Spokin’ Sportsmans

Through the first 21 days of 2010..

Despite the lack of snow, we have been skate skiing (although I still haven’t used my new-to-me alpine touring gear, again, see the lack of snow)

we have ridden our fixies

we have even ridden our roadies

we have travelled for work

we have continued home projects

we have been sick ( H1N1 has reached the Sportsman residence North of the 49th)

we have yogacized

we have imitated runners

and we have lounged

but, on the 22nd day of 2010

we built Emily’s Song and sought some singletrack

there was a little mud, but it was pretty good for Vancouver in January, unless you want snow..

wet enough to create doubts leading up this ride

but the shorter ones were effortless for the more-than-utilitarian Walt

ultimately, we covered 30 km of damp, but glorious North Shore Single Track (including the roads to and fro) before Emily realized that she had no front brake (because her new-to-North-Vancouver-wrench didn’t bleed the brakes after they sat in a box for four months), so we headed home

Emily, still sick, without a voice, but rocking her new F88Me wool jersey and smiling to be back on her Siren Song 55, replete with new ti tubes

we won’t go so long without a mountain bike ride again…

A new color in the hallway.**

Daffodil sunshiny yellow as counterpoint to a Pacific Northwest winter and a new happy color on my Siren that has come back home!

Scott is building my Siren up right now so I can ride it tomorrow.  And I quote “Why do you want gears anyway?”

I remember an essay from high school english that was assigned after reading Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest on the theme of ignorance is bliss.  After returning to mountain biking in 2007 after almost 8 years off (! sad dark years best forgotten), I bought an Enduro.  I happily rode the Enduro on the Shore, in Squamish, on the ‘epic’ XC trails of Whistler.  Plans to ride in the Chilcotens thwarted only by a broken arm. Heck, the Enduro even raced in the 2008 BC Bike Race to a solid mid-pack finish.   Then sweetest Scott was in my life…taking me to the open xc goodness in southern Cali, letting me ride and race his 29′er single speed.

Sweetest Scott and his arsenal of sweet XC thrills meant the Enduro was judged to be lacking.  Blissful ignorance replaced with lust.  Bike lust was soothed with the Siren.  Now I simply lust after speed and skill and the desire to be fast!!

**My favorite part of this picture, aside from Oskar Kat sitting guard under the wine,  is the postcard on the lower right hand corner of the framed geological sections.  A postcard I found a couple of years ago in a box of paperwork. A postcard to me, from Scott, when he was travelling in France to attend a conference on his research at Mines.  Many years between then and now…how different life would be if we had found the courage to go on a date over 10 years ago…

The September long weekend was forecast to be rainy and cool and we were heading north of Vancouver.  We briefly considered heading south to central Washington state but Scott bought us Gore-tex socks.  What’s a little rain when your feet are dry and warm? 

 North of Squamish, north of Whistler, north of Pemberton and still the southern/central part of the province; the Chilcotins hint at the vastness of BC and Canada.   Following the 4 hour drive, we set up camp at the Frieburg forest service recreation area on the banks of Tyaughten Lake.  The Saturday dawn was muted by clouds.  I was not muted, but rather giggled with delight every time a fish jumped out of the lake to eat a bug.  Totally entertained.  When Scott finally convinced me to lycra up, we headed north with the idea of slogging up Taylor Creek to Spruce Lake keeping plans for the return trip vague.  For 2 very experienced outdoor people, we are quite complacent about mis-turns and ended up in the Cinnabar Basin rather than Taylor Creek.   Not lost, just exploring on the fly.

Cinnabar was steep and empty of people. 

We climbed.

We hiked. 

We got rained on. We got to the top.  The top was cold and windy and rainy (and no, it wasn’t Windy Pass– that was for tomorrow!).  The trail we ascended was not on the map and with the clouds covering us and obscuring every peak we couldn’t get good sight lines for orientation. 

Contrary to previous trips, we prudently descended the same trail we took up.  Doesn’t it look like there should be a bear in there?  This is grizzly country. 

A short 40ish km day with 1800 m climbing and DRY feet!  Resting up for tomorrow.

Sunday was to be our biggish day.  Ride to Gun Creek, Climb Gun Creek to Spruce Lake, Spruce Lake to Windy Pass, down Eldorado Basin, up the last ridge, down Lick Trail and then roll into camp.  We had heard that Lick Trail was the best descending single track in the south Chilcotin.  The morning was good as our goal was to ride more than we hike-a-biked.  The weather was nicer than Saturday with periods of blue sky and warmth.  Our greatest frustration was the thick silty-clayey mud, a contrast to the sandy mud of Cinnabar Basin, robbing our traction. 

We had lunch at Spruce Lake.  Spruce Lake is the common fly-in drop off for mtn bikers and hikers who ’shuttle’ via float-plane and use the public shelter as a base camp for exploration (mmmmm, plans for next year!). 

Leaving Spuce Lake was a steep and long climb to Windy Pass, almost none of it rideable due to steepness and mud.  As we approached the pass, our neighbor at the campsite was already heading down.  He grunted up High Trail and was planning on camping at Spruce Lake for the night.  We thought he was crazy.  He carried all of his gear in a backpack, was wearing baggies and a tank top and had switched to his platform pedals that morning!  Urgh, a longish XC bike packing trip in the rain, carrying all the weight on his back (a full 40 L Arcteryx bag), wearing wet baggies and giving up the ability to pedal uphill.  

Finally the top of Windy Pass.  No friends on a powder day…Is there a singletrack equivalent??

How can you not be happy here?

We had anticipated a long day and brought headlamps as a security blanket.  As we approached the final climb of the day, the sun was shining, we still had food and water in the camelbaks, some strength in the legs and smile on our faces.  Since I posses a granny gear, I was leading the climb and snagged my handelbars on a small spruce tree adhacent to the trail.  I hollared at Scott to watch his Jones bars coming through before realizing that my back wheel wasn’t moving.  I was experiencing my first ride-ending, major mechanical bike failure within site of the tasty singletrack reward we had steadily ridden towards for 8+ hours.  The ride was over.  But camp was down there.  Down by that picturesque blue lake highlighted by the setting sun.

Scott is my ideal partner.  He did not for a fraction of a heartbeat consider taking the descent and meeting me at the bottom of the trail.  He shouldered my bike, and without a single complaint, just the recognition of a missed treasure, started down the trail.  Down all 15 kms of the trail.  Through grizzly and black bear country at night, with a disappointed wife.  I am thrilled at how we worked together in a potentially difficult situation.  One of our interesting conversations- loud conversations for the benefit of Mr and Mrs Bear- discussed what we would have done had the mechanical happened when we were 30 kms out instead of 15 kms.   I would have gone to Spruce Lake and waited for the next day’s float plane to drop off passengers and then arrange a flight out!  But I’m lazy like that.

As we approached camp almost 12 hours after leaving, my crankiness multiplied.  Since we are down the mountain and back at camp, there was no need to keep my wits.  Scott had to ask the other campers to turn their music down (seriously WTF with the noise?  Silence is not evil), they replied that the loudness was b/c the speakers were pointed towards out tent.  No, I commented, it is loud because the volume is turned up and there are NO WALLS. You are outside. 

This seemed like the best remedy for my soul. Followed by a bomber of Thelonium Monk tripel.