Blowin' in the Wind

For much of the past week the winds have been blowing in West Texas and Eastern New Mexico. On Sunday (April 10th), after wandering in the dry, arid desert, fighting the 25-35 mph winds (with gusts up to 60mph), seeing nothing but brown earth and beige colored skies, I did an “about face” and headed eastward.



Yes, I know. That's the opposite direction I've been going. But there is another reason for the about face – a doctor's appointment awaits me in Indiana in less than two weeks. It is one that was made in February as a follow-up to the sinus and ear infection I had after Mom's funeral and an appointment which I never canceled. So I knew that if I was going to keep it, I didn't want to get too far west and have a really long drive back. The wind, the brownness, and the wind were just the things that turned me back a little sooner than anticipated.



I had thought about canceling the doctor's appointment, but with the way my leg has been acting up, figured I had better take advantage of it to find out what is going on. I think it is just a pulled muscle, but who knows?



I will admit, I terribly missed the green that I left behind a week ago. I'm not sure why the desert conditions bothered me so easily this time. Last year I spent more than two months in Texas, Arizona and the deserts of California. Perhaps it was a part of my state of mind this time around – thinking a lot (too much) about my Aunt Phyllis, my Mother, and my friend Lorene. Realizing that I will never see them again...



So, I'm going back to Indiana. At least for as long as it takes to find out about what is going on with the leg. And then? Well, I'll let you know when I know! But "The Journey" isn't over yet!





Brantley Lake State Park, New Mexico. April 7th.



Driving conditions east of Amarillo on Sunday, April 10th. The sky was really much more beige colored than gray as this photo shows. This was typical of the drive on Sunday. I was just glad I was going east – the wind was coming from the west. The hundred miles or so that I had to drive north was a real challenge!





Great Plains State Park April 10th. Compliments of Mother Nature throwing a hissy fit – the sand and dust in the air makes for a great sunset filter!





Great Plains State Park April 10th. In southwestern Oklahoma on the shore of Lake Tom Steed, a reservoir that provides water for the area.

When Do We Need a Cargo Bike?

I am thoroughly enjoying test riding the Xtracycle Radish I have on loan for review. What impresses me the most is not so much its hauling capacity (which I take for granted since it is, after all, a cargo bike), as its handling. The Radish is a great ride. It is fast. It is geared for hills. It is easy in stop-and-go traffic, remaining stable when starting and stopping. It is lovely on dirt trails. It likes to keep its line, and I can even ride it no hands - no easy feat for me on most bikes! In other words, I really, really like it.




So now I find myself manufacturing tasks in order to have excuses to ride this cool bike and test its hauling capacity. I should load it up with some Bromptons (done - too easy). I should use it to bring home a Festivus tree. I should borrow some neighbourhood children. I should take the cats skiing. All this brainstorming makes me aware that I don't, strictly speaking, actually need a cargo bike as part of my daily routine. "Don't need a cargo bike?! But you're car free, of course you need a cargo bike!" a friend exclaims. Two years ago, I would have agreed. There are groceries, the hardware store, photo equipment, art supplies, disassembled bikes, large packages. But after all this time, I've adapted to having limited hauling capacity and now only rarely need to transport large or heavy loads. The Radish is a bike I want to need, but in reality would use only occasionally.




On that note, I am curious how often cargo bike owners actually ride theirs cargo bikes. Is it your main ride or a supplementary bike? Do you find yourself riding it more or less frequently the longer you own it? "Soon you'll find all sorts of uses for it, and won't be able to do without," I am told. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm afraid of!

ATV Time

We took the ATV's out the other day after a rain, to see how bad a shape the roads were in. Nothing to bad but a few were washed out some.

Seminole Canyon State Park

After leaving Padre Island, I headed west on Texas Route 44 connecting to U.S 83 west of Encinal. From there it was north to Uvalde, which has a very nice public library with excellent wifi, where I was able to schedule those posts on Padre Island. The next morning it was west on U.S. 90 with Big Bend National Park as the next destination. I was tempted to stop at one of the camping areas in the Amistad National Recreation Area just west of Del Rio but the campgrounds I saw weren't all that appealing so I continued on a little ways to Seminole Canyon State Park near Comstock.

The campground was on the top of a very large hill. The sites were quite nice, with a covered picnic table, which provided some protection from the sun but none whatsoever from the wind!

Arriving at Seminole Canyon in the early evening of February 19th, it was too late in the day to hike the trail to the canyon, a six mile roundtrip, but it wasn't too late to catch a wonderful sunset!

Time Trial Country

"Mind you, this is only a club time trial," Chris Sharp explains as we set off toward the start on our bikes. But a small club event is exactly what I want to see. The riders in the spirit of competition, but still in their element. The local atmosphere.This is what I think is known as a training racein the US. Staged fairly frequently, it allows riders to test their fitness at different points in the season.





Time trials are a very particular form of racing, and a long standing tradition in the UK and Ireland. In the year 1890 bicycle racing was banned on public roads, permitted only on indoor tracks. This ban brought about a new form of racing, done under the radar of the law. Instead of racing each other outright, cyclists would start at individual intervals and race against the clock. Without drafting or riding in a bunch, there was nothing overtly identifying their activities as a road race. Participants wore no race numbers or club jerseys, adapting instead a style of all-black attire. Races were held in secret, the dates and start times shared through word of mouth. Part secret society, part act of rebellion, the tradition of time trials was born. And although the road racing ban has long since been lifted (I believe in the 1950s), time trials remain popular in the British Isles.






Here in the Roe Valley - a coastal region in the Western part of Northern Ireland - the landscape lends itself to time trials remarkably well. There are long, flat stretches with very little car traffic, where it's possible to pick up some real speed. There are also small, but quite steep mountains for hill climb time trials. Pick whichever you like, or try both.




On this particular evening, members of the Roe Valley Cycling Clubgather to compete in a 25 mile time trial: Two loops along the scenic coastal roads, twice crossing the beautiful river Roe. We pull into a parking lot outside of Limavady, just as the riders are assembling their bikes and getting prepared.





For those unaccustomed to modern time trial equipment, both the bikes and the riders are a sight to see.Aero bars, aero tubing, aero wheels, aero helmets...





Since drafting is not permitted, much of time trialing is about reducing the individual rider's air resistance. The specialised equipment is designed to facilitate this. The rider's position is quite aggressive, with a steep seat tube and set-forward saddle placing them right over the bottom bracket. In the aero position, they ride with a flat back.





I try not to bother the racers at the start, but they are friendly and relaxed.








We meet several of them, including Laura Maxwell - Junior Ladies Ulster Hill Climb champion -whom Chris has been coaching for the past 4 years.




Recently turned 17, this is Laura's last year racing as a junior on limited gearing. Having trained for 10 mile time trials so far, the evening's 25 mile course would be a new challenge.She is the only junior and the only female racing today.






Once the riders' bikes are prepped, all gathered move on from the parking lot to the start of the race - a field along an adjacent road.






These are race marshals, riders, some family members there as support crews, even a few spectators.






I meet Wallace Donaghy. In the 1950s he raced with theCity ofDerry Wheelmen, time trial and road. No longer racing himself, he comes to watch the local riders. Today Wallace rides a Raleigh Appalachian - a lugged steel mountain bike circa 1989. He also has a carbon race bike. He examines my titanium frame as we discuss frame materials, waiting for the race to start.






The riders line up for their starts at intervals. Watching this is fascinating.






A marshall holds the bike by the saddle as the rider clips in, then continues to hold the bike in place. Another marshall then starts counting back from 15 seconds.






When the sign to go is given, it appears as if the marshall at the back is simply letting go of the saddle and the rider slingshots forward. In fact, it's explained to me, the marshal gives the rider a little push, allowing them to start in a bigger gear that otherwise feasible.






As the rider takes off, they start off holding the wider set of handlebars. These somewhat resemble "bullhorns," and are equipped with inverse brake levers.






Standing on the pedals and rocking the bike back and forth, the rider quickly gets up to speed and switches to the aero position. This is exciting to watch. They take off in a violent sort of dance, before finally turning smooth as liquid as they disappear into the distance.






Once all the riders take off, we cycle over to a spot just before the finish line to watch them race at speed. They would be passing us twice, the course consisting of two laps.





Some time passes before we see them, but finally we spot the first rider in the distance. The support crews and spectators cheer for them, then the next and the next.





When we spot Laura, the crowd goes wild - her mother, sister and uncle.






On her second go around the course, I stand closer to get a better look. She is in the zone, head down, eyes forward, a faint smile on her lips as she flies past us. Her posture on the bike is amazing: Her entire body perfectly still, except for the legs going round and round in circles.






One by one I watch the riders pass. There is an almost coccoon-like stillness around each one, as if each is in their own little world, surrounded by a force field.






On the final lap, I watch one rider pass another. This can be quite challenging in a time trial: The rider must pass immediately, since they are not allowed to draft.






Making our way to the finish, we arrive to the sight of riders cooling down, drinking, chatting with each other about the race. Laura did well, particularly considering the new distance. The numbers don't mean much to me yet, but I am interested nonetheless and listen to the rider's chatter intently.






The sun begins to set. This happens slowly here. It will not be dark for hours yet. The riders set off to their homes, in surrounding towns, villages and farms. I put my camera away and get back on my bike. "How did you like that, then?" Chris asks. I shake my head and smile, as we cross the River Roe for the 3rd time that evening. Of all the things I saw, it's the stillness of the riders that is etched in my memory. The absolute stillness against the wind, with only the legs going round in circles.

Funny face, I love you!

This has to be one of my favorites (it's been cropped and enlarged to show their expressions). On the back is written: "Grandma with Phyllis Phend & Francis Palmer. They each weigh 20 pounds & my arms are nearly broke." The "Grandma" in the picture is my 2nd great grandmother Malissa Joslin Brubaker Bower and she would have been about 74 years old at the time, which I estimate to be the summer of 1923.

August 1972 at the San Diego Zoo. My brother, Jack, got tired of me taking his picture. Just as I was about to snap one more, he decided to hide behind the booklet he was reading. I like how his ear and hairline blend in with the picture of the monkey (or baboon or whatever it is). Of course, this could be one of those instances where it is only funny if you were there ;-) but we always get a good chuckle out of it. And there are other good memories that go along with it too. We were both in the Navy, he was stationed on the West coast and I was on the East (at Bainbridge, Maryland). We both took leave and met at home in Indiana then he and I drove back to San Diego together. We were young, we had fun.

Contributed to the 6th Edition of Smile For The Camera :: Show us that picture that never fails to bring a smile to your face! An amusing incident, a funny face, an unusual situation. Choose a photograph of an ancestor, relative, yourself, or an orphan photograph that tickles your Funny Bone. . .

Thunderstorm over Wooly's Bluff

Taken last night at the end of the Arrowhead Trail at McFarland Lake. We were hoping for clear skies to try some star trail photography over the lake, but with the forecast calling for rain we knew it wasn't a good chance of clear skies. On the other hand, we knew that with the forecast being what it was there was a possibility of seeing some lightning if the thunderstorms that were forecast arrived early enough. Sure enough, not long after we arrived at the lake it was very cloudy and we saw some lightning flashes across the lake. Before long we were seeing lightning bolts coming down on the far shore. It made for a fun show for about an hour, then the rain came and we had to pack up our gear.

More Deer

Here you can see three deer in the grass. At the corner of the wall just beyond the deer on the walkway, by the tall tree is where they jumped over the wall to go meandering down through the meadow.

Sunset at Horsethief Campground

Utah is blessed with five National Parks, two of them near Moab – Arches and Canyonlands. I decided to try and find somewhere else to stay for a couple more nights rather than having to “wait and see” if a camp site was available at Arches.

The road to Canyonlands is a few miles north of Arches but then it is a 30+ mile drive to get into the Park and the campground is a little further in. It is a magnificent drive however. Arriving at the Canyonlands campground I discovered that there are only 12 sites! 12. Of course, they were all taken. Ugh. But, the Ranger says “There is a BLM campground ten miles back from the park entrance.” I had passed it on my way in but didn't check it out because it was on an unpaved road. So I turned around and went back.

Horsethief Campground is on a high plateau with little protection from the wind and other elements but it is in a beautiful location. The amenities are few. A place to park, pit toilets, no water. If you put up a tent you have to use rocks to keep it in place – stakes just can't go through solid rock! But there were a couple of the 60 or so sites still available; I ended up staying there for three nights, using it as a base camp to explore the area – Canyonlands, Arches, and Moab.

It was early afternoon when I arrived at Horsethief Campground and as I was walking back to my site from dropping off payment, there was Hunter (the older gentleman with whom I had shared a site last night at Arches)! He was sitting at a picnic table in the site a short distance from mine. We talked for a few minutes then I headed back to my site. I had decided to spend the afternoon just lazying around, reading a book, relaxing.

It wasn't too much later that the sky quickly darkened and gray clouds moved in above us. I grabbed my chair and book and slid into the van just as rain came pouring down. It lasted a good while, well into the evening and cleared up shortly before sunset. Along with about a dozen other campers, I made my way out of the campground to a little rise for a good view of the sunset. I looked for Hunter but didn't see him. I stopped at his site on the way back to mine but he was no where around. I didn't see him again. In the morning I was just getting out of bed when I heard something hit the windshield. I looked out and Hunter was walking away toward his site. By the time I got out of the van he was gone, but he had left me a note beneath the wiper blade, now soaked by the morning dew. It said, simply “Becky – Happy Trails. Hunter.” What a touching gesture. What a sweet man he was.

If I get nothing else out of this journey, the joy and pleasure of meeting some wonderful people, will suffice. I find it truly amazing how quickly friendships form. We meet someone, spend a few minutes or hours together, then go our separate ways. But the thoughts and memories linger and I often wonder about them. Larry, at Big Bend. Sophia, on top of Angels Landing. Hunter, at Arches and Horsethief. I've been astounded by the people I've met on the trail who, after talking with them for perhaps half an hour, have invited me to visit them when I get in their area – they have given me their email and phone number and fully expect me to contact them. And I just might! This has been an incredible experience thus far – almost nine months on the road – and it isn't over yet!

Badlands :: A Prairie Dog Town

Wednesday, August 24th - - After the bison had moved along, so too did I. Traveling a short distance on the gravel road, I stopped at the Prairie Dog Town and watched the little critters for a while. Some were rather close to the road but as soon as I opened the door and stood up they all scurried off to their burrows. So I got back inside Van Dora and waited a few minutes until they decided to come back out. All of these photos are cropped, some more so than others.





Youngsters. Not sure they should go down into the safety of their burrow or stay outside. A second later and they had disappeared.





Oftentimes you see more with the camera (thank you, whomever invented the zoom lens!) than you do with the naked eye. This little fellow, and the ones below, were quite a distance from a burrow and fairly close to the road, sampling the morsels provided by Mother Nature.











It was so much fun watching these little guys. They were quick to scurry off in every direction at the lightest noise – a cough, a clearing of the throat, even sometimes the sounds of the camera.

Assateague Island :: Adieu

It was with some degree of sadness that I bid farewell to Assateague on Saturday morning (October 24th). It had been so peaceful and quiet the previous four days but when Friday evening arrived so did more people. The campground loop where I was staying, which had been nearly vacant, was now filled with weekend visitors. The spell was broken, it was time to go. Besides, rain was in the forecast for the next few days!

The golden glow of the sunset over the marsh. My last night at Assateague.

Not as colorful as the morning's sunrise had been, but quite lovely. Indeed.

I Got the Elbow Blues

(Photo: Elbows.)



Just a week ago last Thursday, I was feeling like I'd settled into a reasonably good place from which to start the season.



There were a bunch of new problems on the "Highball Wall" at Brooklyn Boulders. I love seeing the new problems. I know we are just talking about the gym, and that it isn't a big deal. But I always get a little bit excited when I see a wall full of new routes. Judging from the ridiculous crowds that always surround the new problems, I'm not the only one who feels this way. True to past trends, the newly set wall was utterly mobbed last Thursday.



I jumped in, despite the crowds.



After speeding through many of the easier climbs I was feeling pretty good. I made quick work of a couple of the V5's and then with a little bit of concentrated effort I sent a V6. This was by no means a great accomplishment. Anyone can do it. But for me it was not a trivial thing. All winter long I've been trying to get myself into a new mindset in which I think of every V5 as a climb I will send (as opposed to a project for some other day) and every V6 as a climb I can do with some work (as opposed to a climb reserved for someone better than me).



As I finished the V6 and dropped to the floor I heard an onlooker say "that was awesome." It took a second for it to sink in that this person was talking about me! I wasn't accustomed to hearing such exclamations about me. And it's true, it was a little bit awesome. I'd never scoped out a V6 and put it all together so quickly before. A year or two ago I might have been that same onlooker, thinking the same thing, in effect saying "that looks so hard, it is surely out of my league."



But now with the new mindset I was approaching just about any climb as if I might be able to do it.



And maybe this approach was working.



Or maybe this was just an easy V6.



Afterwards I sat down and watched a very strong climber tackle a V9+. This problem involved a series of long reaches between awful slopers. He'd been working the route for a while and shortly after my victory on the V6 he finally sent the V9+. He was ecstatic about it, and with good reason. The climb looked terribly terribly hard, much too difficult for even my new hard-charging persona to consider attempting.



I listened as he talked to another super-strong climber.



"I must have been here for six hours yesterday," he said. "My tendons feel like they could explode at any moment."



The other climber gave him a concerned look. "Do you use ice?" he asked. "I ice my arms after every hard session."



I wondered if this made sense. I'd read conflicting advice about using ice. In any event I empathized with these super-climbers with the sore tendons, because I was growing more than a little bit worried about my own.



Over the last few months I'd gradually noticed that my elbows seemed to be sore a lot. There would be some pain on the inside (medial) edge of both elbows when I warmed up, and then the soreness would go away while I climbed, only to return later at random times. Sometimes the elbows would throb while I lay in bed at night, or while I sat at my desk at work. It was more of an occasional annoyance than an impediment to climbing. I was concerned, but not enough to do much of anything about it.



Until recently, that is. As the outdoor climbing season approached and the problem seemed to be getting worse, I looked to the Internet for answers. I soon found a nice piece by Dr. Julian Saunders, the sports doctor who writes for Rock & Ice Magazine. In the article he describes my recent symptoms pretty much exactly and says they suggest a condition called tendonosis, a degeneration of the tendon cell at the elbow.



Dr. Saunders prescribes some exercises with a barbell to strengthen the tendons. It seemed like a reasonable approach to me so I ordered a set of barbells. I hoped that if I followed Dr. Saunders' program the problem would gradually disappear over time. The best part of the doctor's advice, from my perspective, was that he said nothing at all about taking a break from climbing. The last thing I wanted to do was to stop climbing. The season was just about to begin. I was already planning to go to the Gunks with Gail on March 10, when it was supposed to be 50 degrees in New Paltz.



While I was at it I decided to order a massage tool called The Stick. I came across a testimonial to its effectiveness for sore elbows and decided it might also help.



But I didn't get a chance to start either of these new therapies. Before my packages arrived I realized I had a new, more severe elbow problem.



I went back to Brooklyn Boulders on Sunday, just a few days after my little V6 triumph. As I warmed up I gradually realized my right elbow was sore in a new way. I really felt it when I pulled on holds and the pain wasn't going away as I warmed up. There was something wrong. Eventually I abandoned the session and went home.



Where did this new injury come from? I have no idea.



Once I was aware of the pain, I noticed I was feeling it all the time. It hurt to yank open the refrigerator, or to squeeze a water bottle. I detected noticeable swelling on my arm near the elbow right where the pain was. This was bad, worse than just tendonosis. I feared I must have torn something, somehow.



So I went to the doctor. I got a referral from my GP and luckily could get an appointment to see a specialist within the week. I met with him yesterday. He seems like a good guy, young and smart; understanding of the climbing mindset. I told him the whole story and he agreed with Dr. Saunders' diagnosis. He took an x-ray (which looked fine) and did his own examination. He made me an appointment to have an MRI done so we could get a better sense of the damage. He strongly suggested I stop climbing, at least for a few weeks while we sort out how bad the immediate trauma to my elbow is and start some physical therapy.



I am really bummed out.



And the MRI this morning didn't help matters. Have you ever had an MRI? This was my first. I imagine the procedure would be bad enough if you could lie on your back. Even in that relatively comfortable position, the experience of sliding into that narrow tube and remaining perfectly still as the machine screams like an invading alien army for half an hour would be enough to induce existential terror. Add to this nightmarish scenario a position on your stomach with the bad arm outstretched, the other one pinned to your side, both arms falling asleep... and you get the picture. Not fun.



I still hope to have a climbing season. Maybe in a few weeks I can get back to it, taking it easy. I haven't been climbing outside since November and I am as desperate as a man can be to get out there. But I want to be smart and give myself the best chance to heal. I have a climbing trip planned to Squamish in June and I really want to be able to go. I must take care of myself until then.



I will keep you posted.



Getting old is a drag.

Redbud and Sandias

Here is one of our redbud trees with a view of the Sandia Mountains behind it.