Shredding Gnasty and Finishing the Move

This is supposed to be a blog about racing (specifically mountain bike racing), and I have yet to mention the shredding of the gnar, let alone racing.  Friends visiting, family visiting, and partying sort of got in the way of riding for a bit there, but I got to go on 2 sweet rides before leaving the Reno area.

The first one was in a place called Graeagle, California.  Most mountain bikers have probably heard of Downieville, CA, since it's the location of the All-Mountain World Championship, but Greaegle has less-crowded trails that were built by the same folks.  I went riding in the middle of the day on a Sunday, and only saw 2 other riders on (supposedly) one of the sickest trails in town.  The ride was an out-and-back on Mills Peak trail.  I think it had about 3000 or so feet of uphill and downhill.  Check the map here: Link.  There's one bike shop in Graeagle, and it's super rad.  They have maps of the area available for 1 dollar donations, and they're pretty detailed.  Also, I bought some ceramic-wax based chain lube for six bucks - not a bad price for a tourist trap!  Riding wise, Mills Peak trail was pretty buffed out for the most part, but the top had just been built, and was still inherently more technical in a totally rideable, shred-tastic sort of way.  The descent was filled with little whoops that turned into jumps with enough speed, the occasional brake-check-rock-garden, drift-tastic switchbacks, and one section of sketchy fast, loose, fire road filled with babyheads. Oh yeah, and the views were incredible on all sides, as I hope these pictures demonstrate!

(trail went up to that peak in the distance)

(hella berms, everywhere)

(mid-august, and there's still a bunch of snow everywhere)

(stealth bike with wildflowers)

(I think that's Mount Lassen or Shasta in the background, view from the top)

(I tried to capture a riding shot with a timer, this is what came out (same berm as before) )

The second ride was with Casey Clark.  Initilally, he was planning on riding with a buddy, MJ, but then I tagged onto the roster, and two of MJ's friends, Hunter and Brook, joined shortly there after.  We drove to Truckee, then decided that the North Shore of Lake Tahoe would be better, since we had already driven most of the way.  I have no idea which trails we rode, but I know that some of it was on Tahoe Rim Trail. The ride started off with a marginally miserable, super loose climb away from the Truckee river, then continued onto a more gradual climb with more traction.  When we got into Paige Meadows (I think that's what they called it), we lost Brook.  At a trail intersection, we all went left.  Brook was a bit behind and went right.  We saw him through the meadow and yelled, but he didn't here.  We all hopped on our bikes and scattered around trying to find him, but Casey and I realized that we'd all get separated and lost if we kept that up, so he and I chilled at a main trail junction and waited for the party to reconvene.  Nobody found Brook, so we continued the climb toward the top, stopping here and there for the requisite chill-out.  It took a little bit, but I figured out that this bike ride wasn't the total shred-fest I had half expected; Brook and Hunter are two older Truckee stoners, and they ride bikes as you'd expect people of their nature to ride: slow, wandering, with plenty of 420 degree view points, and the strangest trail ethic I've ever encountered. It is exemplified by this instance: at one point, Casey and I were heading up the descent, and stopped at a major trail intersection.  Hunter was next in line, and he slowed down, maneuvered his way through our tangle of handlebars and feet, and kept mooseying down the trail.  A bit later, after the rest of the group had caught up, we ran into Hunter again, stopped to wait for us in the middle of a sweet descent with no trail intersection in sight!  It mystifies me to this day.  Riding with these two old truckee men, who were rock climbers at heart, reminded me of riding with Ken Lane, if Ken had an entire mountain range to work with, instead of 1 hill and a mountain.  At one point at the beginning of the descent, Hunter was positive that there was awesome single track down the other side of the mountain, better than the stuff we were planning on riding back to the truck.  We trusted him in all of his stoney-glory, ripped down this short section of trail, and ended up on some dirt road.  He whipped out his cell-phone, confused, and called a buddy because the single track vanished.  His buddy affirmed that there was no more trail, and so, we plodded back up to where we had broken off.  The ride finished with a quick dip in the Truckee River, tacos, and beer, which is the way every mountain bike ride should end.  Enjoy the pictures!

(420 degree view from the ski patrol shack at the top)

(there's a rider there in the distance, I think)

(yup, 420 degree view alright. I think they were talking about skiing)

The day after that shred, Roger and I began the last leg of our journey to Missoula.  We drove from Sparks, Nevada, to Sun Valley, Idaho, where we camped at a trailhead.  I had planned on shredding there, but while waking up at the trail head, the hikers started showing up.  And they weren't just hikers, and there weren't just a few of them.  There was an entire fleet of middle aged women driving Volvos and Subarus with approximately 2 fat and happy golden retrievers each.  All of the dogs distracted Roger from his breakfast, and I knew at that point, that I couldn't take him out riding.  Instead we went for a quick hike, since he attacks dogs, and he's easier to control if I'm on.  It was super pretty, and I wished I was on my bike the entire time.  You know, in retrospect, it may be a good thing I didn't ride, I didn't have a rear brake then...

(that cheesy bumper sticker was my life for a while)

(flat roads through golden fields can get pretty boring)

(it's like Kansas, but cooler, because it's Idaho)

(whoo-buddy, I want to go back and ride here)

(I think this is a small beaver dam)

(Raj, which is Roger's Indian name, shredding his face off in Sun valley)

(again, perfect single track, with my bike at the bottom of the hill)

After the hike, Roger and I hopped into El Trook and blasted off for Missoula.  I stopped at the Starbucks in Sun Valley to get a cup of coffee, compliments of my math adviser and met a dude name Patrick Reynolds.  He order a "doppio," whatever that is, in a double cup after I had placed my order, then proceeded to chat up the decently attractive help.  They blew him off as some creepy older tourist, in the politest way possible, and got back to making our coffee drinks (which I was happy about, that's why we gave them money).  He looked at me, and saw a new victim.

"Where're you in from?"
 "Uh,  Arizona, I guess. You?"
"L.A., isn't this a great place?"

And so our conversation took off.  I told him about moving to Missoula, starting grad school, and all that jazz; he told me about working for an anti-tobacco company.  Out of nowhere, the conversation abandoned the social niceties one expects whilst waiting for a cup of coffee, and headed toward finance.  He asked me if I had to work for money, and I said, "Well, yeah, I'm teaching some math class when I get up there."  Patrick was happy for me; he believed that wealth fucks up rich kids in a bad way.  They never learn how to work, etc.  He then told me about how he was a rich kid, how the money he had ruined his self-esteeem, and about how beneficial seeing a therapist was to him.  Patrick then told me that I should see a therapist as well, not because I was fucked up in any particular way, but just because therapy is such a good thing, since it helps everyone sort themselves out.  He was careful to explain that he didn't think I was loony, he just thought that everyone could benefit from some mental therapy.  I dismissed his advice at first, grabbed my coffee, said a polite good-bye, and went back to my truck, but then I started thinking about it.  Maybe a therapy isn't quite the right word, since it has such a negative connotation, but people seem to require emotionally driven dialogues with people that listen.  At best, it's a way for them to sort their thoughts and feelings out in a quasi-logical manner, and put all their little problems into perspective... Isn't that what therapists do?

Anyway, with coffee in hand and dog food in toe, Raj and I continued on toward Montana.  I had Google Maps directions from Sun Valley to Missoula, and they sent me over a sinlge lane dirt road mountain pass. I was psyched because it was ultra pretty and there was no traffic, but I'm not sure how many people would have been stoked.  I thought a horse was in the middle of the road at the summit, but it was a moose!  How 'bout that, 12 hours in Idaho and I saw a moose.  The dirt road lead to US-93, which took Roger and I into Montana.  Interestingly enough, the Montana/Idaho border on US 93 is at the top of a mountain pass.  I guess it makes sense, given the name "Montana," but I didn't expect it at all.  I don't think Roger did either, as you can see in this picture.

(the googlemaped road)

(notice the bullet holes in the sign.  yup, that's the sort of place I'm living now)

We arrived in Missoula around 4:30 local time, and I got sorta lost looking for my new house.  After finding it, my new landlady/housemate, Marcy took Raj and I in and showed us around.  I unloaded my truck, but have yet to bring myself to unpacking at all.  It's not that I don't like the new digs, it's just a total change from the last few places I lived.  This place could be the exact opposite from the Greenhouse, in Flagistan.  At the Greenhouse, we had a front yard filled with empty beer cans and broken glass, here we have a well manicured front lawn complete with lawn ornaments.  The kitchen is clean, the bathrooms are clean.  People don't just walk in the front door with beer and other consumables.  Instead of living with some of my closest homies, I'm now living with a 62 year old lady, a 73 year old deaf man, two twenty something year old dudes, a 9 year old mutt that distrusts all males, a 15 year old Pomeranian, and a handful of declawed cats.  The cats don't run from Roger, which confuses him, so he doesn't chase them.  The house is quite, and far from downtown and school.  Being in a place where you know no one, far away from the young scene is lonelier than I expected it would be, so I think a trip to the downtown are tomorrow night might be in order.  While the change of living situation and lifestyle is sudden and sharp, it could be very positive, so long as I can find some bike trails within riding distance.  They should be there - there are mountains everywhere.

 I'm going to do as much exploring as I can before school starts, and will write another post with pictures of of town and trails (if I find them)!

A quick agenda breakdown:  Aug. 22nd - new grad student orientation.  Aug. 23rd New TA orientation. Aug 24th Register for classes, get adviser.  August 25th get teaching assignment.  Aug. 29th, Classes start.