Once we had played ourselves out, we headed back along the Flume Road, and then hiked/slid back to where we hid our bags and continued on downstream. From there, we stopped back at the bigger falls for some more fun. Again, we played behind the falls, jumping into the amazing current and getting tossed around in the undertow before it spit us out a few meters later. Like a happy little sea otter, I floated on my back and simply smiled at the simplicity and beauty of it all while I wore myself out swimming around the falls. Later in the afternoon, we hiked down to a smaller falls with plenty of fun areas around it and spent the last part of the day jumping off of the falls, exploring the travertine formations above the falls, and just relaxing on the smooth warm rocks along the creek. Once we were completely worn out from our playing, we returned to the car and headed back south. We stopped at a great Mexican restaurant in Payson and gorged ourselves on chips and salsa, burritos, and margaritas before making our way back to the Valley. All in all, another amazing weekend.

50 Miles of Whiskey

When I was younger back in southern Indiana, biking was a necessity if I wanted to get around anywhere. The closest neighbor kids were a quarter mile in either direction, and since we weren't allowed to take the four-wheeler on the road, biking was it. Long before my 16th birthday, I rode my beat up yellow bike and then brand new blue bike up and down the steep southern Indiana hills to Pekin (14 miles roundtrip) and Salem (12 miles roundtrip using the backroads), and I even took a 30+ mile ride to a coach's house while patches of ice still covered the roads just to see if I could (I'm pretty sure that she thought I was crazy at the time, and I don't think the feeling has changed in 12 years). My sister and neighbors and I had loads of fun on our bikes... splashing through the mud (manure...oops) pits behind my friend Ross's barn, zooming down the paved hills of Blue River Church Road, and cruising down the dirt tracks to explore abandoned houses on the Day Farm. I've loved biking in challenging conditions since I was a kid, and in that regard I haven't changed a whole lot since I was in middle school. It's only that as I have grown up, the challenges have grown up with me. This weekend's challenge was a huge step up for me in the form of Epic Ride's Whiskey Off Road 50 Proof Mountain Bike Race up in Prescott.

As soon as my lab meeting was over on Friday, I headed north on I-17 and didn't look back. I did look west towards the incredible sunset and smiled at the weekend ahead of me. I got up to Prescott around 7:30 and checked in before the pre-race meeting on the steps of the courthouse. I know I've said it before, but the mountain biking community is full of a whole bunch of really great people. I looked in vain for the rest of the Missing Link team, and in their absence, I struck up conversation with a few riders from Colorado and California. They were some really cool dudes, and we quickly passed the hour before the meeting with talk of trails and bikes and the race. Epic Rides puts on some pretty amazing events, and this one seemed like it was going to live up to my expectations. To be completely and unabashedly honest, I would probably do the races just to watch Todd, the race organizer. Normally I wouldn't pay too much attention to the pre-race meetings, but between Todd and the free shwag that was thrown at the crowd every 10 minutes or so, I was all ears while he detailed the course and how technical and tough it was going to be. I knew that it wasn't going to be a cake walk, but by the end of the meeting, I made sure that I got my share of E-caps and Hammer Gel (sorry GU, it was free...) for the challenge that lay ahead of me. I had heard horror stories attributed to the 50 mile beast from friends and past participants, and some of the team had even tried (unsuccessfully, of course) to get me to switch to the 25 mile course. Hearing Todd talk about rock gardens, gnarly drops, and grueling climbs made me wonder if I had made the right decision. After the meeting, I found my way to Al's house less than a mile from the race start and joined up with the rest of the Missing Links guys and watched ROAM, an inspiring mountain bike film that had me both excited and nervous about the next day. I chilled with the guys and nursed a water bottle until the movie was over, and then went to bed, unsure of what the next day would bring.

The morning broke to a chilly, but wonderfully sunny, Prescott day. By 8 a.m., the house was abuzz with bikes, helmets, pumps, electrolytes, energy gels, Camelbacks, adrenaline, eight excited Linkers, and one equally excited German shepard. By 8:30, Jason, Rhino, and I headed down the hill to the square for the start of the 50 mile race. The center of town was awash with the colors of sponsored covered jerseys and filled with some incredible bikes along with their equally impressive riders. The butterflies that had been hibernating in my stomach since the 24 HOP came out of their cocoons and flew around my chest once again. The three of us lined up behind the main pack, not eager to get trounced by Floyd Landis and the rest of the elites/pros at the start. At 9:01, the starting bell sounded, and the 150 or so of us headed west past the historic Whiskey Row with the shouts of our teammates and onlookers cheering us on. The course was pretty much uphill from the start as we made our way out of town towards Copper Basin Road. We spun the first five miles out on the road before turning off onto a dirt road that led to the singletrack. Jason, Rhino and I paced each other for these first few miles, each of us taking the lead on different sections before the track narrowed and we started switchbacking up a rocky section of trail. Since we had started at the back of the pack, we caught and started to pass several less technical riders at this point. Unfortunately for my single speed friends, Jason and Rhino soon fell into this group and after a few more twists up the hill, I could no longer hear them or see the red, blue and yellow of their jerseys. At this point, the singletrack became wicked fun. I rolled up and down hills, along ridges, down steep sections loaded with water bars, and finally up to the top of a hill where a few supporters had set up an "aid station" and offered Early Times whiskey to all of the riders. After that, the trail headed down again for a bit along a gorgeous ridge, and I was awed at the beauty that surrounded me. As I was headed down, I continued to pass more riders, and was feeling great about the race. I knew I couldn't have been more than ten miles in, but I was stoked at how well the ride was going. As I was coming around a bend, I came across a frustrated looking rider with his bike upside down on the narrow ledge between the hill, trail, and the steep drop-off below. He had just busted a tire and was attempting to patch up a sidewall tear... not a fun or even worthwhile endeavor, so I stopped and dug a tube out of my pack for him before continuing on, figuring that it had to be good trail karma and the rest of my ride would go well. I was rewarded a half mile later when I caught up with a biker from Eagle, CO whom I had been pacing back and forth with for some time. As I was coming down the hill, I saw him throwing rocks on the sandy trail and was completely confused until I got a little bit closer and heard the unmistakable rattle and saw the most massive snake I have ever seen in the wild curling and uncurling its coils at the edge of the trail. Finally the snake decided to go attack the rocks off trail, and the Eagle biker and I took off as fast as we could.

Shortly after the snake, we left the singletrack and returned to another dirt road that wound around the tall pine forests. The road started as a gentle incline and just kept going up for the next three miles or so. After what seemed like an eternity of rounding bends just to find another long upward straightaway, the forest finally opened up a little bit to the beautiful oasis of a white tent filled with smiling volunteers and racers stuffing their faces with food. It was a beautiful sight as I pounded up the last few meters and hopped off my bike on shaky legs. I gulped down three cups of HEED before I even had a chance to catch my breath, and then quickly moved on to goldfish crackers and bananas. Even through there was a whole array of Clif products and energy gels, the salty cheesy crackers really hit the spot and all of us kept grabbing handfuls of the little guys and gulping them down almost whole. Before long, my body had recovered a bit and I felt very satisfied at my progress so far. Jason pulled up to the checkpoint shortly after I refilled my Camelback, with Rhino about a minute after. I talked with them briefly before taking off to the left... down the dirt road to Skull Valley. I was flying down the steep road having the time of my life, my sweat dry and my legs and lungs enjoying the break. The only bad part about this part of the race was knowing that I would be traveling back on the exact same route. The looks on the faces of the pros in front of me, climbing back up from the depths of the valley, showed just how tough the course was going to be on the return trip. As I zoomed past, I exchanged motivational words for strained smiles. For nine glorious miles, I descended into the valley, with only the occasional flat spot or incline. The view going down was spectacular and with the sweet wind whistling through my helmet, I couldn't have been happier. I got down to Skull Valley in less than 40 minutes, and wasted no time in obtaining a special 50 miler's treat: an ice cream sandwich. The first few bites were heavenly, but I started talking to some of the volunteers and neglected to notice that it started melting very fast in the hot sun. The other half of my prized treat ended up in the dirt. Fortunately, there were plenty to go around, and I consumed my second one before the sun could do its work. After a little stretch, I hopped back on the bike, and headed back out on the road. I met Jason and Rhino less than a mile from the checkpoint, returned their calls of IEEEEE! and then prepared myself for the big challenge ahead of me. I could barely see the top of Sierra Prieta high above me, but I knew that if I just kept moving, I would eventually get there. I started the hills with a gleam in my eye and lungs full of oxygen at 4500 feet. As the hills became steeper and the sun became hotter, I started passing a few guys and gained some confidence that maybe it wasn't going to be so bad. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last too long. The first 3 miles or so weren't so bad, but after awhile, the never ending steepness started getting to me. Only a few more riders were left coming down, and I was alone in my challenge. My legs and heart pumping for all they were worth, I settled into a slow cadence in granny gear and kept my eye out for the next mile marker. Although there were a few downhills and flat spots, the majority was up, up, and more up. By mile 6 of the uphill, I was physically exhausted and my head was pounding with the lack of oxygen in my system. But, I still had three miles and about 600 feet of elevation before I got to the checkpoint. I popped some salt pills, sucked down some more HEED, and kept on spinning. The last mile and a half were the longest of my life. My legs were shot, shaky and threatening to cramp up. At one point, a rider came up behind me, walking his bike faster than I was biking, so I, too, hopped off and stretched out my tired legs in the grueling sun. As I did, I sucked on my Camelback and was rewarded not with gulps of cold HEED, but of the last warm dregs from the bottom of the bladder. For some reason, the lyrics of Kenny Roger's "The Gambler" popped into my head and became the cadence to my trekking. Between the hill, the heat, and the games my mind was playing trying to figure out who sang the song, the last mile was a tough one. I spent it on and off the bike, grateful that I had platform pedals and my old beat-up Salomons on, because it was definitely a hike. Once I reached the mecca that was the aid station, I was beat. I dropped Fish into the shade and headed straight for the... not Clif Bars, not even the bananas, but... the pickles. Yes, folks, pickles are my new favorite sports food. They're salty, crunchy, and full of liquid. Amazing. Along with several more handfuls of fishy crackers and a couple of brownies, I was one happy kid. By that time, the 25ers had started to come through the checkpoint, and I was getting itchy to get back on the way. Armed with two more liters of HEED and a whole lot of mental toughness, I looked up the mountain towards the Sierra Prieta overlook, another 3 miles and an additional 1000 feet... up. It wasn't getting any closer standing at the checkpoint, so I hoisted myself back into the saddle and resumed the spinning without any sight of Jason or Rhino. My pride wouldn't let me walk in front of the 25ers for the first mile or so, but after awhile the steepness and exhaustion started to kick in, so I played the on again off again game until the road burrowed itself back into the pine forests. Once protected from the sun, I began to feel better again, and I kicked it up as much as I could, telling myself that the overlook was just around the next bend. Around the 8th bend or so, I finally saw the telltale sign of the white aid station tent. Looking like a pro though I didn't feel it at all, I cruised on past the dozen riders camped out at the station and made my way back onto the beloved singletrack. By that time, I was so set on finishing, I just kept on going, knowing that if I stopped, my legs would cramp and I wouldn't be able to fight the urge to break out the camera and take pictures of the incredible scene that spread out before me. The singletrack was amazing though, its beauty quadrupled by the fact that it was DOWN. For the next ten miles, all I could focus on was getting back into town. I wore my brakes completely out, with metal rubbing on metal where the rubber had been completely stripped away from the extensive use during Skull Valley and the last few miles. As I rounded a sharp bend, a few volunteers shouted that I had one final hill and five miles left to go. After I passed them, I laughed out loud: I was six hours in and feeling great. With a new found sense of purpose, I pounded out the last long hill, intent on finishing in less than 6:30. Before I knew it, I was skidding down the last part of singletrack onto Thumb Butte Road. Back on pavement, I kicked it up into my highest gear and just cranked along like a roadie. The ride back into town lasted longer than I thought it would, and with each minute that passed closer to the 6:30 mark, I dug a little bit deeper. Finally, with the police waving me through red lights towards the square, I came to the last straightaway and rolled across the finish line at 6:28. Exhausted, but elated, I found a few of the Missing Links guys and picked up my finishing plaque. I couldn't have been happier. I did it... and not in a bad time either. We waited on Jason and Rhino, who rolled in 6:57, and then headed back to Al's for whatever calories we could scrounge up (donuts, milk, and a hamburger for me) and a shower to wash off 50 miles of dust and sweat. As tired as I was, I was on top of the world with the completion of the great challenge.

The awards ceremony was crowded, but fun with Todd, free shwag, and the whole community of mountain bikers. All five of the women who podiumed for the 50 mile race looked like pros, and I would have had to raced in 5 hours to get up there... I guess it's something to shoot for next year :). After awards we had dinner at the Brewing Company and then did an abbreviated version of a pub crawl with me downing pint after pint of water like a champ. We made it back to Al's some time later and spent the rest of the evening massaging our aching muscles and telling stories around the fire pit until I crashed, hard.

I woke up the next morning feeling completely rested without a sore muscle to be felt. I couldn't believe it. So instead of lounging around Prescott as I had planned, I headed north to join Angel and Christie for some fun in the Verde Valley. I met them in Camp Verde and Angel drove the Nissan down the 20 miles of dirt road to the Verde River. The hot springs sounded like an incredible way to relax after Saturday's race, so we crossed the river and headed up the trail to the pools. The first and only time that we had visited the hot springs was in July, when the weather was too hot to really enjoy the warm mineral waters. The area has been known to be a hangout for nudists, but since there weren't that many people there in July, we had been spared. That was not the case on Sunday. I had completely forgotten about the naked factor, and I think that all three of us were a little bit shocked when we climbed up the banks of the river to assess the scene. I had really been looking forward to slipping into the hot pools, but after we arrived, I was beginning to have second thoughts about hanging out with a bunch of old guys that were, simply put, just hanging out. I had no problem agreeing to camp out downriver for some lunch. The Verde was flowing fast, and it was still great to jump off the rocks, explore, and swim in the river. After lunch, we got up the courage to swim back upriver. It was a bit humorous/unnerving to climb up the banks with a old naked guy sitting next to where you were climbing, but it made the subsequent jump back off the ledge that much more worth it. After a few jumps near the cascades of mineral water, the lure of the pools overcame the nudity, and we joined the half dozen people already in the pool, bringing the clothed:naked ratio over .500. The water was heavenly and worth it. We spent some time in both pools, admiring the artwork on the walls and rocks and the relaxing water. After some time, we headed back downstream for some frisbee and chillin' in the cooler Verde before getting back in the pools. By that time, the pools had cleared out except for two people, and we got the enclosed pool all to our clothed selves for 5 shining minutes before a nude woman of substantial size joined us in the pool. I hadn't realized just how small the pool was until then. To her credit though, she was really nice and told us some of the history of the artwork on the walls.

After we were fully relaxed from the pools, we packed up and trekked back to the car, enjoying the beauty of the Verde valley in the late afternoon sun. It was so beautiful that we didn't want to leave, and the three of us seriously started considering options for camping that night... the prospect of returning to Phoenix was not an enjoyable thought. After some deliberation, we decided that it wouldn't be feasible considering all my camping gear was back with the Jeep in Camp Verde and that we had work to attend early in the morning, but like the children that we are, we refused to go back inside until we were sure that we had squeezed the last possible fun out of the day.

By the time we drove up and out of the Verde valley, the shadows were stretching long across the western edge of the Mogollon Rim. Despite the time, at the crossroads that would either take us left back to Camp Verde or right to Fossil Creek, we turned right. We parked near the trail to the creek and bushwacked down to the blue-green fast flowing waters below. Less than half a mile into our hike, we could not resist the temptation to play among the rapids that formed a perfect water slide. We eventually made it up to the first of the bigger falls, welcomed by the delicate smell of locust blooms. As the last remaining light filtered down over the canyon rim, I played in the strong current of the falls and jumped into the deep pools below, completely content. The sun held on for as long as it could, but the further it sank, the cooler the temperatures became, signaling that it was time to go. After stopping in at an incredible Italian restuarant in Strawberry for a warm and hearty dinner, we headed back towards Phoenix. Well past my school day bedtime, I arrived back home and crashed into bed, satisfied with the weekend's challenging ride and post-race relaxation.

Heaven and Hell

Arizona is a place of wonder, incredible diversity, unsurpassed beauty, and thousands of miles full of every adventure imaginable. We've got the world at our fingertips. Want snow? Head up to Snowbowl or Sunrise. Want sand? Head out to the dunes. Want lush green forests with tall pines? Prescott is your place. Blue waterfalls? Havasu. Red rock? Sedona. We've got it all: mountains, valleys, deserts, rivers, waterfalls, and canyons abound in this incredible state to appease climbers, hikers, mountain bikers, paddlers, and all sorts of other adventure junkies. I truly do love this crazy state most of the time, and it's easy to love during the few months that the weather is absolutely perfect in the Valley. Unfortunately, the diversity of the state means that we also have to deal with some of the not so pleasant qualities of AZ, and this weekend I got a taste of both the good and the bad.

By Friday morning, I thought I had my weekend all figured out. I was going to spend Saturday up in the Estrellas climbing Quartz Peak and Sunday somewhere with water. It sounded like a good plan to me... except that I knew that Pierre and Evelyn and another of their friends were going up to the Grand Canyon to hike rim to rim to rim. Even though they were planning on doing it over two days, not all in one go, it still sounded like an incredible weekend. All would have been fine if Pierre hadn't invited me to go. Even though they only had camping permits for three, I could join them for the majority of the hike and just do the last leg by myself. Hm... Friday afternoon at 5 p.m. wasn't the best time to plan a rim-rim-rim, but it certainly had me thinking. I wrestled with the idea for a long time, but finally decided that maybe it was best to just stick with my original plan. My weekend would be fun enough, and the Grand Canyon wasn't going anywhere.

So, Saturday morning I woke up at 6, excited about the day ahead of me. I had just put a long week behind me, and I wasn't meeting anyone out at the Estrellas, so I figured that I could sleep in for a little bit. Mistake #1. I slept till 8, got up, had a good leisurely breakfast, loaded my bike in the Jeep, and didn't get out of Tempe until it was almost 10 o'clock. The temperature wasn't much over 70 though, so I wasn't worried. It was a long drive out to the Estrellas, and by the time I got out to the mountains, the temperatures had increased about 10 degrees. I had never been on the west side of the mountains, and the diversity of Arizona really showed at this point. I drove through posh, rich subdivisions and kept on driving until I was in the scene of a wild west movie. Coyotes, tumbleweeds, and dilapidated houses became the norm, and though I could see Quartz Peak clearly ahead of me, the final 9 miles that were supposed to take me to the mountain didn't look like a road, dirt or otherwise. I don't mind dirt roads, but the one that my scribbled notes directed me to didn't appear to really qualify as a road. The two sandy ruts down the middle of someone's field didn't look too inviting, and I decided that I didn't need to mess with the inhabitants, particularily ones that carried shotguns. I turned the car around and figured that I could at least salvage some of my plans by getting some mountain biking in at the Estrella Regional Park. Again, my notes on the back of a post-it note weren't the greatest, and I found the main entrance to the park before I found the competitive track, paying for the mistake with a $6 entrance fee. I figured that I'd take some turns around the trails in the park and then cut across the little bit of desert to the competitive track, hopefully looking at a 20 mile day. Unfortunately, by 11, the temperatures were hovering around 90 and as I rolled up to the trailhead, I was greeted with sand, rocks, and an entire landscape of DEAD. It was a little bit depressing after our green spring, but I headed out anyways, eager to give my new front tire a chance to prove its worth. The tire did great across sandy washes and up rocky inclines, but both Fish and I were completely bored. The trail was rocky, but not technical and the scenery was less than inspiring. It was then and there that I realized the importance of friends, goals, and beautiful surroundings. With any one of the three, I could have squeezed some fun out of the dry desert, but lacking them I also lacked motivation. I stopped under a mesquite tree for a bit of respite from the hot sun and let out a sigh in my boredom. Almost on cue but quite unexpectedly, Fish sighed back at me. When your bike sighs at you when you are several miles from anywhere and without a spare tube, you know that it's not your day. His back tire bore about 5 different thorns and I didn't have enough patches to repair it, so I resigned myself to walking back to the Jeep. I tried to find some sort of beauty in the desert, to find some reason to enjoy the hike back, but I really couldn't. I dubbed the area death valley on my long walk back. The only green along the trail consisted of a few creosote bushes. The ground in the washes was cracked in the dry heat, and the blooms on the hedgehog cacti had dried up before they could fully open. Even a saguaro along the trail had given up hope and lay crumpled on the desert floor. Everything that had been in full glory just a month ago had turned into shriveled, colorless, crunchy stalks that were gradually remorphing into the dust from which they had formed. Buzzards circled overhead, only confirming my feelings. I returned to the Jeep a few hours later wishing that I had followed my instincts on Friday and had gone to the Grand Canyon instead. I ended my day at REI stocking up on my semiannual ration of Slime tubes and also picked up a book that will probably become my bible this summer: Day Trips with a Splash, Swimming Holes of the Southwest. After a day in the heat of the valley, I spent the evening cleaning my bike, changing tubes, and drooling at the waterfalls and rapids that adorned the pages of the magnificent book.

If Saturday was my purgatory, then Sunday was heaven. With the new book as our guide, Hannah and I took a trip up Hwy 87 to Gisela, a small ranching community smack dab in the middle of nowhere. After winding around a dirt road for a little bit, we came to a ranch and a trail that pointed us towards a swimming hole on Tonto Creek. After about a mile on a dirt track and trail, we reached the creek: deep and full of clear, cold water. The initial swimming hole by the gauging station was beautiful in itself, but we hadn't even begun. A short distance upstream we reached the Tonto Narrows where the creek constricts into rapids and deep pools bordered by smooth granite cliffs and boulders. The place was incredible, and we shared the narrows with only one other group. Of course, we weren't satisfied with just sitting around on the rocks sunning ourselves all day, so we headed upstream to see what else we could find. Similar to my other favorites, Havasu and Fossil Creek, each bend in the stream provided a new surprise, be it a tall jumping cliff, a boulder field, rapids, deep green pools, or a perfect sandy beach to camp on. Both Hannah and I were in awe of our new find, and we happily bounded along for about a mile, bushwacking up some areas, standing on tall cliffs above the water, and wading through the creek in other places. We could have explored the entire canyon, but since we are definitely coming back to the area for some backpacking fun this summer when the temperatures in Phoenix drive us out of the Valley, we had to save some of it for later exploration. After remaining relatively calm most of the trip upstream, I could not contain myself as we turned around. Despite the cold, I plopped down in one of the many gushing rapids and enjoyed the best waterslide I've been in since Beaver Falls at Havasu. The water is probably the result of snowmelt further up the Rim and it was freezing, but I didn't mind too much once I got used to its refreshing temperatures, and I spent the entire hike back jumping off the rocks, sliding through the rapids, and testing the depth of pools for future diving reference. Rather than bushwacking up and over one particularily spiny section, we opted to swim, attempting to keep our bags above our heads. We had limited success, and let me just say it's a weird feeling to be diving to the bottom of a deep pool for your camera and not be worried about it (thanks Dad for the camera and Pentax for making such a tough machine!). By the time we got back to the Narrows, we couldn't stop smiling, and we met one other group that were enjoying the spot. They confirmed that not too many people visited the area, and those that did weren't apt to explore too deep into the canyon. Tonto Creek is definitely on my top ten list of favorite places in AZ, and I'd say it's probably vying for a podium spot.

An added bonus to the place is that even though we spent the majority of the day hiking and splashing and having a great time, we still got back to Tempe by 4. The fact that it's only an hour and twenty minutes away makes it even sweeter. Since I was full of adrenaline and Fish was looking for redemption, I headed out for a short, hard evening ride around Tempe. In a true Arizona classic, I rode into the sunset along Tempe Town Lake admiring the beauty of my surroundings and a large flock of swallows that were dipping and diving along the water's edge eating... gnats! Millions of the buggers. In one breath, I must have swallowed at least a dozen and lodged another half dozen in each eyeball with a few more up the nose just for good measure. I tried not to breathe as I attempted to pedal out of the swarm, the bugs pelting me like rain at 25 miles an hour. Eventually, though, I did ride up and out of the bugs and had an enjoyable remainder of the ride past Priest, down the south side of the lake past the Center for the Arts, and then back home as the sun's light completely faded and my weekend of heaven and hell came to an end.