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The Cycling Cycle

Although I’ve been mountain biking since I was a teenager, that activity has never teetered toward mundane. How could the exhilaration of aerobic accomplishment accompanied by the beauty of remote landscapes and a touch of danger ever get old? It’s a stupid question so don’t bother trying to answer it.

Sharp peaks topped with tenacious snow above fields of wild grasses gorged on spring's runoff: rides don't get prettier than this.
Sharp peaks topped with tenacious snow above fields of wild grasses gorged on spring’s runoff: rides don’t get prettier than this.
Adam didn't welcome the uphill portion of Big Springs Hollow but he did love zooming down.
Adam didn’t welcome the uphill portion of Big Springs Hollow but he did love zooming down.

Once the lingering bits of stubborn snow finally receded last spring, Jason and I went mountain biking as often as possible, too many times for each of our adventures to warrant its own fuss. Instead, all those experiences have been lumped together into this giant tribute to a summer of marvelous cycling.

You may not be able to see the little bumps on Abigail's arm in this tiny picture but they are there and they were the workings of a stinging nettle consortium.
You may not be able to see the little bumps on Abigail’s arm in this tiny picture but they are there and they were the workings of a stinging nettle consortium.
We are Lambert Park regulars.
We are Lambert Park regulars.

The first trail we hit this year, outside Moab of course, was Big Springs Hollow in Provo Canyon. This ride has a relentless uphill portion but the trip down, through lush meadows and pleasant woods, is completely worth that exertion. We took our friends Adam and Abigail with us on this inaugural occasion in hopes that it would convince them to continue their pursuit of pedaling and perhaps it would have had fate, and a bridge, not intervened. Abigail swerved around a corner too fast while descending the mountain and skidded off a rail-less bridge into a healthy bunch of stinging nettle growing brookside. This bridge was only a couple of feet from the ground but, since it was Abigail’s first mountain-biking tumble, she was pretty shaken by the affair and completely convinced that the plants she’d encountered were poison ivy. (They were not. If you doubt me, I have photographic proof and would be happy to share it because I am a pesky know-it-all.) Needless to say, Abigail has not expressed interest in riding with us since. For some, the dangers of mountain biking are all very well until they actually become dangerous. Maybe someday Abigail will forget that mountain biking hurts and concede to try it again.

Chunks of Lambert Park were in this sad state when we rode it in August.
These hardy grasses had been utterly flattened by surges of water.
These hardy grasses had been utterly flattened by surges of water.
Chunks of Lambert Park were in this sad state when we rode it in August.

Besides Big Springs Hollow, Jason and I rode many of our other usual paths this year: Lambert Park, Mill Creek Canyon, Corner Canyon and American Fork Canyon. Most of our rides were pretty uneventful with just the usual scrapes and some mouth-dropping scenery but a couple were a little more out of the norm.

Mud doesn't bother me until it clogs my gears and immobilizes my tires.
Mud doesn’t bother me until it clogs my gears and immobilizes my tires.
Goo this thick accumilated on my bike every few minutes while we were riding the shady side of American Fork Canyon.
Goo this thick accumulated on my bike every few minutes while we were riding the shady side of American Fork Canyon.

We hit Lambert Park in August, about three or four days after a rainstorm, and were quite surprised by the condition of the landscape. Some of you may recall the giant fire started near Lambert Park in 2012 that consumed a greater part of the mountain and threatened to burn a number of enormous homes. Well, due to the barren hillsides left in that blaze’s wake, what had been just a little summer rain for everyone else in the valley had become a mudslide and flooding threat for those singed foothills. We were astonished to find that the area had been disfigured by floodwaters only days before our ride. Huge expanses of bush and grass had been ripped out and washed over, parts of the trails that used to dip and rise had been leveled and thick muck had filled the gaps between the trunks of startled trees. It was boggling.

American Fork Canyon is always gorgeous when its leaves sing their annual gilded-swansong.
American Fork Canyon is always gorgeous when its leaves sing their annual gilded-swansong.
A ride up Corner Canyon early in October proved quite colorful.
A ride up Corner Canyon early in October proved quite colorful.

The last biking excursion that bears mentioning is one we took up American Fork Canyon in October. It had become uncharacteristically cold earlier that week and had snowed in the mountains. But, thanks to a few rather warm days, we thought we’d have a pleasant and snow-free ride. We were correct in assuming that there wouldn’t be much white stuff left but we ran into a different problem on the side of the mountain shaded from the sun: mud. I’m not talking about a miniscule layer of dirt that gets your toes a bit grimy, I’m talking about sludge so deep and viscous that it builds up on your tires and gears until your wheels won’t turn anymore. The most curious part of this ride was not the thick mud though but Jason’s lack of it. Anytime we go mountain biking I somehow end up 10X grubbier than him but that disparity was further amplified on this occasion. While Jason did not remain muck-free, he and his bike never looked remotely like they had been dredged up from the swamp that had swallowed me. We were biking the same trail and I weigh significantly less than him so how is it that my bicycle became so covered in filth while his only got a little splattered? I fear that some mysteries of the universe will never be solved.

The Canyon Hollow trail in Corner Canyon is a favorite of ours.
The Canyon Hollow Trail in Corner Canyon is a favorite of ours.
We went biking in Lambert Park earlier this month. The leaves littering the ground created a lovely scene and many hidden obstacles.
We went biking in Lambert Park earlier this month. The leaves littering the ground created a charming scene and many hidden obstacles.

We had a lovely, and mucky, time cycling in some picturesque surroundings this year. From the vibrant greens of spring grasses to the flaming leaves of fall, the world always looks better on the seat of a bike.

Rachel November 16, 2013 No Comments

Run, Dead Boy, Run!

Every October Jason and I mutate into carnivorous corpses for the Night of the Running Dead. It’s always a horribly tasty event but this year it was even more satiating because our friends West and Wendy shambled along with us. Fresh flesh is good.

Gone but not for coffin.
Gone but not for coffin.

The Night of the Running Dead is an apocalyptic-themed 5K race where participants can either run to stay alive as a human or run after fast food as a zombie. The humans, AKA refreshments, get a short head-start and then all undead breaks loose.

Wendy and West made killer cohorts.
Wendy and West made killer cohorts.

Jason and I are always dying to be gross so, once again, we festered ourselves fastidiously to fit in with the hordes of foul carcasses. (Warning: If you are the deadly departed, do not attempt to say that sentence five times fast or your tongue is likely to fall out.) Why would we want to be human when we can run humanly any day? Wendy and West also enthusiastically joined the ranks of the rank.

Faster than a speeding corpse?
Faster than a speeding corpse?

Although Jason and I biked Mill Creek Canyon just hours before this race, with those mouthwatering human-carrots dangling before us, we sprinted it as animatedly as the reanimated can. Jason loped in at 21:42 and I was done at 27:57. West, who was thrilled to be competing in his first race ever, finished about twenty seconds before me and Wendy pushed her nasty corpse over the line just a few minutes later. Nicely done dead people!

Blood and Filth: fall's hottest fashion trend?
Blood and Filth: fall’s hottest fashion trend?
With those memorable features, you know we'd produce astonishing offspring.
With those memorable features, you know we’d produce astonishing offspring.

Night of the Running Dead might involve a bit more of a workout than the typical zombie welcomes but if you’re already undead then a little exercise can’t kill you. Right? I’d say that if you can do without a limb then you can certainly stand to lose a pound or two. I’m sure Jason and I will be chasing brains again next year. Perhaps you will find yourself of a mind to join us?

Rachel October 25, 2013 No Comments

The Maine Attraction Part II: Inland

Last week I shared my maritime tales of Maine’s shoreline and now allow me to follow up those salty stories with the details of our journey into the scenic core of New England.

Bethel, a small Maine village of 2,500 residents nestled near the New Hampshire border, was our first inland stop. Jason and I strayed from our comfort zone a bit and stayed at a little B&B while in this tiny hamlet. The building was over 100 years old and its age showed. The floors squeaked and the doorknobs didn’t turn so well but there was a feeling of significance in that vintage dwelling. The innkeepers were very hospitable and cheerily made us a delicious breakfast each morning using eggs from their own happy chickens. Sometimes comfort zones are for sissies.

The Artist's Bridge near Bethel is the most photographed or painted covered bridge in Maine. It was easy to imagine the Headless Horseman waiting at its end, pumpkin in hand.
The Artist’s Bridge near Bethel is the most photographed and painted covered bridge in Maine. It was easy to imagine the Headless Horseman waiting at its end, pumpkin in hand.

Like our B&B, every part of Bethel spoke history. It was full of antique church spires and homes not much younger than America. Its widespread white clapboard buildings and village greens were lovingly preserved and just plain lovely.

We came across Step Falls unexpectedly. What a nice surprise.
We came across Step Falls unexpectedly. What a nice surprise.
Table Rock in Grafton Notch State Park became our lunch table.
Table Rock in Grafton Notch State Park became our lunch table.

Bethel’s charm wasn’t its only appeal though. It was conveniently close to Grafton Notch, a U-shaped valley carved out by glaciers, which we were eager to explore. Glaciers receded from New England about 14,000 years ago yet their icy influence can still be seen in its rounded mountaintops and pitted rock. Potholes in this region, sculpted by glacial debris, have turned the streams cascading down them into nature’s waterslides over the millennia. These acrobatic rivers frequently twist and jump across their granite platforms, performing a continuous magnificent show.

Screw Auger Falls plummets 30 feet into a granite gorge.
Screw Auger Falls plummets 30 feet into a granite gorge.

In the Grafton Notch area we saw a couple such jumps, Screw Auger and Step Falls, and took a hike through some of the oddest terrain I’ve ever stood on. Table Rock, a giant block of granite, was our 2.4-mile destination. To get to it we had to climb a never-ending flight of roughly-hewn rock steps. These giant “stairs” only ceased when the terrain became a jumble of massive boulders, which had to be leapt and scrambled over. Although strenuous, this trek was quite fun and the fantastic views of the Mahoosuc Range from Table Rock would have been worth it regardless.

Not all of the leaves were changing yet in Stowe but splashes of color were everywhere.
Not all of the leaves were changing yet in Stowe but splashes of color were everywhere.

Upon leaving Bethel, we proceeded west to Stowe, Vermont, famous for its ski resorts and fall leaves. We paused as we passed through New Hampshire to do a short hike in Moose Brook State Park. Our little walk followed Perkins Brook through a quiet mossy forest. The spongy soil was peopled with mushrooms and anything that hadn’t moved recently was covered in swaths of flourishing life. The dappled light filtering through the emerald canopy doubled the green of the ground and brought to mind the realm of fairies.

The road up Smugglers' Notch was tiny, twisty and lined with boulders.
The road up Smugglers’ Notch was tiny, twisty and lined with boulders.
Although our visit did not coincide with "peak" fall foliage, all around us intense reds, yellows and oranges mixed with the green leftovers of summer.
Although our visit did not coincide with “peak” fall foliage, all around us intense reds, yellows and oranges mixed with the green leftovers of summer.

After that brief intermission, we continued on our way to Stowe, a beautiful drive. The Vermont countryside was dotted with bright weathered barns and hilly pastures, which the dense forests just beyond seemed plotting to reclaim. Stowe was made of the same scenic stuff. In the shadow of Mt. Mansfield, Vermont’s highest peak, this quaint little village looked like it hadn’t changed much in many years.

The Basin on the Pemigewasset River was created by glacial erosion.
The Basin on the Pemigewasset River was created by glacial erosion.
The "Dream Cottage" at Sugar Hill Inn lived up to its name.
The “Dream Cottage” at Sugar Hill Inn lived up to its name.

While at Stowe we hiked in nearby Smugglers’ Notch, so called because it’s been a favorite route for sneaking alcohol, people, you name it, into and out of Canada throughout American history. The trails we took to Bingham Falls and Sterling Pond were stunning but crossed by rivulets and trickles so often it seemed that the whole area was part of some makeshift waterway. Along with the views we encountered by using our feet, we caught a ride on the Stowe Mountain Resort gondola and got a cheater’s peek of the panorama from the top of Mt. Mansfield.

The Baby Flume was just another interesting Franconian backdrop created by water and stone.
The Baby Flume was just another interesting Franconian backdrop created by water and stone.

Our visit to Stowe’s happened to be the same weekend as their annual British Invasion, a regional British-car show. After gorging on fantastic dinner fare one night, we decided to drive into town but found the road blocked off for the “British Invasion Block Party.” Stowe’s main street was lined with tiny English sports cars and people eating ice cream cones and generally having a good time. We thought we might as well have a good time too so we took to mingling with the jovial throngs. A band was playing some classic rock tunes and soon the crowd started boogying and swinging to the music. Everyone, from children so young they could barely walk to gents so old they could barely walk, joined in the fun. Jason and I also took to grooving on the pavement. Thus, we connected with that friendly community on their small street with the full moon and historic steeples floating above us. It truly felt like something out of a movie.

We made it to these cascades in Franconia Notch State Park right as a brooding mist settled over us, giving the scenery a supernatural quality.
We made it to these cascades in Franconia Notch State Park right as a brooding mist settled over us, giving the scenery a supernatural quality.
This little cascade near The Basin seemed to hold a secret that could only be heard in the rustling whisper of the dancing fallen leaves.
This little cascade near The Basin seemed to hold a secret that could only be heard in the rustling whisper of the dancing fallen leaves.

The last stop in our inland interlude was Franconia, New Hampshire. Franconia, in the midst of the White Mountains, is definitely a blink-and-miss town but enchanting nonetheless. While we didn’t find the foliage in Stowe as impressive as we’d hoped, due to the earliness of the season, the woods around Franconia were smack in the middle of their fall fire. The whole area was ablaze and gorgeous.

This stream of water slid through worn stone like a zigzagging ghost.
This stream of water slid through worn stone like a zigzagging ghost.

We stayed in the “Dream Cottage” at the Sugar Hill Inn our night in Franconia. With a giant fireplace, private sauna and comfy porch swing, it’s a shame we couldn’t just spend the evening slouching in our bungalow but Franconia Notch State Park was not to be missed. This notch’s rugged beauty inspired authors like Nathaniel Hawthorne and Henry David Thoreau. It inspired us too. Oddly enough, sometimes inspiration feels a lot like a downpour. We hiked to various falls and features along the Pemigewasset River as rain pelted us through an eerie blanket of mist. It was surreal yet soggy.

The poet Robert Frost spent five years and twenty summers at a farmhouse that overlooks the Franconian mountains. We visited it.
The poet Robert Frost spent five years and twenty summers at a farmhouse that overlooks the Franconian mountains. We visited it.

Before we headed to Boston to catch our flight the next day, we stopped at Frost Place, home of the poet Robert Frost for five years and twenty summers. The spectacular views of the Franconia Notch from his modest farmhouse made Frost’s wooded muses almost tangible.

Flume Gorge is an 800-foot-long gap with narrow granite walls.
Flume Gorge is an 800-foot-long gap with narrow granite walls.

Although time wasn’t really permitting, after Frost Place we hurriedly explored Flume Gorge, an 800-foot-long chasm created by a plume of lava squishing through a crack and then eroding. I wish we could have enjoyed its lush sheer walls and impressive falls without time constraints but seeing it in a dash was better than not seeing it at all. We rushed back to Boston after our gorge tour with just enough time to not feel panicked about making our flight. Whew!

Avalanche Falls hurls water 25 feet down Flume Gorge.
Avalanche Falls hurls water 25 feet down Flume Gorge.

New England may not be a common vacation destination for those in the west but Jason and I are very glad we’ve roamed its precipitous shores and saturated woods. Compared to visiting Maine and its neighbors, all other holidays are minor.

Rachel October 18, 2013 No Comments
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